Sharing Hannah - A Reverse Harem Romance

by Krista Wolf

  Eleven

  BROOKE

  It took me ten minutes to search out the number. I hadn’t dialed it in half a year. I’d deleted from my phone months ago, after a thousand unwanted phone calls and unanswered text messages.

  “Hey baby,” the voice came through, smooth as a midnight DJ. “I knew you’d call…”

  My nose wrinkled. I wanted to reach right through the phone and strangle him.

  “Chris?”

  “Yes honey?”

  “There was a black rose taped to my front door.”

  I thought I could hear him chuckle. “It’s not black, it’s only dead. Technically it’s more like dark red. With a little bit of—”

  “CHRIS!”

  “What?”

  “Why was there a DEAD ROSE taped to my front fucking door!”

  He paused as he usually did, whenever I seriously yelled at him. At first I thought it was a natural recoil. Later on, I’d realize it was only a ploy for sympathy. A way to get me to calm down.

  “It’s not just a dead rose,” he said defensively. “It’s a special rose.”

  “A what?”

  “It’s not any rose…” he went on. “It’s one of the first dozen roses I ever gave you.”

  I jerked my head back, as if the answer were a bullet to the head. I still didn’t understand.

  “The first dozen roses you—”

  “Remember when we first started dating? And I brought you a dozen red—”

  “Yeah, yeah. So what?”

  “Well you threw them out,” he said matter-of-factly. “And when you weren’t looking, I swiped them out of the garbage and saved them. I took them home and hung them upside down. You know, to keep them preserved.”

  His voice contained a measure of pride now. Like he’d accomplished some secret mission long ago, and were only now able to tell me about it.

  “And why the FUCK would you take them out of the—”

  “Because I knew you’d eventually want them.”

  He punctuated the statement with a little laugh, as if I were being irrationally silly. “C’mon Brooke, even you have to admit it’s a little romantic. And hey, save that one. I still have the other eleven, and I wouldn’t want—”

  “CHRIS!” I screamed. “You can’t just—”

  “How come you didn’t come home last night?”

  His words sent a cold shiver though my exhausted body. For the next few seconds, I was deadly silent.

  “Baby? Still there?”

  I didn’t answer. Not right away.

  “I was in the neighborhood,” he continued by way of explanation, “so I dipped into our apartment complex. I saw that your car was gone — pretty late, mind you — and I got sorta worried.”

  “W—Worried?”

  “Yes, Brooke. Worried. It was way too late for you to be out on your own. It’s just asking for trouble. Inviting all kinds of—”

  “And what makes you think I was out alone?”

  I couldn’t believe I was answering to him, but there it was. In my defense I was half-stunned, half frightened. And totally, utterly tired.

  “I just assumed,” he said quickly, without missing a beat. “Your two best friends are away on vacation. And you know, with Charlotte at her sister’s bridal party, I just figured…”

  Whatever else he said fell on entirely deaf ears. I was too far gone, too numb to the same kinds of control freak bullshit he’d been pulling ever since we broke up. And especially, while we were still together.

  “What time were you at my apartment?”

  The question was met with another pause, this time so he could figure out the ‘right answer’. There was no right answer of course, but that never stopped someone like Chris.

  “Semi-early,” was all he said. “Wee hours of the morning, maybe.”

  “But late enough to know I didn’t come home…”

  More silence. For some reason, this time, the silence was really bothering me.

  “Chris, I… I just don’t know what to say.”

  “Then say thanks,” he declared merrily. “Saving that rose, all this time? That was thoughtful. Sweet.”

  “It’s not sweet Chris. It’s scary.”

  He laughed again, this time more dismissively. “Yeah, okay.”

  “No really, it’s totally fucking frightening.”

  I heard it through the phone; the tiny gasp he gave when he was usually offended. Most times he was pretending. This time, I wasn’t so sure.

  “Stay away from my apartment,” I warned. “It’s not your place anymore. You’re not welcome here.”

  The entire conversation had taken place with me standing in my kitchen. I stared down at the garbage, where the dried rose sat on top of a pile of old magazines I’d thrown out. Very much like our relationship.

  “Did you hear me?”

  He still didn’t answer. I could hear him breathing though. Sitting quietly, on the other end of the line.

  “Chris? Chris, I—”

  “I’m just looking out for you, Brooke,” he said, in wounded tones. “Making sure you don’t get hurt.”

  In the span of the last minute, his whole voice had changed. It was more tense now, more strained. Like a bad cross between manic and nervous.

  “Someone sure has to,” he said, before abruptly hanging up.

  Twelve

  BROOKE

  I slept until well into the afternoon. It was something I never did, but somehow it happened. I woke up refreshed and recharged and totally guilt-free. Both from the events of last night, and for shirking the note-taking duties I’d been sorely neglecting.

  The first thing I did was grab my marbled notebook and start writing. A stream of thoughts, notes, memories and feelings poured out randomly across the paper. I let them go, jotting down everything I could remember about last night. Every gut instinct, every high and low. All the physical and emotional aspects of what I’d done, including how much I’d loved it, how I just couldn’t seem to get enough.

  For a good twenty minutes my brain flowed like a faucet, splashing onto the thread-bound, standard-ruled pages. When it was finally empty I sat back and read it over. First once, then twice, before I started piecing things together.

  It wasn’t the fastest way to outline an article, but it was how my mind worked. I called it the ‘vomit’ method, because I generally threw everything up at once. Once I could look down and see everything, I went back and picked out the bits and pieces I wanted, then transferred them to my computer.

  An hour and a half later, I came to two realizations. One, that I’d be writing a good portion of the article from the not-so-fictitious perspective of “Hannah”, a single girl involved with three amazing men. I’d share her feelings and her experiences. Her deepest and darkest secrets, as well as those of her simultaneous boyfriends, and their poly lifestyle.

  The other thing I realized, was that I knew virtually nothing about Hannah’s boyfriends.

  At all.

  Shit.

  In all the fun of my triple date, I’d barely asked any questions. I knew that Adam was in construction. That Dante worked in finance. That Trey was still on Cornell’s campus, working toward his Masters in Engineering.

  And that’s pretty much it.

  If I was going to dig deeper into Hannah’s lifestyle, I needed to know more. I needed to find out how these guys came together. What made them tick. I had to know more about exactly what they got out of sharing a woman between them, when it was blatantly obvious any one of them should have tons of women tripping over each other for a chance to be their girlfriends.

  In other words, I needed another date.

  Yeah… riiiiight.

  I could hear my inner voice laughing already. Telling me what I already knew: that I had some very ulterior motives for wanting to see the guys again.

  And that was putting it mildly.

  “Fuck it,” I said at last, flipping my pencil away. “After last night, does it really matter?�
��

  I supposed it didn’t. I’d already gone all in. Laid my cards on the table, so to speak, and pushed in my chips. There was nothing much to hold back.

  Besides, I had fun last night. Both in the bedroom and out. The guys were every bit as funny and laid back as their profile said they were, and the whole date had been effortless and natural. It wasn’t something I’d expected; to have such a great time. To be charmed and enthralled with them, rather than overwhelmed.

  I’d expected three overeager guys chomping at the bit. Dropping the usual innuendo you got from some of the creeps on more traditional dating sites. And since there were three of them, I’d figured it would be three times worse.

  Instead I’d been pleasantly surprised. Attracted to all three of their personalities, their wit, their cute little mannerisms. And of course, their looks. My God… their looks!

  And let’s not forget their abilities…

  I fell back on the bed again, returning mentally to last night. I’d taken everything they’d given me, from every angle. Hell, I’d welcomed and relished it… even when I was being woken in the dead of night by a warm, probing knee, gently nudging my thighs apart.

  I was tempted to drag my hands over my body. Give myself just a hint of the physical pleasure I’d experienced last night…

  But there was too much to do. Too many errands to run. It was Saturday, one of the days I hit the gym, went shopping, and took care of all my extraneous shit.

  And it was already very late.

  I grabbed my phone again, to check for messages from the guys. So far nothing. They’d certainly call — I was pretty sure of that much. But maybe they were wisely giving me some space. Following one of their ‘rules’ when it came to this sort of thing, if such a scenario could really be governed by rules in the first place.

  I thought about these things as I straightened up, got dressed, and headed out. I stopped at the kitchen. Pocketed my keys, and went to grab the garbage…

  Fuck.

  Chris’s rose was there, sitting atop the trash. Staring back at me with its dead, dessicated leaves… like a big middle finger interrupting the rest of my day.

  On a whim I picked it up and snapped the stem in half.

  Thirteen

  BROOKE

  It was Sunday night when the first text came. I was relaxing on the couch with the phone on my stomach. Watching something stupid on television, while debating whether or not I should contact the guys first.

  You did say ‘call me’ though.

  It was the only thing stopping me. Normally I wouldn’t hesitate to make the first move, but in this case…

  BZZZZZT!

  The vibration startled me, even though I should’ve been expecting it. It was another message, from Adam’s number:

  Hello Sunshine! How’s Trix?

  I couldn’t help but smile. My twisting stomach was instantly filled with a girly excitement.

  Had a nice relaxing weekend. What about you?

  I never really knew what to say with these things. I was always awful.

  Worked, slept, hung with the guys. But all we could talk about was you.

  The butterflies took off again. I sat up a little straighter on the couch, enjoying the tingles.

  I’m flattered. All good stuff, I hope?

  I followed the last line up with an angel emoji. The one with the halo.

  Only the best.

  Adam’s reply had a grinning emoji attached to the end. Followed by a thumb’s up, and a little red heart. Then:

  Your note was cute. But hey, what was up with the ‘B’ thing?

  I squinted down at the message for a long moment. The ‘B’ thing? The ‘B’ thing…

  Realization struck me like a bucket of ice water to the face.

  Holy fucking shit, Brooke! You idiot!

  I’d signed a ‘B’ in the heart, when I left the message in their kitchen. Instead of an ‘H’, for Hannah.

  The ‘B’ was for baby. Sorry, just being stupid.

  It was the only thing I could think of. The first thing I came up with, at a moment’s notice.

  No reason to be sorry. That’s not stupid, that’s kinda adorable.

  Whew! A huge wave of relief crashed over me, even as I silently cursed myself. Wow… what a fuckup.

  We’d love to see you again. How about Thursday?

  Thursday seemed way far off. Especially with Chloe breathing down my neck.

  What about sooner? Patience was never really my thing.

  It was bold and forward and left a molten hot feeling somewhere deep in my belly. But I’d typed it. And I’d already hit send.

  Dante and I are out of town until Wednesday. Sorry. Seeing a friend.

  I was half bummed, half jealous. I wondered if the friend were female, and whether or not that should matter. Somehow, it did.

  What about Trey?

  My heart was pounding now. I couldn’t believe I’d typed it! Yet I really couldn’t wait. There was no way I could go four more days without advancing work on the article.

  Trey will definitely be around. You want his number?

  Between the two sentences, he’d inserted the devil emoji. The one with the horns.

  Is… that okay? I don’t really know the ‘rules’.

  It was a legitimate question, but it was also a prod for information. The more I knew about their rules, the better. Both for the article and myself.

  It’s actually more than okay. You’re dating all three of us, remember?

  I gulped hard, reading and re-reading the last message. Was I really dating them? Potentially, I suppose I was.

  Trey’s gonna be thrilled. He’s also very lucky.

  I saw a winking emoji, and then the phone vibrated again as a contact came through. It included Trey’s phone number, email address, and even his last name: Marullo.

  Still wanna see us on Thursday?

  I paused for a moment, then pulled up the devil emoji myself. I flanked both sides of my next response with it:

  Sure, if I’m not too tired.

  There was a longer pause this time, which made me wonder if I’d gone too far. Maybe I was being too raunchy. A little too forward for their liking.

  But then a photo came through, instead of a message. In it, both Adam and Dante were grinning, and winking back at me. They wore sleeveless shirts that exposed vast tracts of delicious skin. Their arms and shoulders bulged with so much muscle, I got chills.

  From the mirrors and various equipment in the background, I knew exactly where they were: the gym. There was a caption under the message too:

  Don’t worry, baby. You can just lie back, and we’ll do all the work.

  Another pic came through, this one of them looking fierce. They were making funny faces. Flexing like warriors, leaning into the shot.

  My eyes crawled their bodies, which were covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Pumped up and flexing, they looked absolutely amazing. I could feel myself actually getting wet, just thinking about—

  Have fun with Trey! We’ll see you when we get back.

  I let out a long, heated breath and responded with another smiley-face. I dropped the phone back to my chest. Stared at the ceiling for a couple of excited minutes…

  Then I picked up the phone again and dialed Trey.

  Fourteen

  “HANNAH”

  “So I hear you’re taking me out tomorrow…”

  They were the first words I’d said to Trey. They were met with confusion, then laughter, then — after a quick summary of my conversation with Adam — an eager agreement to meet up with me the next night.

  “It’ll have to be late,” Trey warned. “After I’ve finished teaching my classes.”

  “No biggie,” I’d said. “I’m a big girl. I can stay up late.”

  “I’ll be on campus until eight, and then—”

  “And then I’ll come to you,” I jumped in. “Just tell me where to go.”

  I was eager to see Trey for the obvious reasons,
but going to his place would give me much greater insight. I’d get an idea of his life at Cornell. Where he lived, where he worked, what he did for fun — that sort of thing.

  Always thinking like a journalist.

  It was a curse and a blessing, really. It meant I could never fully get a potential story out of my head, which made it hard to relax and enjoy the simpler things. But the constant churning of my investigative mind often led to much more interesting things than a normal one. Especially lately.

  Right now I was on Stewart Avenue, making my way along the snow-choked sidewalk. I was almost at the address Trey had given me, on the westernmost edge of the Cornell campus. I didn’t see any housing — dorms or otherwise. Maybe he wanted to meet me before taking me in. Or maybe—

  “Hey beautiful.”

  I whirled and there he was, all six-foot four of him. He wore a long coat and a broad smile. Adorably, his hair was flopping into his eyes again.

  “This your place?” I joked, gesturing around the frozen sidewalk. “You live in that snowbank over there, or—”

  “You hungry?”

  I nodded eagerly. “Famished.”

  “That’s good news,” he said. “C’mon.”

  He took me by the hand, and I could feel the tingles already. His touch was soft and warm. His big palm practically enveloping me, as he gently interlaced his fingers between mine.

  Trey pulled me along, and I struggled to match his pace. We were moving further down the sidewalk. Away from the sprawling campus, rather than toward it.