I want it again, his gaze said.

Heat swamped me.

Soon, mine said.

A small quirk of his brow. Sooner than later, honey. Count on it.

A sound of amusement ended our nonverbal eye communication, and I turned to find Brommy watching us with a sappy grin. “Just look at him.” Brommy gestured expansively with his enormous hands. “Eye fucking and smiling like a teen who felt his first tit—” A bread roll hit his forehead dead center.

Lucian lowered his brow and gave Brommy a warning look. “Shut it, or the next one will be in your mouth.”

Brommy laughed. “Just like the Oz of old.” He wiped an imaginary tear but then threw up his hands in peace when Lucian growled. “Okay, okay, I’m shutting it.”

I hid my smile by stabbing into my salad and taking a bite. Brommy was crude, but he wasn’t wrong; Lucian did look happy. I’d done that—I’d made him smile with his eyes, made him laugh with ease. After a series of personal dejections and setbacks, that I could experience this little bit of happiness with someone who’d also suffered felt like liquid sunlight flowing through my veins.

Tate had been chatting with Sal, not really noticing us as he showed her images of outfits he’d picked up on his recent shopping trip.

“You have to take me with you the next time you go out,” Tate demanded with a pout that I knew she practiced on unsuspecting men.

“Chica, we can go today if you want. Although I might have something for you already . . .” Sal flipped through his pictures. “Here.”

Tate took the phone and squealed at the picture. “Want!”

Brommy, who’d been clearly trying to get her attention since he’d arrived, leaned over and glanced at the phone. “You’d look beautiful in that.”

Tate glanced at him, and her red mouth quirked. “I’m not sleeping with you, so don’t even try.”

Brommy merely smiled. “I’d be disappointed if sleep was involved.”

Tate did a double take, then laughed, truly amused. And I knew she was hooked. Which amazed me, because her usual inclination would be to verbally eviscerate him.

“Good Lord,” I murmured to Lucian, dipping my head in close to his, mainly because he smelled good, and I wanted to be nearer. “That might have actually worked.”

“You have no idea.” His lips touched the shell of my ear and lingered. “Years, I had to witness this.”

My mind went a bit hazy at that touch, the proximity of him. And I pulled in a breath, looking up to meet his gaze. As always, his eyes had the ability to make me weak. Make me want.

His attention focused on my mouth, and the wide expanse of his chest hitched. “Why did we invite everyone here again?”

“Because they were blowing up our phones, and we were being good friends.”

“And we would have hunted you down eventually,” Brommy put in loudly.

“He has the hearing of a bat,” I whispered to Lucian, who chuckled.

“And the reflexes of a cat,” Brommy added.

Lucian’s hand whipped up and caught a bread roll midair. I yelped, jerking in my seat; he’d moved so fast. Lucian turned and gave Brommy a smug look. “Center beats cat.”

And for one brilliant moment, I saw the full force of Oz, the great and powerful player who’d ruled his sport. He shone with it, confidence and cockiness oozing from his pores, until it occurred to him that he no longer played center. The realization crashing over him was painfully clear, from the way his expression suddenly blanked out to the tension visibly stiffening his spine.

I hurt for him. Because the agony exposed in the brief moment spoke of a man who didn’t know who he was anymore. Unheeded and unwanted came the one piece of advice my mother had given me about men when I’d first started to notice them.

Don’t try to pick up the pieces of the broken ones. You’ll never be able to set them back to the way they were again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Emma

“You’re squeezing it too hard.”

“I am not. You’re just nitpicking.”

“It is not nitpicking when perfection is the goal. Hold it firmly; don’t try to wring the life out of it, or it’s going to splatter everywhere. And mind the tip.”

“I can’t believe you’re already criticizing my technique. I just started.”

“Snoop, you’ll never learn if you can’t take criticism.”

With a huff, I set down the pastry bag and wiped my forehead with my forearm. “Tell me again, How is this relaxing?”

Lucian’s white teeth flashed when he chuckled. He leaned a hip against the countertop and carefully tucked the strand of hair that had been tickling me back behind my ear. “I think one has to have a modicum of patience, honeybee.”

“Patience,” I muttered. “I haven’t strangled you yet, have I? Telling me I’m squeezing too hard.”

He grinned and dipped down to kiss my lips with affection. “In this case, yes. But if you want to give it a go on me—”