“As you say,” Scottie deadpans. His gaze bores into me. “Well?”

A scattered stack of papers litters my lap. I rest my palm on their cool surface and sigh. “I’m calling him.”

From the kitchen, I hear a long groan.

“Fucking hell,” Brenna shouts. “If I have to keep coming back here, you’d better start making cookies!”

Chapter Thirteen

Killian

 

“I miss fucking.” With that little tidbit, Whip tosses a drumstick in the air, watches it twirl, and catches again.

“Not interested in helping you out there,” I say, lounging against the couch as I down a bottle of ice-cold water. I don’t tell him that I miss it too.

We’ve just finished an intense session, playing for a few hours. It felt good. Really good. Sweat slicks my skin, my blood is humming, and I’m keyed up. If Libby were here… But she isn’t. Scottie has to be at Libby’s by now. I shift in my seat, acid rising in my stomach.

“If you miss it so much,” Rye says from his perch on a speaker, “go out and fuck someone and spare us your whining.”

Whip gives him the finger while still tossing his drumstick. “Can’t. I’m traumatized.”

At this we all sit straighter.

“Holy shit,” Rye drawls. “Sir Fucks-a-lot has gone cold? Say it ain’t so.”

Whip shrugs, concentrating on his stick. “Ran into some gritty kitty. Put things in perspective.”

Rye and I shudder in sympathy.

“What the fuck is a gritty kitty?” Jax asks. He rarely talks now, but his brows raise in interest.

I wonder if that’s why Whip brought this up, because it isn’t like him to talk about personal stuff. And then I instantly resent the thought. We’re trying to get back to that place where we aren’t worrying about Jax and his moody ass—so different from the way he used to be—but it isn’t easy. It sits on us like a stone.

I’ve got to guess it sits on Jax too.

Whip spins in his seat, neatly catching the falling stick. “How can you not know about those kitties? I refuse to believe that you, Mr. Jax-in-any-hole, hasn’t encountered one.”

Jax’s lip curls, but his eyes are laughing. “Maybe because I don’t use juvenile-ass language, so I don’t know the term?”

We all snort at this.

“You shitting me?” I laugh. “You’re the asshole who got everyone calling me Manwingo for a year.”

“Manwingo!” Rye and Whip shout happily.

Jax almost smiles. “It was a compliment, chucklefuck.”

I raise a brow.

Jax reads it well. “Yeah, okay, point made. Still don’t know what gritty kitty is.”

Rye shudders, and Whip’s mouth puckers. “Dude, it’s pretty self-explanatory. I went down to feast on what looked like it would be a pretty sweet kitty and it was all—”

We groan, cutting him off.

Jax shakes his head. “Shit, that’s just wrong. I can’t believe I forgot that one.”

“It’s like he’s a born again cherry.” Rye laughs.

“It was so unsavory,” Whip goes on. “Realized I didn’t know this girl’s name or where the hell her pussy had been before. I got the fuck out of there. Figured enough was enough.”

“Just because you encountered some grit doesn’t mean you gotta quit.” Rye wags his brows.

“Your rhymes give me heartburn, man,” Whip says.

“Well, you’re depressing the fuck out of me,” Rye says as he stands and stretches his arms overheard. “Let’s get the hell out of here and go to a club. Find some premium, well-maintained kitty.”

When none of us say anything, he lets out a noise of disgust. “Come on. I swear, if you all start acting like old men, I’m going to kill my…” He trails off, going pale.

No one looks at Jax, but he laughs hollowly. “Word of advice: Stay away from OD-ing. Not as fun as it looks, man.”

Heavy silence falls over the room, and Jax lifts his head to look at us. His expression twists with a smirk. “Too soon?”

It will always be too soon for me. But I’m saved from answering when my phone rings.

The familiar tune of “Hotel Yorba” plays, and I’m not embarrassed to admit my heart stops. Libby. I roll off the couch, striding toward the door as I pull out my phone. “Gotta take this.” I might be running at this point.

Fuck. If she’s calling to say no, I might punch a wall. I go into the padded sound booth so no one can hear me.

“Libby,” I answer. Do I sound breathless? Shit, this girl has me acting like a preteen, and I don’t even care.

“You have some interesting communication skills,” she says by way of greeting.

I grin. Sending Scottie and Brenna to give her notes might be construed as juvenile and slightly corny, but there is some method to my madness. I knew it would either annoy her or throw her off guard before she could retreat behind her walls. I’m hoping for the latter. “I’d prefer talking face to face.”

She huffs, but it doesn’t sound angry. “I got that.”

“Don’t keep me in suspense, Elly May. I’m dying here.”

“And you think calling me Elly May is going to help your cause?”

“Liberty Bell,” I warn. Hell, I’m sweating. I lean against the wall. “Out with it, evil woman.”

A sigh, and then her voice goes soft and small. “I miss you too. So much.”

“You’re killing me, babe.” My eyes close. “You know what? I lied. If you don’t come to me, I’m coming to you. And I’m not leaving empty handed.”

“You’d forcibly haul me back with you?” she asks with a husky laugh.

“Yep. Might take you over my knee before I do, though.”

I’m not going to lie; my dick gets hard at the thought. It twitches when she laughs again.

“You like living dangerously.”

“You’d be well satisfied.” I smile but it’s weak. “Tell me, Libby. Tell me you’re on your way.”

She sighs. “You want me there to visit or to perform?”

I want her as my partner in all things. I know that now. But one issue at a time.