Contents
Title Page
Description
Copyright
Also by the Author
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
About the Author
Poly
Lesli Richardson
http://www.LesliRichardson.com
(Contemporary poly romance, mmf, HEA.)
I love my husband…and his boyfriend.
And he loves us. Love isn’t always neat and tidy.
Unfortunately, there are those who don’t understand. When we finally decide to be a family together, it means we have to fight to keep what we love before others rip us apart.
Poly
Copyright © 2019 by Lesli Richardson
First E-book Publication: July, 2019
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This work may not be reproduced, transmitted, or distributed in any form or by any means currently available or available in the future, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, for free or for sale, without express written permission from the publisher and author.
Distributing copies of this e-book to others is a violation of international copyright law and infringes the rights of the legal copyright holder. This e-book may not be shared, copied, sold, given away, offered as a contest prize, or otherwise distributed to anyone other than the original purchaser. Distributing this e-book as part of any collection, or with any type of resale permission, is also strictly forbidden and a violation of copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This is my livelihood. PLEASE do NOT share, upload, or otherwise distribute this book. When people buy my books, it pays my bills. Please don’t steal from me. If you want me to keep bringing you more stories, I need to be able to pay my bills. Thank you.
http://www.LesliRichardson.com
Also by the Author
Please sign up for my author newsletter, where I post info about both my Lesli Richardson and Tymber Dalton pen names, and never miss a new release or update:
https://tymberdalton.com/newsletter/
Writing as Lesli Richardson:
The Bleacke Shifter Series:
1) Bleacke’s Geek
2) Geek Chic
3) A Bleacke Wind
4) Bleacke Spirit
5) A Bleacke Christmas
6) Geek-Speak
7) Bleacke Expectations
The Great Turning Series:
1) The Great Turning
2) The Great Turning: Into the Turn
3) The Great Turning: Future Ages
Governor Trilogy:
1) Governor
2) Lieutenant
3) Chief
3.5) Yes, Governor (in the Passion, Pleasure, Pain benefit anthology)
Determination Trilogy:
(A standalone trilogy set in the same world as the Governor Trilogy.)
1) Dignity
2) Diligence
3) Desire
Devastation Trilogy:
(A standalone trilogy set in the same world as the Governor Trilogy.)
1) Dirge
2) Solace
3) Release
Of Boardwalks and Bison
Cross Country Chaos
Poly
Jailmates (Maxim Colonies 1)
Farborn (Maxim Colonies 2)
Coming Soon
Deviant Trilogy
Inequitable Trilogy
Lesli Richardson is better known by her more prolific Tymber Dalton pen name. Please check out her website for more info on all her titles under both her pen names, including full book and series listings, trivia, character information, and more.
http://www.tymberdalton.com
Honest reviews are greatly appreciated and can help boost a book’s rankings on retail sites. Thank you!
Dedication
To everyone bucking the norms, beating the odds, and putting love first instead of fear. Stay strong.
Chapter One
Zoey
Friday Afternoon
I pinch the bridge of my nose as I struggle against what’s sure to quickly escalate into a screaming migraine. In the middle of the check-out line at Publix, with my overflowing cart only half unloaded, on a Friday afternoon, and with three people backed up behind me, is not the best of times to have a “conversation” with my ex-husband.
Why did I even answer the damn phone? You’d think I’d know better.
“Bill, would you please calm down. What’s going on?”
Hell, the butchers cutting meat in the back of the fricking store can probably hear him screaming over the phone and understand him a damn sight better than I can.
“I’ve had it, Zoey. I’m done. You can fucking have him. He’s not my son. I want him out of my fucking house!”
Oookay, so Lucas the pod-teenager and his father have had yet another fight. “Bill, please, would you—”
He hangs up on me.
Must. Not. Throw. Phone.
Nolan will give me a ration of shit if I break another phone. He’s getting tired of setting them up for me. This is my fourth one in as many months. Although, to be fair, the last two destructions weren’t my fault.
One ended up in a toilet when it fell out of the back pocket of my jeans—fucking designers and their shallow pockets in women’s pants, anyway—and the other ended up in the laundry when Arlo helpfully decided to wash my jacket for me after my best friend’s cat yakked on it, and Ar didn’t check my pockets first.
I thumb the power button to shut my phone off, bury the offending device in the bottom of my black-hole purse, and start throwing the rest of my groceries onto the conveyor belt without giving a crap what I put where.
Usually, I group everything carefully based on what it is, to make the bagger’s job easier. Frozen items together, cold items, produce, et cetera.
Not today. Nope. You get frozen peas and tampons and canned tuna alll mixed together.
Bad enough it looks like my weekend might be ruined by a migraine. I damn sure don’t want to hear about the latest teenage-angst-fueled war between my sixteen-year-old son and his father.
Lucas wanted to live there. He got his wish.
That still stings, even two years later. Arlo and Nolan have tried to get me to talk about it, but I prefer burying it under a pile of other shit I don’t want to think about until I can process it without crying.
Which at this point is looking like half-past never.
My ex is a douchebag, to be sure. He’s finally managed to hang on to a job longer than a couple of years without pissing people off and getting himself fired. He’s the head of maintenance at an office building in downtown Sarasota, and sometimes he has to work weekends or nights if there are repairs going on, or maintenance jobs that have to take place when most of the tenants are closed.
When I arrive home, before I even unload the first grocery bag, I go inside and swallow three Excedrin Migraine tablets with a glass of water. I won’t get much sleep with the caffeine in them.
That’s something I finally feel like smiling about. Because I hadn’t planned on getting much sleep this weekend, anyway.
It takes me twenty minutes to unload the groceries from the trunk of my car, as well as my laptop and other stu
ff. By the time Arlo arrives home ten minutes later, I almost have everything put away. He walks into the kitchen, sets his lunch cooler on the counter, and kisses me.
Then he frowns. “What’s wrong?”
“What?”
He circles his finger in the air, indicating my face. “You’re wearing that pinched expression.” He holds up the bottle of Excedrin and shakes it. “And these on the counter.”
I sigh. “Bill’s on the warpath.”
“Oh, fuck me. What the hell did that asshole say to you this time?”
I love Arlo’s protective streak. Normally, he’s a gentle man. The only thing that ever enrages him is Bill Motherfucking Webb.
“Calm down,” I say. “Apparently, he and Lucas had a fight. I made the mistake of answering my phone in the grocery store. Then he hung up on me before I found out anything.”
He holds out his hand. “Hand it over. I’ll babysit your phone this weekend. I will not have our first full weekend together in a freaking month ruined by that nutsac full of flaming garbage.”
“Have at it.” I point at my purse, which I’d dumped on the couch with my laptop bag and other stuff from work. “It’s in there. I shut it off. Be my guest.”
From the fridge I grab a package of defrosted chicken breasts that have been marinating all day and dump them into the electric skillet. I empty a bag of frozen veggies and some spices on top of it, turn it on medium, and put the lid on it. Tonight, I’m cooking Nolan’s favorite. God knows as complicated as this thing is between the three of us, at least he’s dang easy to cook for. Tomorrow night, Arlo will fire up the grill and cook us steaks.
Between a project at work and caring for his six-year-old daughter, Katie, Nolan hasn’t been able to come over alone for a visit in almost two weeks. When I hear Arlo step into the shower, I smile despite the headache still threatening to set in.
Just a few minutes.
I hurry to our master bathroom, quickly strip, and step inside the shower with Arlo.
He smiles and kisses me. “Feeling a little better, hon?”
I drape my arms around his neck. “I’m sure I’ll be feeling real good by the time I finally go to sleep tonight.”
He laughs. “I think we both will.”
I study his blue eyes, the flecks of granite in them. Nolan’s are brown with streaks of amber and honey. Arlo’s hair is a lighter shade of brown than Nolan’s, nearly dark blond. Despite the men being friends and unrelated, and that I don’t think they really look that much alike, people often mistake them for brothers because of how they act with each other in public. They’re both six-three, trim, and sexy, although Nolan’s a little beefier than Arlo.
“I still say buying an RV’s a good idea,” I tell him. “It’d be fun. We’d be able to get away, go wherever we want.” I grind my hips against his. “Just think, we could skinny dip in some backwoods lake.”
“So you could watch us shrivel up? Or we could get eaten by alligators? No, thank you.” He nips my neck, and for a few minutes we’re both distracted. “I was thinking about something else,” he says a moment later.
From his tone, this feels big. I pull my head back to look him in the eyes. “Thinking about what?”
He shrugs and steps under the spray to wet his hair. “Nolan and I got together and crunched some numbers this week.”
A flash of something not quite hitting the jealousy mark washes through me. I don’t mind that they got together.
I mind that I didn’t get to see Nolan, too.
This is the first I’m hearing about it from either man. “When? You didn’t tell me you guys talked.” Okay, yes, I feel a little miffed that not only did I not get to see Nolan, neither man told me about their meeting before now. Yeah, I get to talk to Nolan every day on the phone, and we Facetime and text—we both text with him—but it’s not the same.
“He had a little free time at lunch Wednesday, so we went out and grabbed burgers. It was a last-minute thing. No, we didn’t get to cuddle or blow each other.” He arches an eyebrow at me. “You want to hear it, or not?”
I still sulk a little. “Yeah.”
He grabs the shampoo. “We’ve got those fifteen acres in Nokomis my parents left me. We could sell this place and build a house there. With our income, and with what Nolan would save on rent and utilities and stuff, and with him paying part of the bills, we could easily do it.”
I think my heart might actually stop as the full implication hits me. All sulkiness rapidly drains away as I process his words. “You mean it?” I softly ask.
I’ve never dared to hope for more than we have. Which is stolen moments of time, and a weekend here and there, like this weekend.
“Yeah. Nolan talked to his attorney on Monday. We could set up a trust and make all three of us owners of it, or members, or whatever the term is. Partners. So we’re all protected.”
“But what about Katie? And what about when Lucas comes to visit?”
Arlo smiles. “Split floor plan. Extra rooms. Two bedrooms on one side of the house, the kids’ bedrooms on the other. When kids are in residence, they’ll never know any different. Besides, Nolan’s attorney said there’s nothing in Nolan’s divorce agreement that mandates where he has to live, as long as it’s local. They both have to stay in Katie’s school district, or close enough to it that they can take her every day. It’d be only ten minutes from Katie’s school, and it’s closer to Nolan’s job. Jerilyn knows he and I have been friends since high school. It makes sense in this economy. If Nolan needs it, we file an affidavit or something that says he signed a lease, or that he pays rent or…whatever.”
“What about the housing market? It sucks right now.”
“We only paid seventy-two for this house, and now it’s worth over two hundred and fifty grand, even after the bubble popped. We can easily price it to sell below market value to move it fast and still make a nice profit. It’s doable, Zo.”
It feels like I can’t breathe. “Really?” I whisper.
He smiles and pulls me into his arms again. “Really.”
“You’re okay with this?”
He laughs. “It’s my idea, isn’t it?” His expression turns serious. “I hate this as much as you do. So does he. Lucas will be going off to college in a couple of years, not that he’s here much, anyway. When Katie’s old enough to understand and make up her mind about life, if Nolan thinks it’s okay, he can tell her the truth and Jerilyn won’t be able to poison her against him.” He caresses my cheek with his thumb. “We can really do this.”
I hug him, unable to stop my tears. Good tears, for once. “Okay. If you guys think we can make it work.”
“Oh, we can make it work, all right.” He kisses me again, a sneaky smile creasing his handsome face. “You might get sick of the two of us.”
I grin. “Never. I love both of you.”
* * * *
Once I’m out of the shower, I quickly dry off and pull on one of Nolan’s T-shirts from his drawer. It hangs almost to my knees on my five-five frame. Briefly, the thought of putting on a pair of panties crosses my mind, before I nix that.
They won’t stay on long, anyway, if Nolan gets his way.
Nolan nearly always gets his way.
With both of us.
Arlo’s news has gone a long way to helping me feel better despite my headache and the call from Bill.
I grab my bathrobe to fight the slight chill I feel from the AC and head to the kitchen to check on dinner. After giving it a stir and flipping the chicken breasts over, I turn the electric skillet to low and start a pot of water boiling for the pasta. Nolan will arrive soon.
That’s when a commotion in the front yard catches my ear. At first, I think it’s from one of the neighboring houses. Then Arlo walks out, wearing a pair of shorts and nothing else, and opens the front door.
“What the actual fuck?”
It’s his stunned tone more than his words that gets me moving. Belting my robe closed, I join Arlo at the front door.
After I get a good look at what’s going on, I push past him and race outside and down our front walk.
“Bill? What the hell are you doing?”
My ex-husband has backed his pick-up truck into our driveway.
Well, correction, half in our driveway, missing the back bumper of my car by maybe five inches, and half in our fricking yard.
He’s busy throwing garbage bags full of stuff out of the bed while Lucas tries to catch them and pleads with him to stop.
Bill finally spots me. His face is red and contorted with a rage I know all too damn well. I hate that, even this many years later, I still feel a momentary urge to cower.
He jabs a finger at me. “You wanted him? You’ve got him. I’m done. Never should have had him living with me, anyway. If I’d known what kind of a sick freak he is, I would’ve disowned him as a damned baby.”
Bill tosses the last bag at Lucas before jumping out of the truck bed. “Mary will be home tomorrow morning,” he says to me. “I’ll be at work. If the rest of his shit isn’t out of my house by the time I get home at two, I’m burning it!”
He gets into his truck and guns the engine. When he floors it pulling out, his tires chew up our grass and kick up a rooster-tail of dirt, leaving a black skid mark on the pavement.
Lucas stands there, trembling and surrounded by at least a dozen over-stuffed bags. Arlo’s standing next to me now, and he stares at me like he’s trying to get confirmation that just happened.
Good, so it’s not just me, then.
Finally, breaking shock’s hold on my body, I walk over to Lucas and put my arms around him.
For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t pull away after a second.
He even hugs me back as he starts crying.
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