A feminine cough interrupted their fight. “I just, um, was wondering if you guys wanted to eat indoors or outdoors.”
“Indoors,” Bentley answered, and he had the decency to look ashamed at being caught talking about her like she was a piece of meat. “Thanks, Jane.”
Her smile was forced as she nodded and turned on her heel and left.
Chapter Nineteen
Jane pounded the chicken with the mallet over and over again, picturing Brock’s face with each whack.
Why was she so upset?
It wasn’t like he was wrong. She was the maid. It was her job, it was what she did, but he’d made her feel…low, dirty, like her job didn’t mean anything. Like by sleeping with her he’d be doing her a favor.
The arrogant prick!
Slam.
Pieces of chicken went flying.
Slam.
How dare he joke about sleeping with the maid?
Slam.
“Jane.” A warm hand cupped her shoulder. “You’re scaring Sheldon.”
She glanced up into Bentley’s emerald green eyes. “We have another dinner guest?”
“No, the donkey.”
“Fred?” She frowned.
Bentley’s expression mirrored her own. “Did you re-name my pet ass?”
“The list said his name was Fred.”
“What list?”
“The one on the fridge with all the names of the animals.” Jane pointed over her shoulder. “At least that’s what I assumed it was. Next to each animal is a name. Why else would it be there?”
Bentley pulled down the laminated piece of paper and burst out laughing. “My parents put these together.” He chuckled harder. “They’re approved of words to say instead of swearing. So if you want to say ass you say, ‘don’t be a Fred.’” He grinned. “Instead of saying suck my…” He grinned shamelessly. “You can say suck Mr. Feathers.”
Jane read the rest of the names—really read them. The list was like a kid’s glossary for saying naughty words.
“It all started when Brock learned the word ‘shit,’” Bentley said with amusement. “And things quickly went downhill from there. We turned it into a game, and well, now you know.”
Jane tried to keep herself from smiling at the thought of a young Brock strutting around the house screaming “shit” at the top of his lungs.
“He’s not always an ass, you know,” Bentley said in a gentle voice, his hand covering hers on the countertop.
“No?” Jane swallowed against a lump in her throat. “Just most the time, then?”
“He bought you shoes,” Bentley reminded her. “Really nice shoes.”
“Actually, you bought me shoes.”
“After he made me.” Bentley removed his hand and offered a wicked grin. “But hey, if you want to switch brothers I’m all for it.”
“Excuse me?” Jane sidestepped him to grab the butter out of the fridge.
Bentley laughed. “I’m kidding.”
Jane rolled her eyes.
“Sort of.” He shrugged. “Okay, so maybe like ten percent kidding? But apparently you only have eyes for the ass.”
“Fred?”
“Brock.”
“You understand how I’d be confused, though, right?” She teased while Bentley flashed her another one of those grins, the ones she was one hundred percent sure he practiced in front of the mirror.
“Need any help in here?” Something about the way Brant walked into the room was calculating, like every step he made was for a purpose he already had in mind, a plan. His smile was equally as charming and dangerous as his twin’s. “I thought I heard the words ‘ass’ and ‘shit’, so I figured either we were talking about Brock or we were talking about Brock.” His grin widened. “It’s one of my favorite things in the world—brother shaming.”
Bentley flipped him off.
“Not you.” Brant rolled his eyes.
Jane again tried to focus on the dinner. It was nearly impossible to have a solid thought in her brain when she had the twins talking and flirting with her.
She’d have to be either dead or insane not to notice how devastatingly handsome the men were. Charisma rolled off them in waves, but they weren’t intimidating.
Not like Brock.
His mere presence nearly stilled her breath and had her wishing for more time to look at him and just study his features—which sounded so lame in her head that she wanted to slam her palm against her own cheek.
He was a jackass.
A privileged jackass.
“What’s going on in here?” Brock’s low voice rumbled through the kitchen.
His dark wavy hair looked like he’d just spent the last five minutes running his hands through it: mussed and sexy. She had to avert her eyes before her thoughts went into dangerous territory.