Page 34 of Trusting You
I stop. Freeze under three sets of headlights. Three men—none of them Locke—have somehow managed to fit themselves on the couch in the main room.
The closest one grins. “Hello!”
I scream and clutch the doorframe. Given the length of tattoos stretched across both arms, even a few on his neck, I’m frantically thinking about an improvised weapon. The buzzcut doesn’t help, either.
He’s here to steal my baby.
“Where’s Lily?” I demand, holding my fists up boxer-style.
“Whoa, there,” another one says, holding an arm out, but I’m on the move. I’ll toss their bodies off the couch and upturn the ottoman if I have to.
The scary one stands, which leads the other two to stand with him. “She’s safe. I’m Asher. A friend of Locke’s. You must be Carter.”
“Yeah.”
Rude, I know. But I can’t find Lily.
A cry grabs my attention, but it’s happy. Locke steps out of the kitchen with Lily, another bottle glued to her face.
“Oh, thank God,” I say out loud before I can stop it.
“I feel the same way, honey,” another man says beside Asher. “I wouldn’t trust Locke alone with a baby, either.”
Locke shoots him a wry look. “I’m doing just fine, thank you. Are you all right?” he asks me. “You’re not wearing pants.”
My lips go numb. A common occurrence when all the blood leaves my face. I’m standing in front of four men in my underwear and a crop top. They can see all the lace I have to give.
“Oh, god…” I say through a lurch of mortified nausea. Then I sprint for Locke’s bedroom, slam the door, and turn on the stupid light as I find my jeans.
“She seems nice,” I hear a voice say through the door.
“Nice ass, at least,” another one replies.
“One more word and one of you will break that window’s glass, and the next one your fall.”
Definitely Locke’s voice.
I squeak, clutching at my exposed butt cheeks as if now is the proper time to hide them. Damn Sophie and getting me to amp up my lingerie game with G-strings.
I hop into my jeans, smooth my hair back, and take a deep breath. Nobody, but nobody, could get me to go back in there after being so naked in front of those guys—except Lily.
I hear her babbling, and I just want to hold her and hide in her ringlets.
When I come out, Locke’s regarding me like he doesn’t know what to do with me. Ask if I’m okay? Do I need anything? A robe? His conflict is written all over his expression as he adjusts his hold on Lily. I have to give him props for that. I doubt I’ve spoken a truly kind word to him the entire time we’ve been together.
Part of me feels bad about that. Most of me doesn’t.
“Meet three guys who might as well be my brothers,” he says instead. “Asher, Ben, Easton.”
He went from left to right, and each man couldn’t have been more opposite from the other. Locke was the skinniest, certainly, but that doesn’t mean his body can’t handle muscle. In the current tank he’s sporting, cut low at the sides, I spy the ridges and lines of a good workout regime.
Asher is the only one with tattoos. Ben is the basic blond with the blue eyes, except for what looks like a pretty nasty burn on his left forearm, an old one.
Ben spots where my focus has landed and winks. “Saved my baby sister from a fire.”
I can’t tell if he’s kidding or not, so I frown at him and move on to Easton, the darkest of the three, both in skin and fashion sense. His features have a hint of bronze, not tanned, but natural. Even his eyes blaze copper, and I wonder about his heritage. He’s wearing a leather jacket and tight, ripped black jeans. Like a…a brooding rocker guy who lost his drum set.
College football alone couldn’t have brought these men together. But what did I know?