Page 58 of Beautiful Sin
“No,” Colt agreed, his precise movements becoming almost militant as he arranged his napkin. “Because that would require you to actually have one.”
“Some might say,” Wei mused, “that your dedication to certain… domestic duties is preventing you from finding real happiness.”
The double meaning hung in the air like smoke.
“I am happy,” Jaxson insisted, even as last night’s memories threatened to drown him—Lan’s fingers clutching his shoulders, those perfect lips parting on a gasp, the way he’d trembled and whispered Jaxson’s name like it was sacred.
“Are you?” Xander’s question was soft but pointed. “Or are you just hiding behind your big brother routine?”
“The routine that seems to apply exclusively to one particular brother,” Colt added, his coffee cup hitting the saucer.
A thunderous cascade of footsteps and laughter erupted from the hallway. Nico’s friends—Chris, Ben, and Josh—tumbled into view, looking like they’d been through a war zone. Their clotheswere rumpled, hair wild, and eyes bright with the manic energy that came from pulling an all-nighter.
“Morning, everyone!” Chris called out, attempting to hop into his sneaker while simultaneously zipping his backpack. The laws of physics seemed to object to this plan.
“Late again?” Jaxson asked, grateful for the interruption. He eyed their disheveled state with knowing amusement. “How many rounds of that new game did you manage?”
“Lost count after midnight,” Ben explained, wrestling with a textbook that clearly had no intention of fitting into his overstuffed bag. “But Nico swears he was just one boss fight away from?—”
“Which turned into five boss fights,” Josh cut in with a grin.
“Coffee before you dash off to certain doom?” Jaxson offered, but Wei made a sound like someone had suggested using instant coffee in his presence.
“My precious beans are for family only,” Wei declared, cradling the coffee pot like it contained liquid diamonds. “I don’t share my artisanal roast with heathens who wouldn’t know a French press from a French fry.”
“Your loss.” Josh laughed, already backing toward the door. “But man, that smell is torture. Nico, if we survive Coach’s wrath, rematch tonight?”
“If he survives breakfast,” Xander quipped, eyeing the doorway where Nico had yet to appear.
As if summoned by the mention of food, Nico shuffled in looking like he’d lost a fight with his pillow. His basketball shorts hung low on his hips, his tank top was twisted sideways, and his ash-blond hair seemed to be attempting an artistic interpretation of chaos theory. He collapsed into a chair with all the grace of a tranquilized giraffe.
“I’m dead,” he announced to the table. “Tell my PlayStation I loved her.”
Colt carefully adjusted his coaster before setting his mug down again. “Dramatic as ever, I see.”
“You try fighting the Shadow Lord of Eternal Darkness for six hours straight,” Nico mumbled into the wooden surface.
“Is that what the kids are calling procrastination these days?” Wei mused, already moving to the stove. “Well, the dead still need to eat. Who wants the first round of eggs?”
“Me,” came Nico’s muffled reply. “And toast. And bacon. And maybe my soul back.”
“Souls aren’t on the menu,” Wei declared, cracking eggs with theatrical flair. “But I suppose I can manage a feast for our fallen gaming warrior.”
Xander stretched in his chair, his own coffee finally starting to kick in. “Better make enough for an army. You know how these breakfasts go.”
“Ah yes,” Wei’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he glanced at Jaxson. “Some of us work up quite an appetite during our… late-night activities.”
Colt’s knuckles went white around his mug, while Xander’s casual sprawl suddenly looked more calculated than careless. Jaxson ignored them both, his mind drifting back to the boy still sleeping in his bed. He wondered if Lan would wake up sore from their activities, if his lips would still be swollen from Jaxson’s kisses. The thought sent a wave of possessive satisfaction through him.
The kitchen settled into a symphony of domestic sounds—eggs sizzling, toast popping, coffee brewing. The aroma of Wei’s cooking began to work its magic, even managing to coax Nico’s head off the table.
“I still say your cooking is wasted on us,” Xander commented, watching Wei orchestrate his culinary performance. “You could be running your own restaurant instead of feeding this bunch of?—”
“If you say ‘heathens’ again,” Colt interrupted, “I’m telling Wei about that time you used his precious coffee maker to heat up instant ramen.”
Xander’s face drained of color. “You swore never to mention that.”
“That was YOU?” Wei spun around, spatula raised like a weapon. “I KNEW I tasted MSG in my morning brew that week!”
