The kitchen feels too small for the three of us.
Or maybe it’s just because I’m hyper-aware of absolutely everything — Dominic’s broad shoulders brushing mine when he moves to the stove, Dane’s fingertips ghosting down my back when he passes behind me to grab plates, the faint marks on both their necks that weren’t there yesterday.
Every time we make eye contact, someone looks away.
The air is warm from the stove, but the tension?
The tension is blistering.
Dominic pulls a pan onto the burner with a thunk. “Sit,” he orders without looking at me.
I raise a brow. “I can help.”
“You can sit,” he repeats, voice low and FINAL.
Dane snorts. “He’s still in caveman mode this morning.”
Dominic turns his head just enough to give him a death-glare.
“Say one more thing,” he warns.
Dane hold
