Page 65 of Darcy
“Sorry.” He actually blushes. “It’s not my fault that they put extra fierceness into baby siblings.”
Prophet falls into the chair on the other side of the room, quietly picking pieces of pineapple off of his pizza. Philistine.
“Are you ready for another lucky dip?” Dodger asks, taking the seat on my other side. “Or did we wear you out on the plane?”
I hum in the back of my throat as my thighs clench at the memory. “It takes more than that to wear me out. Keys in the bowl.”
Arlo scoops up the last handful of popcorn from the bowl Emma and I were sharing earlier, shoving them into his mouth as he drops his keys into the porcelain with the other. Prophet does the same, followed by Slate.
The guitarist picks the bowl up and hands it to me, at the same time that two hands wrap around my head from behind, covering my eyes.
“No peeking,” Dodger whispers, the heat of him warming the back of my neck.
His breath tickles the shell of my ear, and I shiver as I feel for the rim of the bowl. My nerves flutter in my belly as my fingertips meet cold plastic and metal.
When I draw back and open my palm, the silence makes my heart flip.
Dodger’s hands leave my eyes, and I look down at the fob shaped like a miniature car on my palm.
“Who drives a Tesla?” I ask, confused.
Behind me, Slate clears his throat. “Me.”
Twenty-Two
Darcy
He scoops me from the sofa and into a princess lift before I can even process what he said. Squirming, because I’m not a lightweight by any stretch of the imagination, I go to protest, only to freeze when he throws me up in the air, spanks my ass lightly with one hand, and then catches me in one smooth movement.
Without giving me a chance to breathe, he turns and shoots a smug grin over his shoulder. “See you later, suckers!”
“Hey, what if I want a kiss goodnight?” Dodger complains.
“Should’ve thought about that before you teased us with that little show on the jet,” Slate retorts, kicking open his door. “She’s mine now.”
Those ominous words are punctuated by the slamming of the door behind us, and I tumble unceremoniously onto the bed.
“The bulbasaur jammies are cute,” he begins, stripping his tank top over his head and exposing a chest full of tats I just want to trace with my tongue. “But they’ve got to go.”
“I think we should trade,” I counter. “I’ll take them off if you tell me what you’re planning.”
“Planning?” He offers me a cocky smile that reveals nothing. “Well, I’d hoped that we’d start with you showing me those beautiful tits, then move on to you sitting on my face until you come all over my mouth—”
I roll my eyes even as my thighs clench, loving his plan. “Slate. I mean it. What’s going on with you and Prophet?”
He sighs, running a hand over his braids before turning to pace the room. “We have a difference of opinion,” he finally admits. “Once we’ve resolved some… issues, Prophet wants to break up the band.”
A stone comes to rest in my stomach. “Why?”
Slate shakes his head. “It messed up a lot of things for him. That family you mentioned? He’s wanted one since we were in our mid-twenties, but thanks to how things are…” He trails off. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that the band is all the rest of us have. If he breaks it apart… we’re fucked. You have no idea what life was like before. Prophet had a great family, but the rest of us weren’t so lucky.”
My heart breaks a little, but I reach out and snag his hand as he paces past, drawing myself up to my knees so I can hug him. My face is smooshed against his chest, his heartbeat racing beneath my cheek.
“If he leaves the band, it doesn’t mean you have to split up. You could hire a new drummer—” I cut off as Slate groans.
“No. It does.” He gives a little half-laugh. “I saw to that. Our band contract—the one we made as teens—states that if one of us wants out, the rest can’t form another band or replace them. Hazardous doesn’t exist unless it’s all four of us.” He gives a self depreciating shake of his head. “Another of my genius ideas.”
I say nothing, just listening.
