I respected him, and there were very few people I could say that about.

I made it back downstairs in seventeen minutes, and everyone was waiting for me in the kitchen. Rigby and River were having a beer, and Huey was already strapped into his car seat. Nova was laughing at something Rigby was saying, her body leaning in close to his as she joked back. Their arms touched, his fingers brushed across her hip.

And jealousy was like a punch in the balls.

River was watching them from the other side of the island countertop, his eyes lingering on Rigby’s hand too. Feeling my eyes, he turned, and I saw the reflection of my own feelings in his expression. Envy. Jealousy, even.

Something had happened between Rigby and Nova, and it was fucking bad, bad news for us all. Even though it was what we’d wanted.

“Let’s go. We’re late.”

Nova stopped laughing at my tone, which was probably a little colder than I’d intended, but Rigby, that little fuck, just turned and smiled wider at me. “No worries, Dev. We’re just waiting on you. On both of you.”

River frowned. “I’ve been here the whole time.”

Rigby just shook his head, shooting me a crooked smile. I didn’t think he meant for the dinner party. I was pretty sure he meant something a little more serious. I didn’t want to think about what I couldn’t have, so I just scowled at him and strode toward the garage.

This day needed to be over already.

Chapter Eighteen

NOVA

Clint and Julieta Vanmussen lived on a huge estate, but it wasn’t flashy. A single-storey place, it had sprawling grounds, with everything from trampolines and swing sets to what I thought might be a half-pipe. The gardens were beautiful, and judging by the dirty, grass-covered boots by the front door, they actually did their own gardening.

There was the general commotion of children inside the house. Rigby was grinning as he rang the doorbell, and a huge man with a shock of white-blond hair answered it quickly. His smile was wide and straight as he took in our small group.

“Cooper, Engman! Hey, Dev. Good to see you, man,” he said, thrusting out his hand for a shake before his eyes settled on me. Then they softened. “You must be Nova. The boys speak highly of you. I’m Clint.” He put out a hand, and I shook it.

Clint must have been in his late thirties, and he was still a handsome man. Not as hot as the men I lived with, and maybe his attractiveness had nothing to do with his square jaw and everything to do with the warmth that came off him in waves.

“Thank you for inviting us to your home. The guys say great things about you too, when they aren’t cursing you out for being a taskmaster.”