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PICTURE A CREAM-COLORED couch. Now visualize one brooding dark-haired sex machine (I’m assuming, but I have a strong feeling about this) sitting on one end and one golden being of near perfection on the other. Then there’s me, in the middle, literally squished between two yummy smelling men, and…I just want to escape. The pizzas have been demolished (I ate half of one myself) and now an awkward silence has descended. It doesn't help that I keep thinking of pornos and threesomes. I am honestly waiting for corny seventies music to start.
I was here first. I don’t feel like I should have to be the one to move. But I’m awfully uncomfortable. There are other places to sit in the room; a recliner even. Ya know, super comfy, so comfy you can recline. So one of them could move to that. I almost think they’re enjoying this. Like, they’re having fun at my expense because they know I think they’re hot.
Why did I blurt that out?
“So, what’s with the name Kennedy?” Blake wonders in his deep timbre that doesn’t really sound like Graham’s, but reminds me of him all the same.
I turn my head to the right, careful not to move any other body part, and meet his challenging gray eyes. He’s, like, two inches away. So close I can see green flecks in his eyes. I think he’s a little too amused by my predicament, if the upward curve of his mouth is anything to go by. One inky black eyebrow lifts as he waits.
“It’s my name.” I raise a single eyebrow back. I can do that too, the look says.
His smile deepens. “Yeah, but, what were your parents thinking? Kennedy? For a girl? And technically it’s a last name.”
My eyes narrow. Oh, so it’s to be like that, is it? “So is Blake,” I retort and give myself an imaginary pat on the back. “And Graham,” I add triumphantly.
“Leave me out of this,” Graham states from my left...
“Did your parents have a thing for the Kennedys?” Two eyebrows go up this time.
I get my mental pistols ready—it’s obvious there’s going to be a showdown. I straighten my spine. “What do you mean by a thing?”
My, totally in this moment one hundred and forty-nine percent resented, roommate groans.
He shrugs one broad shoulder. “You know. An infatuation. An unhealthy obsession. Fanaticism. A thing.”
“You really shouldn’t have started this,” Graham intercedes, leaning around me to give his brother a look.
My face is on fire and my hands are in tight fists in my lap. I stare at the television, which is on and no one’s paying attention to, and say very softly, “I’ll have you know, the Kennedys were, and are, an iconic family. I feel it an honor to be named after them.”
Blake grunts.
“Do you deny it?” I ask the TV.
“Nope. I just wondered about your family.”
I jerk my head around and give him a look full of venom. “We will not discuss my family.”
He holds his hands up in surrender, but there's a gleam in his eyes. What is wrong with this guy? “Easy there, Ken.”
I growl.
Graham sighs beside me.
“Don’t call me that,” I state through gritted teeth.
He looks over the top of my head. “Touchy, isn’t she?”
Graham’s head slumps against the back of the couch.
“So, Blake,” I begin in a sweet voice, “what’s up with you and red?” I go still, holding my breath. Did I really just say that? That was so not nice. I wait with anticipation and dread.
Graham stops moving on the other side of the couch.
Blake stares at me, his lips parted. Then he looks at his brother. “What’s she talking about?”
My about to be annihilated roomie makes a sound of dismay.
I twist around to glare at him. He looks like a young boy who just had his hand caught in the cookie jar; guilty and disappointed that his fun has been halted.
“Don’t say the word red, huh?” I jump to my feet and back away until both men are within my line of vision. “You know what?”
They both look at me, obviously not knowing what.
“This means war!
”
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