Fly (Wild Love Book 2)

by Red L. Jameson

  H smiles but still won’t look at me while Jay softly chuckles. Still, the unspoken tension is broken. I’m about to breathe a sigh of relief when H says, “I like that mouth of yours. So don’t call it stupid.”

  “It is the best mouth,” Jay agrees and they look at each other, grinning.

  I’m turned on. I’m pathetically turned on by their compliment.

  But they’re only my friends. That’s all I can be to them. That’s all I can offer.

  Maybe I should get that tattooed over my silly heart that’s trying like hell to contradict me.

  * * *

  We spend hours talking, laughing, and getting to know each other. I, of course, eventually fall asleep on the couch while H and Jay are arguing over the merits of public school versus private. Honestly, I don’t know how we got on that conversation. But it did seem we talked about everything.

  H shared a little more about his PTSD—at least, untrained me, thinks it is. He can’t sleep, can’t even think of getting a job since he became a civilian. He was living on his mom’s couch, his step-dad worried about him, and he could only think about sleeping because he couldn’t get any the night before. The hike through the Yellowstone helped. But he’s having a hard time figuring out what he wants to do with his life now. While my head lolled against his shoulder, my eyes drooping, H had joked that he’d like to stay in my cabin for a living. I laughed and wished I could do the same.

  It was funny, they both told me, that the whole time they’d hiked together, they’d never talked to each other about being unsure what to do now that they were civilians. It took saving me from a snowdrift to make them finally open up.

  The whole time they talked, and I talked way too much too, I realized this is what having guys as friends is all about. I talked. I didn’t flirt. Oh, I sure wanted to. But I just listened. I didn’t pretend to be some kind of girl they might like—the stupid girl who doesn’t have an opinion for herself. I’m used to pretending to be that girl. She’s gotten a lot of men into bed with her.

  But as H is carrying me to my bed, Jay behind us whispering how his friend needs to be careful with my head, I realize I’m not going to sleep with either guy. They’re really becoming my friends. And, truthfully, as much as it hurts my ego that not one of them wants to tear my clothes off, it’s wonderful to make friends. It warms my heart in a way I’ve never known before.

  However, as Jay is readying the covers for me, I can’t help but remember all the flirty things these two men have said. Maybe they think I’m attractive but not attracted to me.

  “Why are men so difficult?” I ask as H cradles me into my bedding.

  “What do you mean by difficult?” Jay asks.

  “Do you mean we’re dense?” H arches his black brow playfully.

  “No.” I shake my head. “You two are the least dense men in the universe.”

  “Wow,” Jay whispers.

  “High praise.” H rights himself to his giant form, but he’s still bending his head to look at me, a small smile on his face.

  “What a compliment.” Jay shakes his head, standing beside his friend. “She’s really nice when she’s sleepy.”

  I giggle and sit up, suddenly not at all tired. God, pregnancy. If I’m not napping like I have narcolepsy, then I have strange bouts of insomnia. I wish I could have a normal sleep pattern. And eating pattern. And not want to throw up all the time. And I’d like to not feel so dazed too.

  But it’s all worth it for what’s coming.

  “What do you mean about all men being difficult?” Jay asks, sitting beside my leg.

  “Well, you two aren’t.” I scratch my nose. “I guess—I just don’t understand men. You’re so hard to read, to know what you mean.”

  H laughs. “No way. That’s women. That’s not a man.”

  I cross my arms. “I’m so flipping transparent it’s pathetic.”

  H shakes his finger. “Nothing about you is pathetic.”

  “H is right, Dee.” Jay scoots closer. “Not only about the pathetic thing, but women are hard to understand. Except you. Well, actually, except who’d you—” he cuts himself off and stands at attention, almost jumping off the bed.

  “Except who’d I…what? Who’d I…murder?” I give them my best maniacal, bad-guy laugh.

  As much as I’m laughing, they aren’t. They’re usually polite enough to chuckle a little, even if my humor doesn’t quite hit the mark. But now they’re looking down at me, then each other, as if I’ve said something disturbing.

  “What?”

  “Well, it’s getting late,” H says quickly and right over my question.

  “And you fell asleep on the couch,” Jay adds.

  “Right.” H takes a step away. “You fell asleep already and we’re keeping you up. Goodnight.” He rushes from my room, which makes me wonder just what the heck is going on.

  “But I’m not sleepy now.”

  Jay walks backwards toward my door. “Goodnight, Dee. I hope you sleep well.”

  “But I’m not sleepy now,” I repeat myself and then decide to follow them, chuckling. Just outside my bedroom, I catch Jay by his wrist as H turns off the lights to the cabin. The silver glow from the night rushes in for illumination and a few electrical orange or chartreuse lights around the cabin indicating the DVD is still on or the coffee machine is ready and set to wake us at seven.

  “What were you going to say?” I ask my prisoner, who’s standing so close to me I feel his warmth penetrate into my skin. His male-clean scent of trees and something leathery is always present.

  “Nothing,” he says gruffly.

  “Don’t,” H whispers.

  I don’t know if he’s talking to me or Jay, so I let Jay go after that. I thought we were kidding around, but there’s a definite edge to H’s voice, and all the playfulness I’d felt a second ago is lost.

  “Sorry,” I whisper.

  I can see H’s outline as the night draws lines around his form. His shoulders slump. He sighs.

  “I didn’t mean you.”

  “You who?” I ask.

  H softly chuckles. “You, that’s who.”

  “What are we talking about?” I ask.

  Silence answers me. Maybe I should try to laugh off this conversation or just to go back to bed, but Jay sips in a breath.

  “Who you’d choose.” Jay’s voice rumbles.

  H curses.

  “What do you mean who I’d choose?”

  “Don’t, man.” H sounds angry. “She’ll feel uncomfortable.”

  “Like she doesn’t already know." Jay retaliates.

  “Know what?” My own voice cuts across the darkness a little too loudly.

  “Which one of us you’d choose,” Jay says quickly.

  H doesn’t curse this time. The house is deafening it’s so quiet.

  I’m not trying to be imbecilic, but I’m honestly not sure what he’s talking about. I mean, I’m pregnant. Loud. Obnoxious without meaning to be. Opinionated. At least with them. And I have pretended not to be, which kind of makes me a liar. I wish I hadn’t chased after Jay because now I’m worried my makeup has smeared, revealing my less than porcelain skin even in this dim light. And I’m jobless right now. Oh, and I’m single.

  So, could they really be talking about me choosing between the two of them to be my…what? My boyfriend? My lover?

  No, probably who would I choose to drive my Wrangler. Or to talk to now that I’m wide awake. Or something other than what I think they’re talking about.

  “What?” My voice is too soft.

  “Great,” H growls. “You just had to say something and make her uncomfortable.”

  “Come on, Dee.” Jay surprises me by taking my wrist, pulling me slightly closer. “You had to know. I mean, yeah, I’m surprised you have no clue how pretty you are. You’re like a myth in that regard, a drop-dead gorgeous woman who has no clue what she looks like. But you had to have noticed. We fought over you this morning. H and I have been fighting all day b
ecause…you had to know.”

  H sighs again. “I didn’t mean to—shit, I’ve told you before. You’re a good man. You should have her.”

  “And I told you, asshole.” Jay’s voice is deep, threatening. “You’re the better man out of the two of us. You should have her.”

  “Fuck you.” I pull my hand away from Jay, wanting so much to take the words back. No, I really don’t. I want to say them because I’m livid. And maybe crazy because my poor ego can’t handle the fact that the men weren’t arguing over me. Not really. They were trying to pawn me off to the other. And I’m so angry, I’m not sure what’s going to come out of my mouth, but out it comes. “Fuck the both of you for throwing me away.”

  I take two steps back. Jay is nearer, but H is suddenly in front of me.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” he’s whispering, touching my arm, but I duck away from him.

  “Shit, Dee, I’m sorry.” Jay is shoulder-to-shoulder with H and they’re walking forward, making me feel cornered. Jay adds, “We didn’t—it’s not what you’re thinking.”

  I take a few more steps away. “Not what I’m thinking? I’m pretty sure I heard that you guys were fighting over me. But you’re not actually fighting over me. You’re fighting over getting rid of me.”

  “No. Jesus, no.” H tries again to touch me, but I dodge him. However, I’ve run into the wall.

  Because I was so focused on H, I didn’t see Jay somehow creep closer and take my arm.

  “No, honey, we’re fighting over you.” His voice is still low, but now a purr and my idiotic body responds instantly, wanting to lean into him, rub myself against him.

  I hate my body right now.

  “We both want you.” Jay closes in, inches from me. An inch now. His chest presses against one of my breasts and I almost groan. His nose nudges against the bridge of mine.

  If I look up, my lips will find his.

  But he finds mine first.

  14

  His lips are soft, welcoming. And I can’t catch my breath as he feathers against me, urging me to kiss him back. Then I do.

  My arms wrap around his neck, almost without being aware. And my mouth, my lips, my tongue are his. I’m reciprocating the soft caresses, touching him in return. His hands are around my waist pulling me nearer. His wide chest against my aching breasts has me licking the seam of his lips. He opens for me and we’re stroking each other. But as soon as my tongue is in his mouth, I realize my mistake. We’re kissing in front of H. I like H. A lot.

  Pulling away, I wish I could literally kick myself. But Jay follows, still kissing me, his palm around the nape of my neck, keeping me close.

  Then Jay’s body is ripped from mine.

  “Back off,” H growls. His fist in Jay’s shirt screams how angry he is.

  Even though Jay is backing off, H is holding Jay in such a firm grip the fabric of his t-shirt tears. H’s breathing is hard, labored, like he’s trying really hard not to hit someone.

  “Kiss him, Dee,” Jay whispers.

  I look at both of them. H pushes Jay away.

  “Kiss him,” Jay says again.

  I should be thinking. I should stop and run from this situation. I should be doing so many things other than following Jay’s order.

  But those words move me. I’m hurrying closer to H. His breath stops, his shoulders square. Placing one hand on his chest, I gauge him. Does he want me? Do they both want me as Jay seems to think?

  I should be thinking of consequences, because I’m single and pregnant and consequences are what I’m about right now. Only, I think of H’s warmth. He’s hotter than Jay right now. His chest is as firm. But I can feel his hammering heart, and I pull myself closer to that beating organ.

  Tipping my head up in the dark, I don’t know what to expect. But I never thought H would rush to meet my lips, his tongue already pushing to open me. His hands are on the back of my head and around my waist, pulling me higher along his body so I have to lift to my toes. He’s kissing me with such passion I can hardly keep up. He’s in my mouth, his lips are hard, unrelenting, maybe even angry. And he keeps pulling me closer and closer.

  I don’t know why I’m surprised by his erection against my stomach, but I am. As the kiss progresses, his firmness increases. We’re just kissing and he’s so turned on.

  I’m so turned on.

  While in H’s arms, instead of usually feeling my insecurities, all I feel is his desire for me. Yes, I know my own for him is strong, but I’ve never felt this from another man, this need for me. And as soon as I realize the headiness of the moment, he tears himself away, nearly panting.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

  “Really?” I ask, hurt from his words.

  He doesn’t answer, and while I’m looking at him, Jay kisses my cheek. I don’t know what it is about Jay, but I relax the instant he makes contact. All the hurt and bewilderment of a second ago is changed into juicy desire again. Softly, so softly he kisses my lips. He’s never insistent, never rushing, just urging me to join him, engage with him, kiss him in return.

  H pulls me away from Jay, and I smack into H’s chest, my back to his front, his arms around me, protectively guarding me.

  “What are you doing?” H’s whisper is low, part-growl.

  Jay sighs. “What we all want to do.”

  “You don’t know what she wants.”

  “Yes, I think I do.”

  I’m instantly irritated by this, but then Jay explains.

  “Look, Dee said she’s transparent. She’s not like other girls, er, women.” The outlines of Jay are broad and rugged. The square of his jaw while he talks is just visible in the faint light and is captivating. “And she’s right. She doesn’t play games. Which made me realize she wants both of us. So, I thought, why not?”

  Have you ever walked through one of those amusement houses with the funny mirrors? In one you’re too thin and long. In another, your head is giant. There’s always one that baffles me. In the mirror my features are distorted and messy, fuzzy, fat. I hate calling myself fat. I know I’m not supposed to. It’s just…nothing else fits since I feel ridiculously exposed for the chaos that is me. I have thighs that have helped me climb tall mountains, but they are so big compared to a thin woman’s. I have breasts that always get in my way yet men seem fascinated with, but I always wonder if they’re the right shape, the right colors, the right anything.

  And while Jay’s talking about me being transparent, I feel like I’m looking at one of those funny mirrors. I hate what I see. I do lust two men. I couldn’t choose between them to save my life. I wish I wasn’t such a chaotic girl. I wish I was clean and pure and pretty.

  H turns me to face him. “Do you want me?” The voice that was roaring and growling is no more. He’s soft, vulnerable.

  I can only give him my truth. “Yes.”

  “And you like Jay too?”

  “Yes.” My voice cracks yet again. I backpedal from both men, trying to find my way to my bed, so I can cover myself with the lavender-scented covers and try to push away how disappointed I am that I’m me. “I’m sorry.”

  With that, I turn and, as they used to say a long time ago when there were princes who courted princesses, take my leave. Closing the door with a soft click, I lock it, trying really hard not to cry.

  Rushing to the bathroom, doing everything in my power to not feel my heart, I remove my mask, glad it somehow preserved after the long day. Around my lips are faint signs of my skin through my makeup. It’s a tad pink, roughed up from whiskers. H kissed me like he was a dying man. But it was Jay’s one-day beard that was coarser.

  I’m a fool. I kissed two men. In front of each other.

  I can’t look at my reflection as I remove the last of my makeup but just take in my freckled skin, the red around my eyes. I can’t see me as a whole. Just my parts. I don’t want to see the girl there. She’s ridiculously spoiled, wanting two men, while she’s single and pregnant.

  Yes, best to get back t
o reality. I have a baby to plan for. This—whatever this thing between H, Jay, and me—is a fantasy.

  * * *

  The morning is rough. I can hear both men in the kitchen or sometimes outside my bedroom door. But I can’t emerge from my nest. I’m too humiliated. However, I shower and shave my legs and do all sorts of things to waste time. My makeup is a little more than usual today, including smoky eyes.

  Makeup, for me, is my armor. I think it’s that way for many women. But it’s also my mask, so maybe I protect myself from others’ scrutiny all the time. All the fucking time, even though I say too much, am too honest, and can’t seem to stop from shaming myself.

  After my armor is in place, and there’s not much more to put on unless I want to appear gaudy, I close my eyes and take several deep breaths. I need to eat. My little baby is angry at me for not eating right away. I’m nauseated, water filling my mouth. And if I eat, my baby will give me a few minutes of nausea-free time. Maybe five, but that’s a piece of heaven nowadays.

  I remind myself, before I face the guys, that I’m here to focus on clearing my mind and making plans for us—for my baby and me. I like thinking of my baby and me as us. We’re a family now. I finally have a family. Soothing a hand low over my belly, I smile down. This is all I need to think about, my baby.

  I’ll ask the guys to leave. I’ll be polite. I mean, they gave me such a nice distraction from thinking about my mother. I’m grateful for that. I’m just ashamed I could want two men at once. Humiliated I was caught with my strange desires.

  So, yeah, I’ll ask the guys to leave, and then—what? I have less than three weeks before my second trimester. Maybe I’ll give myself three weeks to plan how to move here, somewhere around Ennis. Why not? It’s a nice town. Maybe check out the schools a little more before I commit. And I’ll figure out Shutterstock and Fotolia and other online image sources. I could make some money through that. Then I’ll see about a job. With a lump in my throat, I think of giving up my camera, but…I wonder if Ennis needs a photographer for wedding and graduate pictures, family pictures. God, I hate to be self-involved, but I’m not sure I can take a picture of a family with a happy dad who loves his wife. I’m so fucking envious of that right now. I hate that I am.