by Goode, Ella
“Thank god,” I mutter when my row stands. This thing is finally moving along. I follow the line of students as they each receive their diploma. My mood is getting better. Each step I take is another one closer to my husbands and our future together. I’m excited for what that future holds for us.
I smile when the woman calls my name.
“Olivia Audley.” I stride across the stage while cheers ring out. I’m the last of our group to be graduating. Well, Zeke doesn’t count. As always, “six five” is chanted by the crowd. This is a nod to Levi and the Audley last name. It not only references his height but the number on the back of his jersey. Anytime the Audley name is announced, you’ll hear the cheers of “six five” close behind. I get a tear in my eye that the student body shows me the same sign of respect. I’m so proud of both of my men. Today is a day we will all be celebrating for a long time to come.
Everyone knows I belong to them and them to me. People now understand that wherever I am they will also be. That’s how it will always be.
As I descend the stairs from the podium, I see them both standing there waiting for me. I jump off the last two steps and Levi catches me.
“Livvie,” Zeke warns, but I see him fight a smirk. We all knew Levi was catching me. Neither of them would ever let me fall.
“You feeling okay?” Levi follows up, looking concerned.
“Get me out of here and out of this gown,” I say, fanning at my face. Levi doesn’t have to be asked twice. He’s already moving.
“We have an hour.” Zeke's deep voice makes my nipples harden. He’s keeping pace with Levi, who is carrying me straight back to our place. I’d forgotten we have dinner plans with our families to celebrate me graduating with my Liberal Arts degree.
“Someone is excited to start trying for a baby,” I tease. Levi only grunts. Zeke’s eyes flick to mine, and I try to read his face. I thought the countdown to my birthday and everything that involved would be the first and last of its kind in our relationship. I was wrong about that. Next was the baby countdown.
I’ve been wanting a baby for a while now. They want one, too, but wanted to wait until I was done with school. Initially I was okay with it and enjoyed our time together, but I got baby fever during the last few months. Anytime I saw a baby I melted into a pile of goo. I would picture myself holding them and loving them. I really started to press my husbands over the last few months. They’re so strong willed, though, and make it tough.
When our eyes lock I know they know my secret. “Really?!” I yelp. I don’t know if I should be irritated or happy. I can’t keep anything from them, but it’s because they are so in tune with me. “How did you know?” I sigh.
“Your body told us, baby.” Levi places a kiss under my ear. “You know whatever you want you get.”
He stops walking for a moment and looks down at me. I know. They do give me everything that I want. They always say they’re the lucky ones, but it’s me who’s lucky. Zeke comes up behind me and drops kisses along my neck.
“It not the three of us anymore,” I officially tell them.
“It’s all of us,” we say in unison.
“It’s going to be a boy,” Zeke adds. There’s a hint of panic in his voice, and I have to swallow my laugh because somehow I know it’s a girl…
But it turns out we were both wrong. And right. Twins!
* * *
I’ve already had some questions about Tank and Erika so I won’t keep you in suspense. Yes! Tank and Erika are getting their own steamy and sweet story. It will be released on April 1. In the meantime, check out Make Me Yours.
Make Me Yours Excerpt
"Finally!" Crystal Long slaps her hand on the down as I pull up to the table at Maki’s Sushi and Grill. "What took you so long? We nearly died of hunger."
Gingerly, I pull out one of the skinny black lacquered chairs. I hate these things. They're too small for my big frame and every time we eat here, I'm afraid the entire thing's going to collapse and take me with it.
"You should've ordered without me," I say, settling carefully onto the red padded seat.
"We did." Daphne Davidson pours me a beer from the pitcher and sets it in front of me. A saucy smile dances around the corners of her plump, pink lips. "Sashimi platter."
Quickly, I raise the glass to my mouth to hide a grimace, but I don't do so well because both women laugh at me. I set the glass down with more force than is necessary, which makes them both laugh even harder. The guys down at the station tell me I’m nuts to be friends with two hot babes and not be screwing either of them, but if the guys spent as much time with them as I do, they’d realize how easy it is for my dick to stay in my pants. Well, at least for one of the two sitting at the table that is.
The other one—the one who is my best friend. The one who has the long, pin-straight hair that she usually ties up in a messy bun. The one with the rocking body who hides it underneath boxy suits because she says it looks more professional. The one that haunts my nights and troubles my days. That one? Well, that one gets me hard on the daily and I have to fight my attraction. But I do it because I, Jack Reese, would rather have Daphne Davidson as my friend than not in my life at all. She’s also the reason I meet these two for sushi every Thursday night even though I can’t stand raw fish. At their infectious giggles, a reluctant grin stretches across my face, but I wipe it off quickly and replace it with a glare mean enough to make suspects cower in fear. It does nothing for these two women who only throw back their respective heads and howl even harder.
"You know I hate that shit," I tell them. "One of these days one or both of you are going to get sick eating raw fish and then you'll be calling me to haul your asses to the hospital."
Crystal stops guffawing long enough to chide, "Oh, you big baby. You chase criminals for a living. A few pieces of fish aren't going to kill you."
"Next time we eat out, it's going to be my choice."
"It was your choice the last two times but you stood us up," Daphne reminds me. She smiles, but there’s a bite in her tone.
"I had to work," I protest. I gnaw on the inside of my mouth. Is Daphne really mad about this? We've been friends for a long time, but lately, she's been impossible to read. Her texts in the group chat have been short, almost terse, and we haven't talked on the phone for a while. We used to talk or see each other once a week, but for the past few months, she's been increasingly distant.
Something's bothering her, I guess, but I haven’t pressed because I hate it when people ask me about my feelings. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, so I figured when she was ready she would tell me. But...if she’s pissed off because I did her wrong, maybe I should bring it up. I pick up the glass again and study her covertly beneath my lashes.
Her eyes look a little tired, but she works a lot of hours, so that’s normal. She’s pink in the cheeks, but it’s warm in here. Plus, Daphne gets red-faced if she drinks more than one glass of booze, and from the state of the table, it appears she’s gone over her usual solo cocktail. Her lips are plump and kissable—no, not kissable. Daphne’s a friend. My best friend and she’ll stay that way as long as I have anything to say about it.
Still, because she’s my friend, if there’s something wrong I want to fix it. Or, at least lend a shoulder. But I can’t get a bead on her. The smile on her face is genuine. The laughter sounded real, but her eyes are blank. Hopefully, I never have to investigate something that Daphne is involved with because despite the fact I'm considered one of the best detectives in Central City, I've never been able to read my best friend when she shuts down.
"Are you okay?" she asks, breaking the silence that had settled into the table while I’d studied her. "Anything bad happening at work? That you can talk about," she adds. “Because I know there’s stuff you can’t discuss.”
I shoot her a smile to let her I know I appreciate how sensitive she is about my caseload. Sometimes there isn't jack shit I can talk about with non-co-workers, which is one of the reasons I
've been on such a long dry spell with women. They all expect me to talk to them and get frustrated when I don't. But Daphne's a lawyer, so she gets it.
"Nothing serious is going on," I share. "We're short-staffed. Stedman is out with a back injury and Anderson is on paternity leave so we're down two detectives."
"Oh, that sucks." She reaches out to give me a sympathetic pat, but before her hand makes contact, she gives me a weird look and withdraws.
Baffled, I grab her hand. Since when has she been afraid to touch me? "I don't have germs." I place her hand on my arm and cover her ice-cold fingers with my own. "Hell, Daphne, is something wrong? Are you sick now? Maybe you shouldn't be eating fish tonight?" It’s June. She should be warm. I try to rub some warmth into 2her chilled digits, but she tries to tug free.
"I'm fine,” she replies. She tugs again, this time harder and with a sharp expression on her face that even I can read as annoyance. I release her fingers. "I'm fine," she repeats.
"She's fine." Crystal rolls her eyes and glares at Daphne. The two exchange an entire unspoken conversation right in front of me.
"I'm right here." I wave my hand between the two of them. "And I can tell you're arguing about something."
"Good job, detective," Crystal snarks.
"Leave it, Crystal," Daphne says, her lips pressed together in a tight, unhappy line.
I make a "T” with my hands. "Wait a second. Timeout. Daphne, babe, what's wrong?"
"It's—" she begins to say, but Crystal slaps her hands on the table, making Daphne recoil.
"If you say nothing, I will literally have the biggest meltdown that Maki’s has ever seen and we will never be able to come back here without wearing a bag over our heads. Tell him." Crystal points at me.
"Yeah, tell me." I reach for Daphne’s cold fingers again and this time she limply allows me to hold her hand. "What's wrong?"
There's a beat of silence as Crystal sits there impatiently, ready to spill all of Daphne's not-so-secret secrets. After all, I've known Daphne all my life. There isn't anything that has happened to her that I haven't been there for, including when the asshole dumped her on prom night because she wouldn't put out and then the asshole she dated in college who took her virginity and put her off sex for, like, ever because it was so bad, and, most recently, the asshole she'd been dating at the county prosecutor's office. He's the guy I hate the most out of all of Daphne's hookups, although, I'm not sure why. Everyone else seems to like him, but he comes across as an arrogant prick. Maybe he broke up with her. I perk up. Not that I'm happy she's broken-hearted, but she was going to have to dump him at some point. Because he wasn't right for her.
"It's Wilson, isn't it? What'd the asshole do? I can take care of him. I know people." I wiggle my eyebrows.
Daphne coughs in surprise. "Wilson? Why do you presume it's Wilson?"
"Because he's a fuckhead and if you're upset, then it's only because you haven't come to the full realization of what a relief it is for you to be done with him. It'll come soon." I give the top of her hand a pat.
"Thanks, Dad." Daphne flicks me away.
I draw back with a scowl. Dad? Nah. I’m not Daphne’s old man. I'm her friend, and no offense to Crystal, but I’m the best friend. Crystal’s a close second.
But, before I can make my girl spill the details, our food arrives. There’s one big platter of raw fish and, wait, is that a big, sizzling plate of steak for me?
"Like I said, you, big baby," Crystal teases, pointing her chopsticks at my food. Her phone rings as she's sticking a piece of pink fish inside her mouth. "Dammit," she curses and sets down food to look at her screen. "Dammit," she repeats. She stands up and packs up her stuff. "I gotta run. The babysitter's tire is flat so she can't make it." She leans forward and kisses Daphne on the cheek. "Bye, girl. Call me later. We'll think of a plan." Crystal then turns to give me a hug goodbye. As I pat her on the back, she whispers, "You don't do something with the opportunity you're given and we won’t be friends anymore."
"Huh?" I ask, but she’s gone before I get an explanation. I turn to Daphne. "What was that all about?"
She sighs, dabs at the corners of her pretty mouth, and finally starts explaining. "You know how Wendy is getting married this weekend?"
"Yeah?” Wendy is Daphne's youngest sister. She puts the "B" in “bitch,” also in “barely tolerable.” Her whole family babies Wendy because she wasn’t supposed to be born and instead of taking this graciously, it’s made Wendy into a spoiled, petulant brat. Take this wedding, for example. It’s costing a fortune, which the Davidsons don’t have. Worse, every idea for the wedding was stolen from Daphne’s college Pinterest board. I know this because I followed that board when Daphne used it a decade ago. Wendy even took Daphne’s month. Daphne always talked about marrying in May because it was the best time to go on vacation everywhere in the world. The perfect month for honeymoons, she’d once told me—back when she believed in weddings and shit.
“Mom called this morning asking me for a firm head count. Aunt Cathy wants to know if her daughter can bring a date and Mom’s been telling her no. When I said that I was thinking of going stag, Mom started asking me why I couldn’t keep a man, so I panicked and said that I had a date. But I don’t.” She makes a face and pokes one of the pink slivers of fish on the plate.
"What about Wilson?"
"Your favorite guy and I broke up last month, Jack. Keep up."
My brows crash together. "Last month and you're just telling me now? Who brought you ice cream?" At the end of each of her failed relationships, I've always brought her rocky road ice cream. I like to call it our celebratory feast although she probably refers to it as her consolation treat.
"I didn't need ice cream," she admits. "I wasn't heartbroken when we broke up."
That’s a relief. She never seemed real invested in him anyway. "Good. Because he wasn't worth your time."
"More like I wasn't worth his time," she mumbles quietly. Before I can correct that statement, she continues, "The problem is that I need a date to Wendy's wedding or Mom will be spending the whole time asking me where Wilson is and why I'm not seeing anyone and how I'm losing all my eggs and that I'm going to die a spinster and while she thinks men and women should be equal, feminism that makes you die alone is a sickness.”
As these are all things I've heard Daphne's mom say at one point, I don't argue with the poor girl. Instead, I hit on a brilliant idea. "I'll come with you, and we can pretend to be dating."
"No."
"No?" How like Daphne not to see the genius in this. Bracing an elbow on the table, I say, "It's perfect. Your mom will die with happiness. She's always wanted me to be her real son."
Daphne flicks her eyes heavenward. "I know. We all know, which is precisely why you're not coming as my pretend boyfriend. Mom would probably disown me after our fake breakup. No," she sighs. "I'm going to go alone and suffer for three hours."
Like hell you are. Daphne's family is kind of a horror show. They favor Wendy because Mrs. D wasn’t supposed to have any kids after Daphne. When Daphne turned seven, out popped Wendy. She’s been treated as if she’s this fragile, delicate flower ever since her birth and because the Davidsons’ suck at multi-tasking, Daphne was pretty much forgotten. They’d hold a week-long event to celebrate Wendy’s birthday and then forget Daphne’s big day a few days later. If Wendy even so much as stubbed her toe, their household stopped functioning.
One year, when Daphne was thirteen, she was stuck on the front porch of her house for three hours because Wendy had gotten a cough so Mrs. D took the youngest to the pediatrician, forgetting to leave the door unlocked for her eldest. A neighbor finally came home and made Daphne sit in their house until Mrs. D returned. What makes this all worse is that when the Davidsons’ do turn their eyes toward Daphne, it’s always a critical one even though Daphne’s a kick-ass attorney making bank at the age of thirty while Wendy’s claim to success is getting knocked up by the mayor’s son.
Every famil
y event I've gone to—which admittedly hasn't been many this past year since I spent the summer tracking down the murderer of two Uni students—Daphne's being ragged on by her family for not fitting into their idea of what women should be, which is essentially homemakers with kids.
Daphne might have kids some day. She might not. It doesn’t make her less of a person. She’s fricking amazing and I wish she’d just tell her family to go suck eggs. But Daphne says she gets enough confrontation in the courtroom and she doesn't like arguing with anyone while she’s “off duty.” Except for me. She doesn’t mind challenging me. If I voice my thought that she needs to stick up for herself, we'll end up bickering while my steak gets cold.
"All right. I'll leave it alone then, but call me if you need rescuing. Being the white knight is pretty much my job description."
She rolls her eyes. "All right, Prince Jack."
"Hey, I didn't elevate myself to royalty. I said knight." We spend a few moments of comfortable silence digging into our meals, but the peace doesn't last long.
"So, this is why things didn't work out," a caustic voice interrupts our dinner.
I look up from my plate to see Brad Wilson, aka douchebag from county, standing by our table with a thunderous expression on his face. I toss my napkin beside my plate, unhook the badge off my belt, and swing back my fist.
Also by Ella Goode
Three of Us (Twins #1)
Make Me Yours
The Last Christmas Present: Billionaire Holiday Romance (a Daddy story)
The Wolf’s Mail Order Bride
Beauty in Summer
The Death Lords, Vols 1-3: Chelsea & Wrecker (His Wild Desire, His Mad Passion, His Bold Heart)
The Death Lords MC Club: Annie, Michigan & Easy (Their Private Need, Their Fierce Love, Their Lasting Claim)
Her Secret Pleasure
Captive Ride