Valan Playboys by Scarlett Dawn Page B

it together at his hip. Undeniably just as delicious as Adam, his muscled torso rippling with every quickened breath he took.
    He froze, his gaze caught on us, our faces, then slid to my foster parents, intelligent dark eyes scanning them before he illuminated respectfully with a flicked finger at my room, “Mr. and Mrs. Manter, if you’ll give me a moment, I just need to get dressed.”
    His jaw clenched, Mr. Manter asked, “Aren’t your clothes in the bathroom?”
    Vance glanced into the bathroom, his lips thinning the barest bit before he turned his attention back to my foster dad, stating, “Apparently, the clothes I was wearing smell. I would like to put on a fresh set.”
    A quiet snort. “You brought spares?”
    Vance hesitated for only a moment. “Yes.”
    My foster dad stared. “How fortunate.” He jerked his head at my bedroom. “Get dressed and get downstairs in two minutes.” With that, he ushered Mrs. Manter, who had been staring at the wall, keeping her expression utterly blank, down the hallway and stairs, glancing back at me once with a warning glance to get my ass moving.
    Flicking his eyes at Vance, Adam muttered quietly, “Grab me a shirt while you’re in there.” Then he was herding me down the stairs where we followed them past their luggage by the front door, through the living room, while my foster parents’ eyes scanned every inch of their home. We stopped inside the kitchen, Mr. Manter turning on the lights, and both of their eyes snagged on the bottle of wine sitting on the bar and all the dishes—two wine glasses—in the sink. At least the bottle was still half full, which Mr. Manter did take a more thorough perusal of before he and his wife sat at the table.
    Adam pulled out a chair for me across from them, which I took, still moving stiffly while watching them warily. Adam sat calmly next to me, placing his hand on my thumping leg under table, running his thumb back and forth soothingly. No one spoke while Mr. Manter glanced between his watch and the entrance to the kitchen, obviously waiting impatiently for Vance to arrive. Vance did walk into the kitchen within the two minute time frame Mr. Manter had given. Casually walking across the kitchen, he tossed a cotton t-shirt to Adam before silently taking a seat on the other side of me, clasping his hands on top of the table. The three of us waited quietly, both men now wearing shirts covering smooth, tanned flesh.
    Mr. Manter evaluated each of them before his gaze skewered mine, his question simply asked, “Who are they?”
    Too bad it wasn’t so simple to answer. My mouth bobbed before I cleared my throat. Brows puckered, my cheeks flushed deep crimson. “They’re…uh…” Nibbling on my bottom lip, pretty sure this was what Adam and Vance had wanted to talk with me about, the next logical step without being too serious, it just spewed out, “They’re my boyfriends.” My flush encompassed the entirety of my face.
    Neither of my foster parents moved, just staring.
    I cleared my throat. “It’s an alternative type of thing.”
    Mrs. Manter’s posturing cracked. She leaned forward, crooking her elbows on the table to rest her mouth on her clasped fists. Her tone was a tad choked behind her hands when she voiced her questions. “Lana, honey, do you understand what you’re saying? What an alternative lifestyle is with three individuals?”
    The flush on my face was alive and well. “Yes.”
    Uncomfortable time ticked away, a sprinkling of perspiration damping my hands until Mr. Manter leaned forward, rubbing his forehead. From his face’s dipped position, Mr. Manter’s gaze held mine, his patience dwindling. “They’re older than you.” Not entirely a question, but it was.
    “I wasn’t persuaded into this.” I waved a slightly trembling hand. “It just,” more waving of my hand, “happened.” I placed my hand back on my lap. “And they are older. Even though they’re both twenty-five, I am eighteen. It’s