Page 94 of Filled

Brady spits beer back into his glass.

“Cruz,” Dante groans, dropping his forehead to the wood table.

Cruz shrugs. “What? It’s a milestone. We should mark it.”

“You’re disgusting,” Dakota says, but she’s biting the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.

“I’m observant. There’s a difference.”

Dakota shakes her head. “There isn’t. I stand by my previous declaration, you're a dick. And again… not a compliment.”

“Coach.” Cruz turns those bright blue eyes on me. “Tell her there’s a difference.”

“You’re disgusting,” I say.

“Et tu, Daddy.”

Dakota makes a sound somewhere between a wheeze and a laugh and hides her face against Cruz’s shoulder. Brady looks like he’s about to slide under the table and die.

“Cruz. I will end you,” I warn.

“Promises, promises.”

“I’m serious,” I deadpan.

“You’re a little serious. Eighty percent serious. There’s twenty percent that’s into me calling you Daddy and we all know it.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Brady, quiet, like he’s just figured something out: “He’s not wrong though.”

We all look at him.

“Not about. I mean.” His ears are red. He’s staring into his glass. “About this mattering. About wanting to protect it. What all five of us are building. I care about that. A lot.”

Dakota reaches across the table. Her fingers brush the back of Brady’s hand. Just that. He turns his hand over so they’re palm to palm for one second, then he pulls back.

“Yeah, angel,” Cruz says, and his voice has gone soft. “We all do.”

For once he doesn’t follow it with a joke. He just looks at Brady like he’s looking at something precious.

Then, because he’s Cruz: “Which brings me to my second point.”

“Oh god,” Dante says.

“Our girl’s been bred. Beautifully. Repeatedly. By all of us.”

“Cruz!” She admonishes.

“But.” He lifts a finger. “There are two tight asses at this table that have not been bred. By anyone. To my knowledge.”

Brady makes a strangled noise. Goes the color of a stop sign.

“Three, actually.” Cruz’s grin sharpens. He looks at Dakota. Slow. Deliberate. “Counting our girl’s.”

Dakota’s whole face goes red. She covers it with both hands.