third book in the Evelyn Black series
• • mature - language, drugs, alcohol, sex • •
• slow slow-burn friends to lovers •
• soft burn romance •
[ all books listed in prologue via chronological order ]
George can't take the silence any longer, and he...
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She interrupts their brainstorming session.
Not entirely intentionally, either, but she's prepped to head out of the house and she told herself she wouldn't interrupt... but they've been locked in their room for nearly four hours. Not a peep has come from behind that crooked teak door.
"Hey," she peaks an ear in first, then her head. There's a great pile of products sprawled disorderedly on the floor between the twins. "Sorry to come through, but I'm..." Her eyes are caught in the clutter as she mindlessly rocks in through the doorway. "Bloody hell, what have you been doing in here?"
"Failing," Fred grumbles. His fingers tap incessantly at the leather book in his lap.
"Horridly so," George adds, lifting his head towards her. The second he has a clear look, his eyes sink into that familiarly warm admiration that makes Evelyn's stomach curl in gingerly on itself. He leans back in the armchair, reaching a hand out for her as his eyes shamelessly rake down her figure, fitted in a paisley blue dress. "And what are you all dressed up for, Pretty Witch?"
Fred pulls a face at the unfamiliar pet name, though he doesn't lift his eyes. "Blehh— veto."
"I veto your veto," Evelyn says, dropping down into George's lap— like it was fit for her. She pecks his cheek, a shy, gushy smile taking over her face. "Noted?"
"Noted," George confirms, tossing his handful of messy notes onto the ground beside his chair. They were irrelevant now, useless scraps of penmanship and things he could recall in an instant anyhow, because none of it was as important or fascinating as the girl he was looking at.
"Say, you wouldn't happen to have any more bright ideas in that brilliant little noggin, would you, Evie?" Fred asks.
She doesn't turn her eyes from George as she asks, "Haven't come up with a single new product today, have you?"
"Not even close," George admits evenly. "Who thought running out of ideas was even possible in the world of pranking?"
"Certainly not me," Fred muses.
"Nor me," George agrees.
"Nor I," Evelyn pipes in.
"We're really gonna have to start working overtime," Fred tells George.
"Well, you get him for two more hours," Evelyn says flatly. She finally peers from her boyfriend to her best friend, giving him an icy stare. "I want him back as soon as I get home."
Fred rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah— no need to pester me, Live-Wyre, you can have him for the night." He also discards his flimsy stack of parchment— though his land on the foot of his bed, just within his reach. "Where are you headed anyhow?"
"Birthday dinner with Mum," she says, "just the two of us."
George rolls the nylon-textured fabric of her dress between his fingers. "That's nice, darling."
