by Kiki Howell
“This is so good,” she gushed, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “I can’t believe you made this from scratch.”
“I can’t believe I did either,” Jacob replied, tongue in cheek. “Kinda hard to cook anything out of just one pan.”
She pushed at his shoulder playfully.
“I have more than one pan! And that’s not what I meant. What I meant was, your parents don’t eat actual food, so where did you learn to cook?”
Jacob guffawed at that.
“Where have you been every time Nicholas inhales as many slices of pizza as the rest of us combined?”
He might have been exaggerating, but not by much. Rachel had a pretty laugh.
“Andrew taught me to cook,” he said, smiling, when she had calmed down.
Her fork scraped against the plate, gathering the last splatters of sauce.
“All right, where did he learn to cook, then? ‘Cause he certainly doesn’t eat with us.”
Jacob shrugged and stood, taking both empty plates to the sink.
“Trial and error, I guess. Sometimes more error than trial when I was a kid.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Rachel said, standing next to him by the sink and pushing him away with a bump of her hip. “You cooked for me, you don’t have to do the dishes on top of it.”
“Well, without my cooking there would be no dirty dishes,” he pointed out.
In the end, they washed the dishes together.
Chapter Seven
WHEN KIRSTEN LOOKED up from the notes she’d been taking while reading one of the office library’s oldest magic books, she was startled to realize it was almost nine. She pushed her chair away from her desk and tilted her head one way then the other, working out the kink in her neck. As though on cue, her stomach informed her that lunch had been a long time ago, and the salad she’d packed from home seemed less than enough in hindsight.
Stretching her arms over her head, she stood and went to open her office door. She’d closed it earlier when the sound of swords clashing in the training room had become too distracting. Now, the agency was dead silent, and Kirsten frowned as she stepped out. She peered into Andrew’s office, but it was dark and empty. The door to the training room was closed, and no sound came from there either. The lobby stood deserted as well, which maybe surprised Kirsten the most. At this hour on most days Jacob, Rachel, Vinnie and Nicholas shared take-out in the lobby.
Rachel would be out, of course, and come to think of it Kirsten hadn’t heard Jacob come back. Then again, she’d been lost in her reading. He might have come back without her noticing. Of course he must have come back. He’d left hours ago, and only to drive Rachel home.
Hadn’t he?
“Hello?” she called out toward the second floor, feeling oddly self-conscious. “Anyone home?”
After a few seconds, Nicholas appeared behind the banister. He had a mug in hand and looked down at her with a slightly bemused look.
“Hey, Kirsten. I thought you were gone.”
“Kinda lost track of time,” she replied. “Where’s everyone?”
“Andrew and Vinnie are out checking a vamp’s lair. What are you doing still here?”
“I was working,” she said, barely refraining to punctuate that statement with a ‘duh.’ A few years earlier, she’d have felt comfortable enough with Nicholas to say it. These days, not so much. He wasn’t exactly cold toward her, but ever since her return he had seemed to keep his distance—much like Jacob did. Or maybe it was only her imagination.
“Do you think there’s a chance for a demon attack tonight?” she asked.
Nicholas shrugged.
“Always hard to tell. Usually we’ve received the call by this time. Why do you ask? Plan to take the next one on your own?”
He brought the mug to his lips as he finished, but she still caught his smile. He thought the idea was amusing, did he? She crossed her arms.
“I am, yes,” she said coolly. “’I’ve got this new spell up my sleeve. Sunshine in a box. We’ll see if it burns the demons or blinds them or what.”
His eyebrows shot up and he looked rather impressed. Or maybe, she wanted him to be impressed and show it. That morning, Andrew had seemed interested, but not nearly enough, considering how much time and work she had spent developing this particular spell.
She was not to get praise or encouragements that day, however. Before Nicholas could add another word, the door opened behind her, and she turned just in time to watch Jacob walk in.
His smile could have lit the entire night sky and a wave of nostalgia crashed through Kirsten. How often had he smiled at her that way, sheer happiness radiating from him, love brightening his eyes? The smile however vanished in a blink when his gaze fell on her, immediately replaced by something she would have called guilt if they’d still been together. But they weren’t, and whatever he had done that day—all day long, with a young woman recovering from healing magic who had probably been hungry for a lot more than food—he had no reason to feel guilty toward Kirsten. And she had no reason to feel betrayed or angry or nostalgic.
Except, she did.
Her arms were already crossed; she’d have liked to drop them open, but instead they tightened of their own accord, as did her lips.
“Still here?” Jacob asked. He took a few more seconds than necessary to close the door, turning his back completely on her as he did—avoiding to look at her on purpose, no doubt. “I thought you’d be back home by now.”
She waited until he had turned toward her again before she replied in a tone that was colder than she meant it to be, “Well someone has to work in this agency and wait for demon calls to come in.”
He blinked very slowly.
“What?”
“Oh, your dad didn’t tell you?” she slapped her forehead in an overly dramatic gesture. “Of course not. You were gone all day, he couldn’t have told you. The next demon’s mine. And you’re tagging along as my bodyguard.”
The way his eyes widened was quite gratifying.
“Andrew—” he started, his voice suddenly higher.
“Will tell you that’s the plan,” she interrupted. “Although not tonight, obviously.” She started toward her office, not bothering to raise her voice as she continued since she knew he’d hear her. “I am on my way home, and you must be tired after your day off doing God only knows wh... what.”
She barely stopped herself from saying ‘God only knows who.’ She wasn’t that petty. Besides, she did know who. And damn it but it shouldn’t have hurt that much. She took a deep breath before coming out of her office again with her purse and jacket. Jacob hadn’t moved one inch, but his eyes had widened a little more. He watched her as though she had sprouted a second head, and it was all she could do not to snap at him. Instead, she forced herself to look up toward where Nicholas was still leaning against the banister, watching them with a peculiar look of interest as though they had been performers in a play.
“Good night, Nick,” she said, knowing full well that he hated for anyone other than Andrew to call him that.
She didn’t wait for him to complain and looked at Jacob. Smiling at him was the hardest thing she had done in quite some time. It felt as though she was doing little more than bare her teeth.
“Sweet dreams,” she told him, and walked to the door. She wished she’d worn heels, as thick and heavy as Rachel’s, maybe; it’d have made more of an impact when she stomped her feet. The door banging shut behind her, on the other hand, was very satisfying.
“WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT?”
Jacob’s question, addressed to the closed door, had been rhetorical, but Nicholas answered it with a chuckle.
“You’re the one who dated her. Shouldn’t you know?”
Memories rushed forward, but the familiar pain didn’t echo as strongly as usual. Shaking his head, Jacob shrugged out of his jacket and started up the staircase.
“That was a while ago,” he said. “She changed.”
Nicholas gave him a skeptical look but didn’t challenge that statement.
The truth was, if Jacob had been pressed to take a guess, he would have said Kirsten was jealous—but that made no sense. What would she be jealous about?
“You up for a bit of sparring?” he asked Nicholas as he stepped into the kitchen. He set his jacket on the back of a chair and helped himself to a glass of water.
“Sure,” Nicholas said, coming to the sink to rinse his mug. “But aren’t you having dinner first?”
“Already did at Rachel’s.”
He couldn’t suppress a smile when he said her name. He’d had a good time at her place. She’d enjoyed the lasagna he’d cooked for her for lunch, enough so that she had asked him to show her how to make it. After a second quick trip to the store while she took another nap, they’d spent the rest of the afternoon cooking together. He wasn’t sure she’d be able to cook lasagna on her own, she’d seemed rather hopeless in the kitchen, much to his amusement, but she had four single-serve portions in her freezer to enjoy later.
“And how is she?” Nicholas asked, one eyebrow raised. “I didn’t think you’d spend your entire day with her. What did you two do all day?”
It was all too clear what he thought they’d been doing. Jacob heaved a sigh.
“Mind out of the gutter, would you? I went to get her some groceries and showed her how to make lasagna. Nothing more.”
“Nothing more,” Nicholas repeated. He sounded—and looked—utterly unconvinced. “Right. And that’s why you keep smiling like you just got laid.”
Jacob’s cheeks were suddenly burning.
“Dad!”
“Come to think of it,” Nicholas continued, unabated, “you were smiling like that when you walked in. Bet Kirsten thought the same thing I did. That’d explain why she was so cranky.”
Was that the reason? Jacob couldn’t stop himself from frowning. Why would she care what he did with Rachel, or anyone else for that matter? Not that he had done anything. His nights had been all too lonely since she had broken up with him. Three years was a long time to be single and celibate, but Jacob didn’t have time to look for potential dates.
But no, Nicholas had to be wrong. Of course she didn’t care if Jacob saw anyone. They were friends. Coworkers. Nothing more than that, now.
“Well if that’s what she thought she’s as wrong as you are,” he said, pushing away his confusion with a shake of his head. “But even if it was true, it’d be none of your business, and none of hers either. Now, are we sparring or what?”
Nicholas stopped asking silly questions or taking even sillier guesses and led the way down to the training room. As they stepped down the staircase, Jacob could already feel his shoulders loosen up, his breathing settle in a deeper pattern as he put that nonsense behind him. He’d had a nice day with a friend. Wasn’t he allowed to have one of those?
In the foyer, he pulled two swords from the weapons cabinet—real swords. Nicholas took one without a word and they entered the training room together. Jacob kicked off his shoes and socks, flexing his toes on the training mat. Nicholas was barefoot as well. They fell into position, Nicholas inclined his head, and Jacob launched the first attack.
Attacks and parries, ducking, slashing, rolling—this wasn’t much different from the games they had played, so long ago, with foam swords, both of them pirates battling over imaginary treasures. It brought Jacob back to simpler times, before he’d discovered that girls had the power to break his heart with no more than words.
Sometimes, he wished things were still as easy as they had been back then—and today, they had been. Rachel had made no demand of him, nor had she expected anything. She’d accepted his help along with his teasing, and she’d teased him in return, telling him he should have become a chef rather a fighter.
“Aren’t you going to make the alien pirate voice?” Jacob suddenly asked Nicholas, barely holding a chuckle at bay.
Their swords were pressed together, blades sliding against each other as they both tried to push the other one away. Nicholas used to hold back when they sparred; he didn’t need to anymore, not even when they fought with real blades rather than training swords.
“You’re a bit old for the pirate voice, aren’t you?”
The question didn’t come from Nicholas; instead, it was offered by Andrew. Standing by the doorway, he watched them spar, his expression as stern as it had been, so many years earlier, when he’d first found them playing with swords. He was quick to voice the reason for his displeasure.
“Honestly, do you have to spar with real swords? We take risks every night—”
“Not tonight,” Jacob cut in. “No demon tonight. So we have to make sure we don’t lose our edge.”
On the last word, he pulled back as though Nicholas had taken over, but quickly struck back, this time angling his sword almost horizontally so it crossed Nicholas’ at a right angle.
“Right, one night off is going to—oh for crying—”
That last part came with a rush of fear, and Andrew stepped forward into the room as though to stop them. Too late: Nicholas was on his ass, a stunned look on his face; his sword lay on the floor out of reach of his hand. Jacob struggled not to bounce on the balls of his feet, but he couldn’t contain a burst of laughter.
“Training swords,” Andrew said in a strong voice as he came to them and offered his hand to Nicholas. “Please.”
“Only if you join us,” Jacob countered, barely able to contain his eagerness. “Two against one? I want to see how long I’d last.”
Andrew and Nicholas didn’t look anything alike. Andrew was bulkier, his shoulders wider, giving an impression of quiet strength even when he wasn’t moving. At his side, Nicholas was leaner, though no less strong. Their features were different as well, Andrew’s chin and jaw line softened by a short goatee while Nicholas’ face was more angular. Nicholas’ hair, for once left to its natural color, was a dark honey shade, while Andrew’s was darker still. At that moment, though, as they watched Jacob with the same light frown and questioning eyes, they’d rarely looked more similar.
“How long you’d last?” Andrew said, his words rumbling like a growl. “You mean how long before you’d get hurt.”
Grinning, Jacob shook his head and picked up Nicholas’ sword. He brought it and his own to the bench against the wall, coming back with three training swords instead.
“Come on,” he insisted with his best smile, the one Andrew had rarely been able to resist when Jacob had been a child. “Just for a little while. We’ll stop at the first true strike. Please?”
With excitement and energy thrumming through him, he held his breath while his fathers shared a wordless look. Nicholas was first to reach for the weapon Jacob was holding out to him. Andrew did the same only a second later.
Chapter Eight
SMUGNESS WAS NOT a particularly good look on Andrew, and that night Nicholas told him as much, using colorful language that only caused Andrew to look more satisfied with himself, if that was even possible.
“Did you see him tonight? I haven’t seen him that happy in...”
Andrew pulled his undershirt over his head. When he dropped it in the laundry basket, his brow was furrowed in thought.
“I can’t even remember when I last saw him this happy,” he finally said, joining Nicholas in bed, his hand already sliding under the sheet.
“It’s all going to blow up in your face,” Nicholas warned.
Andrew raised an eyebrow at him and grinned.
“What’s gonna blow up? This?”
His fingers curled around Nicholas’ cock and squeezed lightly. Of their own accord, Nicholas’ hips pushed up into Andrew’s touch. He forced himself to still and batted Andrew’s hand away.
“You think it’s funny now,” he said, annoyed. “The kid had a nice day. Great. That doesn’t mean he’s over her. And if you’d seen the look on her face when he came back from Rachel’s, you’d—”
Andrew cut him off
with a kiss that was more teeth than tongue.
“How about we stop talking about him for a while?” Andrew said when he pulled away, the same grin tugging at his lips.
As convinced as he was that Jacob’s life was about to get more complicated, Nicholas could admit that talking about it right then wouldn’t help a thing. Actually, there probably wasn’t much that he or Andrew could do that might help the situation. Jacob would have to solve this one for himself.
“Less talking,” Nicholas agreed, sliding closer to Andrew. “More fucking.”
In his experience, that had always been a good plan.
ANDREW CHUCKLED QUIETLY before pressing another kiss to Nicholas’ mouth. He had no doubt that they’d talk about it all some more, but in a little while. For now...
Only seconds ago, Nicholas had batted Andrew’s hand away from his cock. When Andrew reached for it again, Nicholas didn’t protest, far from it, and instead he canted his hips toward Andrew so that the tips of their cocks brushed together, already slick and slippery.
Nipping at Nicholas’ lips, Andrew broke the kiss.
“You might have to do all the work tonight,” he murmured in as coy a voice as he could manage. Tightening his grip on Nicholas’ cock, he watched his eyelids flutter over gold-rimmed eyes. “That stupid vampire sent me crashing into a wall, almost dislocated my shoulder.”
Nicholas’ eyes flew open at once, pleasure replaced by worry.
“What? Why didn’t you say anything? And you let the kid talk you into sparring with—”
Andrew shut him up with another kiss, this one flavored with his blood as he quickly cut his tongue on his own fangs. Nicholas, however, didn’t let himself be distracted that easily. He sucked on Andrew’s tongue for a few seconds, just long enough for the cut to heal and stop bleeding, then pulled back to give Andrew a serious look.
“How bad do you hurt?” he asked. “Honestly, sometimes you’re worse than he is. Like it’d kill you to admit you’re in pain.”
With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, Andrew released Nicholas’ cock and moved back. All he’d wanted was to get taken care of, for once. Not to be fussed over. Was it too much to ask?
