Page 83 of Rio
His hands slid under my shirt, his nails skimming the skin of my lower back, and I groaned, pressing harder into him, braced against the bench. My brilliant, stubborn, sexy-as-fuck man. I couldn’t get enough of him. Not now. Not ever.
Which was exactly when the door to the garage flew open and a familiar clatter of boots and voices hit the quiet.
“Yo, Rio, you in here—Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Jamie.
I turned my head, forehead resting against Lyric’s, and tried not to laugh as footsteps shuffled in behind him.
Jamie sighed, loud and dramatic. “Do you twoever not dry-hump on a flat surface? This is why no one trusts the workbench anymore.”
Lyric didn’t even flinch. “Says the man whom we caught climbing Killian like a tree in the kitchen,” he deadpanned.
“I walked in here for brake pads, not foreplay,” Jamie added, stepping past us with his hand shielding his eyes. “Do your thirst trap shit on your own time.”
“Iwason my own time,” I said, grinning.
“And now you’re onmynerves.”
Lyric was still smirking when he slid off the bench and tugged his shirt back into place. “Next time we’ll lock the damn door.”
“Next time?” Jamie muttered.
“Next time,” I confirmed.
The teasing faded into work. Me, Jamie, and Enzo set to finishing up the engine while Lyric retreated to his laptop and Robbie perched next to him with two bottles of water and a bag of chips, talking a mile a minute. Every now and then, Lyric would nod or laugh under his breath, and I swear I caught him resting his cheek against Robbie’s shoulder for a moment. As if we were all settling. Healing.
Then the garage door creaked open again, and in came Killian with pizza boxes stacked high and a six-pack dangling from his fingers. “Dinner’s on me,losers. Hope someone has ice—Jamie still can’t handle spice.”
“Fuck you,” Jamie said automatically, snatching one of the boxes.
Within minutes, the six of us were crowded around the metal workbench, greasy and loud and laughing as though none of us had ever been hunted or broken. Robbie ended up in Enzo’s lap, Killian and Jamie were bickering over the last pepperoni slice as if it were sacred, and Lyric had reclaimed his tire perch like a sexy, smug little elf, cross-legged with a slice of veggie in one hand and a can of soda in the other.
I watched him for a beat. Couldn’t help it. Then I grabbed a rag, pretended to clear up some of the mess, and caught his eye.
“Hey. Come help me for a sec.”
He rolled his eyes but slid off the tires, abandoning his half-eaten crust, and I leaned in close.
“I love you.”
He blinked, soft smile blooming. “Yeah?”
“I love you,” I said again, this time brushing my nose against his. “More than cars, more than Sunday mornings, more than anything.”
His breath hitched. “I love you too.”
And then he kissed me, soft and sweet and slow.
“And I love this,” Lyric said, and indicated all of us.
Jamie groaned theatrically from behind us. “God, if this turns into a group hug, I’m setting fire to something.” Killian smacked him upside the head, Jamie grouched, Enzo snorted a laugh, and Robbie grinned.
This was ours. Messy, loud, imperfect.
Family.
THE END
