Page 57 of Wild Card
“But he gives you the look all the time,” she said.
“What look?”
“You know…” I turned to Emory, swept my gaze over his body, then met his eyes with a searing look.
“Knock that shit off,” Gray grumbled.
“I felt that,” Emory said with a chuckle. “Dang. Did I choose the right brother?”
“Hey!” Gray took the serving dish from Emory’s hands, plopped it on the table, then grabbed his face and kissed him with enough heat that Nova fanned her face.
Gray broke the kiss. “What were you just saying?”
Emory blinked dreamily. “That I definitely chose the right brother?”
“Damn right.” Gray swatted his ass. “Don’t you forget it.”
“I would never,” Emory said. “I just like how riled and jealous you get.”
I laughed. “It’s good entertainment.”
Gray flipped me the bird while we all took our seats around the table. Emory had made some sort of pasta with…
“What the hell is that?” I asked, nose wrinkling.
Sugar sat up, showing mild interest when we got to the table. Years of trust told her that thereshouldbe tasty scraps incoming. Loki seemed less certain, his ears twitching, while he watched from afar.
“It’s garlic-eggplant pasta,” Emory said. “It’s really good. I got the recipe from my cousin, Shayla.”
“Shayla’s got a problem with chicken?” I asked, poking a piece of eggplant with my fork.
“Just say thank you and eat it,” Gray said. “Geez. You really need to get out of the junkyard more often.”
Nova forked up a bite without hesitation, humming. “This is really good, Emory. What all is in it?”
He gave her a rundown of ingredients. Basil, lemon, blah-blah-blah. I mostly tuned him out as I tentatively took a small bite.
Garlic, bold and rich, flavored the creamy sauce. The rigatoni was tender. The eggplant texture was a little odd, but all in all, not half-bad. But it was the crumbled feta on top—adding a sharp tang that brought it all together—that won me over.
“Okay, you win,” I told Emory. “It really is good.”
He grinned. “See?”
“Still think it could use some chicken.”
Gray rolled his eyes. “Don’t listen to him. He’s got no culture.”
Bailey snorted. “Yeah, he loves the poor man’s skillet we make with hot dogs and macaroni, so…”
“Hey, that’s a classic,” I defended.
Holden chuckled. “I think the dogs might agree with you, though. Banshee turned up her nose when I tried to slip her a bite.”
Vindicated by my pack. They were always loyal.
The conversation shifted back to Bailey and this Drew character. “So, are you going to make a move on this guy and finally get laid?” I asked.
“Not everything is about sex, Axel,” Holden said.
