A URL in blue hyperlinked text followed. Briefly, he remembered Dad folding their allowances into tiny squares. When you unfold this, remember that it takes very long to earn money, Dad had said two decades ago. Don’t buy something more expensive than you can pay for.
But you did just that, Dad. Some expenses, you can’t avoid.
Raph winced, tapped out of the message, and turned his phone face-down on the table. No sense in ruining his day—not when he’d been paying off his debt for years, and it wasn’t going away anytime soon. No sense in ruining Wyatt’s day, either.
Right now, he was sitting in Wyatt’s kitchen, sipping coffee, waiting for Wyatt to be done washing up. May as well admire the fridge magnets. Didn’t know Wy liked watermelon.
As he took another sip, Hazel stepped in, her hair untied, a large, loose shirt hanging from her shoulders. It was long enough to be a nightdress on her, maybe, except it had Ripping Omegas Rip Rap printed in bold across the front, the ink faded with wear.
“Your dad’s?” Raph asked, nodding at it.
Hazel grinned, turning around to show him the shirt. “Yeah. I like it. Dad says it’s full of holes, but he still has it in his closet. It’s so comfy!”
“He lets you steal his clothes?”
She wriggled. “Sometimes. I saw you leaving Dad’s room, so I went in and borrowed it.”
At least they hadn’t had sex last night—no incriminating musk in the room. Raph chuckled. Big wonders for little things.
“Think I can borrow one of your Dad’s shirts?” he asked.
Hazel turned toward the stove, folding her sleeves up. “I think so. There’s a few Dad always says he’ll toss, but he never does.”
“What am I tossing?” Wyatt stepped into the kitchen, running his fingers through his tousled hair. He had a loose tee on, too—except this was one of Raph’s, with a Jaguar logo emblazoned across the front.
Raph bit down his smile. “Your T-shirts. Looks like you and the princess have the same idea about stealing shirts.”
Wyatt glanced down at his shirt and shorts, then at Hazel’s. A slow, sly smile crept up his lips. “I was just borrowing this one. It mysteriously appeared in my closet.”
“Sure it did.” Raph rolled his eyes, grinning. Since he’d learned about the pregnancy, he’d been bringing spare sets of clothes over to Wyatt’s place, so he wouldn’t be wearing his work clothes through the weekend. He wore a fitted shirt and jeans now, but the tees were good for lounging around in at night. “I should grab one of yours.”
“Get the ones on the right side of the closet,” Hazel said. “Third shelf from the bottom. There’s tons of comfy shirts there!”
Wyatt smiled, shaking his head. “You’re telling Uncle Raph where all my best clothes are?”
“You’re as good as married, aren’t you?” Hazel dragged her high stool over to the stove.
And Wyatt blushed, a pretty shade of pink fanning across his cheeks. Raph remembered last night, when Wyatt had been in the tub, his cheekbones lit by the dim lamplight, his lashes gleaming against his skin. Raph had meant it when he’d said Wyatt was beautiful, had meant every word about caring for Wyatt’s children.
“Are we?” Wyatt murmured, glancing at Raph.
“If I have one of your shirts, I think we’ll be even. And married,” he answered.
Wyatt beamed, some of the exhaustion lifting from his face. The pregnancy was still taking its toll on him—the fatigue would go on for the next few weeks, Raph had read.
“You should be sleeping more,” he said. “You look beat.”
“Maybe. I just... You were gone from the bed.” Wyatt pressed his hand to his belly, glancing down. He was aware of the baby, much more than Raph was. And Raph wanted to hold him close, all over again.
Wyatt caught Hazel by the fridge, pulling her into a hug. “Morning, hon.”
“Morning, Dad.” Hazel leaned away, her face scrunching up. “Uncle Raph’s right. You look really tired.”
“I do?” Wyatt sighed. He kissed the top of her head and released her. “I’ll make breakfast, Hazel. You don’t have to.”
“I’ll cook,” Raph said, standing. “What do you want?”
“Uh-uh. I wanna make breakfast for everyone. I know I can.” Hazel dragged a step-stool over, climbing onto it to grab plates from the cabinet. So Raph took a mug, filling it half-full with coffee for Wyatt.
“I made coffee,” he said. “You should sit and rest.”
“I’m a chef, you guys.” Wyatt tried to shoo them off. “I shouldn’t be letting you do all the work.”
“You’re my omega,” Raph said, at the same time Hazel said, “You’re my dad, you need a break.”
Wyatt glanced between them, a quiet, awed smile spreading across his face. “You guys might be spoiling me, you know.”
Raph placed Wyatt’s coffee on the table, then sat down, pulling Wyatt onto his lap. “I’m here a couple days a week. If I want to spoil you, I have every right to.”
Wyatt sighed, leaning into his chest. “I guess one morning wouldn’t hurt.”
“That means I can make breakfast!” Hazel whooped, pulling open the egg carton.
They watched as Hazel cracked eggs into a big bowl, whisking them up with a fork. “I taught her to do that,” Wyatt murmured. “She’s really good at it.”
“You’ve never told me that before,” Hazel said.
Wyatt chuckled. And Raph dragged him closer, burying his face in Wyatt’s hair. This close, Wyatt smelled faintly like sweat, like magnolia and honey. He smelled like a pregnant omega—Raph’s.
And something possessive roared in Raph’s chest. I want to be your omega, Wyatt had said last night.
Raph kissed his shoulder, pressing the scent gland on his wrist to Wyatt’s knee.
When Wyatt didn’t protest, Raph dragged his wrist down Wyatt’s shin. Then up his other leg, and under his shirt, over his belly.
Wyatt’s breath caught. “What are you doing?” he whispered.
“Making you mine,” Raph whispered back, pressing his wrist to Wyatt’s jaw, dragging it down his
