The Corner House: A Reverse Harem by Daisy Jane

Author:Daisy Jane [Jane, Daisy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Smeared Ink
Published: 2021-06-22T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

“Grandma shit on the kitchen floor last night,” Eli’s irritated tone traveled up the hall where I was padding my way to breakfast. When I reached the kitchen, all three men were there, each doing something domestic.

Bodhi was making coffee. I walked up behind him, letting my hand wander over his back, nails gently grating their way down. How would I ever be with a man not covered in a coat of muscle? I was getting used to the way it felt.

“I thought you were sleeping in?” I ask, smiling up at him. His man bun was still in from last night but he’d changed the ring from his nose into a little diamond stud. On my toes, I reached up and touched it, smiling at him. “I like it.”

“You like jewelry,” he responds quietly, lifting his brows up, nudging me. “And I wanted to sleep in but,” he throws a thumb over his shoulder in Eli’s direction. “Eli took Grandma for a run and he crapped everywhere, then came home and crapped on the floor.”

I wince. Bodhi leans in with a whisper and a wink, “he was upset we ventured from Grandma’s diet.”

When we turn around, Eli’s hands are on his hips and he is staring at Grandma, who is one second away from snail-trailing his ass across the floor.

“Grandma was accident free for a while.” He scratches at the back of his head before letting the dog into the back yard. “Did he eat something funny?”

Bodhi snorts while he dishes out three plates of eggs. Next to it is a plant-based yogurt parfait, with fresh berries and grain-free granola. “Did you make that?” I crinkle my nose, “it’s so fancy. I’m impressed.”

Eli stands a little taller from his side of the kitchen. “I made that for you, bro,” he says, walking to us to take the parfait. Handing it to Bodhi, he then takes the carafe of coffee from the counter.

“Just clean up Grandma’s poop and stop being dramatic,” Bastian retorts.

I bend down, meeting Eli on our knees over the stain. Tugging at the roll of paper towel hanging from underneath the cabinet, Bastian leans over us handing us extra.

We begin wiping and spraying, rinse and repeat.

“Thanks for keeping it down last night,” he says, not meeting my eyes when I look up to him. He smells good. Like soap and a hint of cologne and mint. Fresh teeth. “I only have a few times a year where I have these big upgrades.”

“Well, whatever the upgrades are, they sound important.” I smile, knowing my IT talk is cringeworthy. He smiles back and the air gets impossibly thick. Why can I taste his toothpaste just from breathing in his exhale? I can almost feel his lips on mine—

“Did you have fun last night?” his question is so low I can feel it vibrate against my lips. Before I can answer, Bastian interrupts.

“It’s good enough. I’ll use the machine later. Let’s eat.”

Yes, Bastian owns his own floor cleaning machine. It does tile, carpet and hardwood.

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