Page 66 of Gambit
With a final, lingering look and a quick wave, I head to my next class, the taste of him still on my lips. These moments are fuel, each one a piece of the intricate puzzle that makes up our lives. It’s perfection, and I wouldn’t change it for anything.
At the endof another academically challenged day, I push open the door of the townhouse. The scent of food cooking hits my nose, and my stomach rumbles. Ditching my bag, I head straight for the kitchen where Oliver presides, wiping his hands on a dish towel and turning to survey his kingdom — the kitchen. The sizzle of garlic and onions fills the air, and he’s in his element, completely at ease among pots and pans that clatter like a well-orchestrated symphony. I lean against the doorframe, watching him work, a smirk playing on my lips.
“Show off,” I call out, my voice light but laced with pride.
“Jealous?” Oliver tosses over his shoulder, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Maybe of your knife skills,” I admit, eyes tracking the confident chop of vegetables. “What masterpiece are we gracing our palates with tonight?”
“Wait and see,” he teases, adding a sprinkle of herbs that sends up an aroma, making my stomach growl even louder.
“Smells like heaven, Oliver,” Raphael says as he strolls into the kitchen behind me.
“Is it ready yet?” Tarquin’s voice echoes down the hallway, followed by the thud of his textbooks hitting the entryway bench.
“Get in here and help, and it will speed it up,” Oliver calls back, unfazed, expertly tossing a pan of something that makes my mouth water.
James ambles in next, his gaze distant, but he comes back to earth with the rich scents wafting through the house. His hand finds my waist, fingers pressing softly. “Hey,” he whispers, lips brushing my ear.
“Hey.”
“Food’s ready!” Oliver announces, breaking up our moment. We gather around, filling plates with dishes that Oliver has transformed into art.
The conversation is easy, peppered with jibes and laughter, each bite evidence of Oliver’s talent and each glance a silent promise of all the nights to come.
“Movie marathon time?” Tarquin suggests, already halfway to the home theatre, plate in hand.
“Lead the way,” I say, following the guys into the room that’s become our sanctuary from the world outside.
We settle onto the sofas, the lights dimming as the first movie roars to life on the screen. Action heroes and car chases take centre stage, but it’s the shared glances, the intertwined fingers, and the gentle brushes of lips on skin that truly tell the story of us.
“Best part of the day,” James murmurs, arm wrapped around me as I nod, content in the chaos and warmth of our chosen family.
“Couldn’t agree more,” Raphael adds, his smile genuine in the flickering light from the screen.
“Shh, you’re missing the good bit,” Tarquin hushes, though his eyes never leave us, the bond we share reflected in his gaze.
“Best bit’s right here,” I whisper back, as we sink deeper into the cushions, letting the night wrap around us, fierce and tender in its embrace.
Just like us.
EPILOGUE
ELIZA
Five Years Later
The heavy oakdoor to the private room swings shut with a thud that resonates through my bones. Slowly, I walk to the head of the long, mahogany table, my guys flanking me like the Kings they are. We’re in The Nest, the most exclusive club in the city, and it’s all ours.
Swinging my cricket bat that has over thirty nails embedded into the wood, a twenty-second birthday gift from my BFF, Victoria Stroud, four years ago, it never leaves my side. Much like Demon, who purrs from her basket in the corner, set down by Oliver, the only male she will allow to touch her.
The fear ripples around the room. This isn’t time for fun and yet. Well, okay. It’s fun forme. Not so much for the betrayer about to get his face smashed in.
The man tied to the chair at the far end of the table is sweating bullets, his eyes darting around desperately for a way out. But there’s none. He’s made his bed; now he’s got to lie in it.
Raphael leans over, his breath warm against my ear, “You ready, love?” He’s always so fucking calm, even when shit’s about to get messy.
A wicked grin spreads across my face. “Born ready.”
