"... Uh," Devon inched into the room by a few steps, head swivelling from Ambrose and then to Viktor. "What did I walk into?"
Ambrose's mouth parted and closed repeatedly as he backed up from Viktor like he was the black death personified. "D–Devon. It's… It's really nothing. Viktor needed a new shirt after I got wine spilt on—"
"We kissed," the words made Ambrose's organs plummet all the way to his ass. He blinked, jaw tightened with disbelief as Viktor went on shamelessly. "I mean sure—we originally came here because I needed a new shirt. But honestly? There's been a lot of unspoken tension. Blurry lines that we've finally crossed."
Viktor's nonchalance didn't end there.
He reached for Ambrose's waist, tugging at him until they were staring into each other's eyes. "Isn't that right, little bird?"
Devon's stomach dropped.
He didn't want to believe it at first. He'd decided to rush here the second he finished freshening up. He'd already planned a special meal to prepare…
