Page 16 of Too Sweet
“I found her inRave,” Nico says.
“And you thought you’ll escort her? Thanks. I’ll take it from here.”
Instead of retreating, Nico balls his hands into tight fists. “Where’s Cody?”
“Inside,” Colt huffs, raking his fingers through his dark curls, styled to the front and shorter on the sides. “He’s getting you a drink, Mia. I hope you’re wearing comfortable shoes because he wants to dance. I doubt he’ll let you rest tonight.”
Good. It’s been a while since we went out together. All three of them are great dancers. Colt has the best moves, Conor makes me dizzy when he twirls me around too fast, and Cody takes the longest to run out of steam.
“That’s exactly what I need tonight. I’ll go find him.” I turn to Nico with one more wave. It looks childish... no wonder he calls me a kid. I should stop doing that. “Thank you.”
“Don’t let her go in alone.” He glares past me at his brother. “Either you go with her, or I will.”
“I’ve got her, Nico.”
They stare each other down like it’s a game, and the first to avert his gaze loses.
Colt does.
Of course it’s Colt. Nico doesn’t back down.
His eyes are on me next, the intensity of his gaze heating my cheeks. “Be good, Mia,” he says, drawing out my name in a way that makes me wet with need.
Lord, I think he could talk me to an orgasm.
FIVE
Nico
THE SOUND OF THE PIANO greets me when I enter my house after a long day at work. It’s been over two weeks since someone touched that thing. And just like last time, the noise in my head fades into the background.
I don’t have to walk into the living room to know Mia’s there, playing “Painting Greys” by Emmit Fenn—one of the songs from my playlist.
I didn’t expect her to listen.
Leaving the keys on the side table, I cross the hallway far too eagerly. She looks obscenely cute in a pink pinafore dress and a long-sleeved top. No heels today, just snow-white sneakers. I make a mental note to ask Cody if his girl always looks like a little marshmallow.
Wrong visual. Marshmallows are food. Food is meant to be eaten, and fuck if eating Mia hasn’t crossed my mind a million times already.
“Hi,” she says without glancing backward. “Do you mind?”
I’m not sure how she knows it’s me. Whether she distinguishes my step from the triplets or if she smells my cologne.
“Not at all. Have at it.”
I pull my AirPod out and take a seat on the armrest of the couch, watching her play. She tilts her head, grazing her cheek over her shoulder. I don’t think it’s a nervous gesture. More like she’s seeking comfort. “Your brothers are getting ready, and I couldn’t help myself. I love this piano.”
It takes me by surprise, but there’s no denying it—I love when she plays this piano. She’s ridiculously talented. Even my mother can’t elicit such emotion from a simple melody. Each note Mia plays burrows its way under my skin.
“You can play here whenever you want.”
She slowly turns on the stool when the song ends, her fingers partly hidden under the long sleeves. Eyes green like freshly mowed grass stare into mine, forcing my heart’s rhythm into a higher gear.
I wonder if that’s what cartoonists imply when drawing characters’ hearts stretching a foot away from the body, stretching the skin to breaking point with each beat.
Every man has a type.
Blondes, brunettes, tall, short. After all, beauty is subjective. Just because I find a woman attractive doesn’t mean other men do. Take my brothers and me. Theo’s wife, Thalia, is my type by default—a tall, sharp-tongued, confident brunette, yet she doesn’t strike the right chord for me. Theo, on the other hand, looks at her like she’s a goddess incarnated.
