The three of us go through the bar, turnin’ lights off and lockin’ up, and by the time we shuffle out the door, my stomach lets out a growl. Both of them look over their shoulders at the sound while Alder wards the bar.
“You got a bear in there?” Flint teases.
“It’s not polite to tease a lady about her appetite,” I say with a pointed look.
Flint snickers and tips his head. “Pardon me, Peaches.”
“Yeah, don’t tease Medley about how much she constantly eats,” Alder puts in with a grin as he steps off the bar’s porch. I try to stomp on his foot as soon as he’s within range, but the bastard dodges me before I can make contact. Too bad. I’m wearin’ brand new cowboy boots tonight.
I turn and start to lead the way toward their house. The path has become so familiar to me over the past two weeks that I could make this trek with my eyes closed. Constantly walkin’ up and down the hill has done wonders for my thighs and ass though, a fact that I’m showcasin’ with the black leather skirt I’m wearin’ tonight. I’ve seen Flint’s and Alder’s eyes draw to my legs more than once this shift.
“I’m not gonna apologize for enjoyin’ a hearty meal,” I toss over my shoulder as I reach up and yank out my hair tie. My long locks come tumblin’ down, and I shake them out strategically like I’m Rapunzel lettin’ down my hair, just hopin’ some demons will crawl up it. I add a little extra sashay to my ass as we walk up the hill, knowin’ their eyes are zeroed in on me.
I know. Temptin’ demons is probably a terrible, horrible, no good idea. But I’ve been with Flint and Alder constantly for days and days, and it’s as though my lust has been fermentin’ in a tub like moonshine and I’m ready for it to be bottled up and drunk down so we can get on with the bad decisions that feel so good.
The three of us are playin’ with fire, flirtin’ and snatchin’ our hands back before we can get burned. But I’m inchin’ closer and closer to the flame these days. I chalk it up to bein’ a demon.
The guys are quiet as we walk to their house, and I enjoy the rare cool breeze that’s blowin’ in the Georgia night air. I thought it was gonna be strange to live with the two of them for the time bein’, but just like everythin’ else that has to do with them, it was as easy as breathin’.
Oddly, it was a rather natural and smooth transition. Daddy was sour about it at first, and he still goes to check on Todd every day with Flint, but for the most part, Mama and Daddy have settled in nicely. Thankfully, it wasn’t tight quarters or too much of an adjustment, since the guys have plenty of room in their five-bedroom house, and they keep very busy, so really, they’re only home when they sleep.
We reach the hedges that add to the privacy around their ranch-style house, and my stomach grumbles loudly again.
Alder and Flint both chuckle behind me. Yep, behind me. They stayed back there the entire walk. I can’t help but feel a bit smug about that. This skirt and boots combo must be workin’ even better than I thought.
As soon as we walk through the front door, I frown at all the lights that are still on. Normally at this time of night, everythin’ is dark and quiet.
But tonight, this house is neither of those things.
Loud clangs are comin’ down the hall, and my mama’s voice can be heard clear as day.
“What the hell…?” I ask, but the guys look just as surprised as me.
The three of us walk down the hallway, but the guys run into my back when I stop, hands on either side of the doorframe, as I look inside the kitchen.
“Mama, what in the world are you doin’?” I ask incredulously.
The once clear and clean modern kitchen is now overrun. Mama is standin’ between the island and the chef-sized stove, her eyes watchin’ over the four imps that are clearly operatin’ under her direction.
“Oh, HB, you’re home,” Mama says with a smile. Her bright red hair is even frizzier than usual, which is probably from the steam comin’ from the stovetop where all six burners are currently goin’.
I step inside the kitchen, my eyes bouncin’ from place to place. Every inch of countertop space is covered in ingredients and kitchen utensils.
“You keep on stirrin’ those grits,” Mama orders one of the imps, who looks like he has toothpicks for hair, while she checks one of the other pots and nods approvingly before closin’ the lid. “And those chicken legs ain’t gonna dredge themselves. Don’t be shy with the buttermilk and flour. We want that fried chicken nice and crispy,” she tells the imp with four noses.
I watch as the imp starts slatherin’ the chicken in the mixture before poppin’ them in a fryer. I didn’t even know Flint and Alder had a fryer. Then again, they probably didn’t. Mama clearly has influenced this kitchen more than I realized.
“You need to cut more potatoes than that. Can’t be potato salad if it ain’t got any potatoes in it,” she tells the shorter imp who’s currently standin’ on a stool at the island, while another one is busy hunched over what looks to be a pie mixture.
“Mama.”
She finally deigns to look up longer than two seconds. “What?” she asks, wipin’ her hands on her bright yellow apron.
“It’s two in the mornin’. What are you doin’ up?”
“Well, these poor things tried to serve us cold cuts for dinner, Medley,” she says, as if that’s reason enough why she’s completely taken over the kitchen and is barkin’ orders at the imps like a drill sergeant. It smells divine in
