No Weddings (No Weddings #1)(18)
On a deep inhale, I thought about the deep pink tips hardening for my touch and raised my gaze further, to those matching full lips that would be parted on a moan. By the time my gaze met hers, those beautiful green eyes had darkened, dilated.
Oh, f*ck yeah. No line had been crossed. The off-limits zone hadn’t even blurred. The damn thing had been obliterated.
Ignoring the hardening demand behind my fly, I focused my thoughts and calmed my hammering pulse. Now all Hannah could see was a collected exterior, which was all she needed to know.
Her lips pursed, and she let out a slow breath.
I chuckled and returned to the matter at hand, lifting my laptop screen and finishing the amendments. Business first.
But the rest?
Game. On.
“That is not a holiday.” Kiki stood in the center of the room, hands on her hips, standing behind an imaginary line she’d drawn in Kristen’s antique looped rug. Anti-sports Kiki.
My Seahawks had won, and we were going to the Super Bowl. It was so a holiday.
“All in favor of the event?” I didn’t pull punches. On my side of the line were die-hard football fans. In my peripheral vision, I saw Kristen’s and Kendall’s arms shoot up in the air.
“The ‘ayes’ have it. You, my dear artistic soul, are overruled.”
Kiki rolled her eyes in the cute way she always did and stormed to my favorite corner of the couch. I almost let her have it, but then I casually walked over and sat on her.
She became a spider beneath a boulder, arms flailing. It was only when I fell over, grunting from an elbow jab in the ribs, that she settled down, relishing her small victory with a grin while huffing to catch her breath.
Giving Kiki a moment to bask in the glory of her territory nab, I grabbed my Fat Tire from the table and flopped into the other corner. The cushion wasn’t near as flattened on this end. Maybe I needed to break in a new side.
I grinned, sighing. For as much trouble as my sisters had been growing up, I truly relaxed being here with them among family. More than mere blood ties, they were true friends and protectors and had my back no matter what.
Even if I did keep secrets from them.
Hannah was developing into a big one.
Guys didn’t share feelings. Not with other guys. Definitely not with sisters. It’s why we invented locker-room talk. If we couldn’t share our inner touchy-feely, you’re damn right we’d share the conquests. Without an outlet, guys might burst out crying in random places, like walking down the sidewalk during rush hour, from the pressure of being bottled up.
And that embarrassing shit ain’t right.
“You seal the deal with Hannah?” Kristen’s calm voice interrupted my thoughts.
I coughed, choking on the beer that had decided to make a run for my lungs. After a dozen coughs, I looked at Kristen through tears in my eyes. “What?”
She glanced at me with concern. “You okay? Drink much?” She spoke slower and moved her fingers in fake sign language at me. “I said, did you seal the deal with Hannah?” She slumped back from the effort at harassing me, as if it was too much, and sighed. “Do we have our cake supplier or not?”
I snorted, shaking my head, then nodded. “Yes. And no.”
Kristen’s brow furrowed. “What the hell does that mean?” She got up and went into the kitchen.
“Hannah wants to supply to restaurants and resorts, even if it’s for weddings. I’m sticking firm on the point of her not interacting with other event planners. It’s too risky for Invitation Only. But I could tell she wanted to be a part of things, so I offered her a trial run on our first party.”
Kendall turned toward me. “And she agreed?”
“Yep.”
“And will she sign?” Kiki asked.
“Yeah. She explained the importance of her setting up the cakes on location, and I get that. We’ll have to cave on that point and trust that she’ll protect us when she does.”
Kristen called out from the kitchen. “Perfect. Call her and set it up. We’ve got less than two weeks before the event.” She came back into the room with a platter of club sandwiches right as Kendall finished setting up the Monopoly board on Kristen’s coffee table. Playing had become a ritual while we hashed out our business plans. Competitiveness flushed out the best ideas.
I was always the dog. Imagine that.
Sweet Dreams was quiet before eight in the morning. Feet up on a chair opposite me, I typed like a madman. Outside, pedestrians occasionally walked by the large plate glass window next to me. Every now and then, one would stop to admire my bike, rotating around her to take in all the custom chrome details, turning her into a one-bike show.
I shouted out to the empty front room, “You know, you really should think about getting a couple of overstuffed leather chairs up here, maybe a couch.”
On that comment, my tenth random statement in the last hour, Little Miss Baker finally graced me with her presence from the back. “Why? So you could make yourself more comfortable?”
Under steady brows, I dropped my head to the side, sending her a deadpan look. “You know you want me here. Who else would give you invaluable business tips? Oh, and speaking of business, our first event has a Super Bowl theme. And is at the Super Bowl.”
Dressed in one of those little tees she liked to wear, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Invaluable? Wait, what? At the Super Bowl?” Her eyes widened.