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Question,” I announce as Tuck wanders into the kitchen. “Answer,” he replies instantly. “I haven’t asked the question yet, asshole.” Grinning, he washes his hands at the sink and then ties a neon pink apron around his waist. Logan, Dean and I gave him the frilly monstrosity as a joke for his birthday, on the argument that if he was going to be our mother hen, he might as well look the part. Tucker countered by insisting he’s masculine enough to pull off any item of clothing we throw his way, and now he wears the damn thing like a badge of macho honor.
