Page 91 of Piece Us Together
Something calms in me at the less-than-hostile interaction. If this man wants me to cheer on the Packers, I will gladly cheer on the Packers. I will be the Packers’ biggest fucking fan. “Sounds like I’m rooting for the Packers today.”
Most of the room groans, Travis shaking his head, Jake putting a hand to his forehead, and Keats abandoning us entirely.
“I don’t want to hear it,” my original greeter says sharply. The men immediately drop their attitudes. When he points his finger at the hall, they’re already moving in that direction. “Go watch your damn football.”
I have got to get him to teach me how he does that.
I eye the remaining members of the room, taking stock. I’ve been left with Maison, who is back to staring at his beer bottle, Nolan, who looks like he wants to go in a corner and hide from everything, Carter, who has sidled up to Travis at this point, Travis, who looks utterly obsessed with Carter and has possibly forgotten I’m here, and the young man that was here when I first walked in.
“We should go watch football before we get in trouble,” Travis says.
Carter rolls his eyes. “Since when do you need an excuse to watch football?”
“Since you won’t come in and watch with me.”
“Don’t pout. I’ll come.” Carter turns to me before his jaw drops. “Oh crap, I’m so sorry! We didn’t even show you where you could put your jacket or anything. Let me—”
“I’ll show him,” Nolan nearly shouts. He hunches his shoulders when everyone’s attention falls on him. His cheeks are pink. “I can show him. You guys—you can go watch football.”
Carter looks unsure, but this is my sub, even if we aren’t under my roof, even if it isn’t a Saturday, and he wants me to himself. I try to reassure Carter, fixing him with a warm smile. “I’d like that. There are a lot of you, after all. I think getting to know you guys in bite-sized pieces might be less overwhelming.”
“That’s fair. Okay.” Carter hitches his thumb over his shoulder. “We’ll be just around the corner when you’re ready to come. Help yourself to any food that’s on that table over there—only that table, unless you want Nolan to kill you—and any drinks in the fridge.”
Once they’re gone, I’m left in the kitchen with Nolan, Maison, and the man I’ve yet to properly meet. The kitchen suddenly feels way too big. There’s a small ache building in me to just go straight to them. If we were at my house, I’d run fingers through Nolan’s hair and ask him what he’s making and steal a bite just to see him get flustered and angry at me. I want to press my side against Maison and pretend I don’t notice how flushed he gets and speak low to him until he does that shivery thing that makes me want to lay him out and take him apart.
Even if the other man wasn’t here, I don’t think they’d appreciate me doing any of that, though. They said they want me here, but it was pretty obvious they meant it in an abstract way. They want me here as Carter and Travis’s friend. They don’t want me here as someone who can touch them.
“I’ll take your coat, s—um—Hunter.” Nolan flushes darker pink as he hurries over to me. I try not to smirk as he comes to stop in front of me and realizes my scarf is in the way. He peers up at me through his lashes, fingers hovering. “May I?”
“Go ahead.”
He carefully unravels my scarf before moving to the buttons on the front of my jacket and working it off my shoulders. I watch him disappear toward the front door before looking back at Maison. He’s not looking at me, instead directing his frown at the other man. They’re speaking in sign language.Why is that so fucking endearing?
After the man signs something that makes Maison’s frown lift into a surprising grin, the man scurries out of the room without looking in my direction. I carefully approach the large island where Nolan was working when I first walked in. Maison watches me like I’m the one armed with a gun—and one of us surely is, especially with all the earlier comments made. I have a feeling most of these men are, actually.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” I say softly.
He darts his eyes in the direction where everyone went to watch football before settling them back on me. His expression is twisted up, anger and fear openly at war, his eyes reflecting the need deep inside of him. The need he’s fucking drowning in as he looks right at me.
His voice is low and gravelly as he says, “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Is our boy in panic mode yet?”
I didn’t mean to sayour boy, my breath catching with the mistake. But Maison smiles, his shoulders softening. “Not yet, but he’s determined to make my ma’s apple pie recipe and he’s putting way too much weight on it. It better fucking come out good.”
“Or what? You’ll kick the oven’s ass?”
“Do you doubt I could?” he asks with a surprising flirtation to his tone.
I chuckle. “No. If anyone could kick the ass of an inanimate object and win, it’d be you.”
“I appreciate that.” He puffs up a little before hiding his smirk behind his bottle. I watch his throat bob as he swallows, trying not to think dirty thoughts. When he settles the bottle back down to his lap, his bottom lip is slick.Fuck me.
“Listen. Uh. Before, the way I talked to you and, you know, glared or whatever…” When I look at his whole face instead of his lips, I realize his expression has changed in the short time I was distracted. He closes his eyes the moment mine meet them, almost like he’s trying to hide. I swear I can see the weight pressing down on him, a visible thing ready to suffocate an already drowning man. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Maison. Hey, look at me.” He hesitates, but then he does. I give him the smile that has worked to calm both him and Nolan down more than once before. He seems to melt under it, his breath leaving him in a whoosh as he settles back against the cabinets behind him. I take a risk, placing a hand on his knee. His eyes fall to it. He swallows hard enough for me to hear. “Whatever you need tonight, do it. It’s okay.”
He sucks in a breath like he might say something before suddenly stiffening. I release his knee and take a step back, just in time for someone to come around the corner. I relax when it’s just Nolan. He doesn’t.