Page 157 of Pucking Them
I enjoy feeling this close to D’Angelo. I edge even closer until our warm thighs are touching.
“That ship sailed last night.” I lean over and take a sip of the drink; it’s sweet and refreshingly herbal. “It’s not as good as a beer. But that’s okay.”
D’Angelo smiles but he’s hiding a wince.
Did he hit his head when he fell to the marble floor last night? Or is he suffering from headaches? What is going on with him?
Does he understand how much I freaked out when heblacked out?
How much we all did. Well, apart from my brother, of course.
Eden was the one who took control, calling for Michael.
D’Angelo was only unconscious for a couple of seconds, but it felt like minutes. Hours.A bloody eternity.
My heart stopped, and until D’Angelo started breathing again, I thought that it would never start again.
If I lost this man, my captain and Sir, how could I survive?
Continue alone?
Eden doesn’t think how I feel is healthy. He is trying to encourage me to keep up my hobbies away from Robyn and D’Angelo like my running, bike rides, and astronomy. I never thought that it would be my twin encouraging me to have friendships with people like Everett to stop myself from becoming dependent.
But I’m not the same as Eden.
I feel like part of my soul belongs to D’Angelo and Robyn. I don’t want to be independent from them in the way that Eden is.
Will my brother understand this need?
Possibly, it’s dangerous. An obsession. A trauma response.
But if it’s what makes me feel fulfilled and safe for the first time in my life, should I deny it?
I glance at D’Angelo.
I love that he is only wearing a crisp white shirt and navy trousers, which is informal for him. I’ve matched his vibe with a long-sleeved scarlet shirt and black jeans.
This bar is a second home to D’Angelo. I want to know more about it.
Would he trust me to help him run his businesses?
I know that I’m dumb.
I wouldn’t be any good at the books; Eden could help him better. But I worked as a server at plenty of events for the elite. I want to take some of the pressure off D’Angelo’s shoulders like a full partner would.
Does he want that?
The bar is opulent. It also has an edge of kinky with red velvet stools and booths circling a dance floor with poles and cages. I should have known that it was owned by D’Angelo.
The walls are floor to ceiling mirrors. Chandeliers drip like shards of glittering ice. The far wall is a long obsidian counter, which is stocked with expensive bottles of alcohol. Bartenders in smart uniforms busy themselves behind the counter.
A glossy grand piano stands in the corner.
It’s too early for the bar to have opened yet. It’s empty of customers, apart from us.
D’Angelo takes a drink and then grimaces. “Peaches.”
“I thought that you likedmypeach.”
