Page 141 of Dream Chaser
“And you’re lucky I like a challenge,” he murmurs, brushing his nose against mine. “Now be honest—did you miss me, or just the way I fill this shirt?”
I bite my lip and pretend to consider it, but my fingers are already curling around the fabric.
“Both,” I admit. “But mostly the shirt.”
“You two need to save room for Jesus,” Mags says. “I’m getting hangry.”
“You suddenly need help with a spoon and fork?” I ask.
She leans in and whispers in my ear, “Micah’s with the bitch squad at the table near ours.”
Micah is the nephew of Greer, who is a security specialist the guys brought back. She’s a computer genius, and her nephew, who she has custody of, is not happy to be living in Blue Valley.
“Do you want me to rough him up?” Skinner asks.
“Yes, but no.” Mags sighs. “Izzy would get all frigid again if you were behind bars.”
“Frigid?” I arch a brow.
“I mean, yes and yes.” Mags grins. “You’re so much more chill after getting your socks rocked.” She holds up a fist to Griffon and actually taps his to hers.
The second their knuckle explosion detonates, I give them both the flattest stare I can muster.
“Ihateyou both,” I mutter.
“You’re welcome,” Mags sing-songs as she stands, slinging her curly hair into a ponytail like she’s preparing for war.
“Let’s go eat,” Skinner calls out, to the guys.
Across the room, the “bitch squad”—three girls in matching white crop tops and slightly-too-tight smiles—are saddled up against Micah, who’s staring at Mags.
Griffon moves forward, blocking the line of vision between him and Mags, and drapes his arm around my shoulders as we join the slow procession toward the food.
The volume on the TV goes up as the two teams—one of which should not be there—take to the field for kickoff.
“You good?” Skinner leans in, voice just for me.
“I will be,” I say. “Once Mags stops fist-bumping you over my sex life.”
He smirks like that’s a challenge he’s ready to accept with honors. “Can’t make promises. She did say I rocked your socks.”
I fake gasp. “You heard that?”
“I have ears the size of dinner plates—of course I heard that.”
“You have aheadthe size of a dinner plate.”
“And yet you keep climbing it like it’s your favorite treehouse.”
I nearly choke on my laugh but recover fast, nudging him hard with my elbow as we grab plates. Mags is already piling hers with meatballs, behind her, Dad and Mom.
Dad lifts his chin to Griffon, and he shakes his head.
“What is that about?” I ask.
He winks. “It’s between your old dad and I.”
“I’m not sure I like that,” I murmur as I grab a couple of Mickey’s loaded sliders.
