[The Turning 01.0] Taking Turns

by JA Huss

  “If I tell you, will you keep it a secret? Or are you under some obligation to tell the others?”

  “I’ll probably tell them. Eventually. If they ask. They have a right to know.”

  She hesitates. Her secret is on the tip of her tongue, but she bites it back when she hears my answer.

  “Let me ask you this,” I say. “Do you want to lose this game?”

  “I can’t even answer that. What does winning mean?”

  “Well, I’ll tell you what losing means. It means we kick you out of this apartment, you go back home, and we never talk to you again.”

  “But if that’s losing, then everyone who came before me… lost.”

  “We all lose when we have to start over.”

  “So you want this to be permanent?” She scrunches up her face. “No,” she says, answering her own question. “You don’t. You know everyone loses eventually. You just want to play the game while you can. You’re addicted to the game.”

  I walk into the kitchen and refill my cup of coffee. “If we lose, Chella, do you think you’d find another trio of men to share?”

  She says nothing while I add some sugar to my coffee, stir it, and then walk back out into the living room.

  “Do you think Rochelle has found three new men?” I ask. I dread the answer, but I need to know. “That she just got tired of us and decided to start over?”

  Chella shakes her head. “No, I don’t think that, Quin. I think she loved you. And when we lose, because that’s the only way for this to end, I won’t either. I’ll pretend it never happened.”

  I sit down on the couch next to her. She leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder.

  “It’s sad, huh? That we all know how it ends and yet we’ll pretend it’s working for as long as possible.”

  “Yeah,” she agrees.

  “You can get out now, you know. You can just walk out and stop playing. But you’ll wonder for the rest of your life if maybe, just maybe, this was the one time that beats the odds. You’ll wonder if Smith loved you, just like I wonder if Rochelle loved me.”

  She thinks about that for a little while, concentrating on the snow outside. Then she says, “I invited him to join Bric and me.”

  “Good,” I say. “That’s a good start.”

  “What happens after that? After I get used to Smith being with me and Bric?”

  “What do you think happens?”

  “Then I invite you in too.”

  I lean over and kiss her head. “I hope we get that far, I really do. Because it’s pretty fantastic, if you ask me. And this time I get to experience it as one of the uninvolved parties. It’s a lot simpler that way.”

  “Were you jealous when you had to watch Bric with Rochelle?”

  “Always. But once we got past that part, and it was the four of us together, that jealousy went away.”

  “So how the hell did you end up in such a great relationship with Rochelle if you always had to have Bric around? I don’t know much about what was going on with you four before I came, but I do know you slept with me that first night thinking it was her. And if you were Number One, then that was against the rules. How did you work around the rules? The cameras?”

  “No. I never had cameras in Rochelle’s apartment. That’s something unique to Smith. So we didn’t work around it. I just decided to break the fucking rules.”

  “Bric didn’t mind? Why not? If the rules are so important?”

  “We just stopped caring, I guess. It was three years, Chella. No one gave a fuck about the rules after a while.”

  “See,” she whispers, “that’s the part that terrifies me most. That you’ll stop caring. I kinda like the rules. Smith says they protect me and I believe him.”

  “They do protect you. They protect all of us. That’s why we have them. We need this very structured time with very clear boundaries to get to know you better. And for you to get to know us. If we have a chance to be friends first—to learn to trust each other, confide in each other—then the relationship might last for a long time.”

  “But not forever.”

  “No,” I say. “Nothing lasts forever. Not even the thrill of taboo lust.”

  “Will you really never go looking for her?”

  “I hope not.”

  “Why?”

  I’m the one who stares out the window this time. I’m the one pondering life as she waits for my answer. “Because if I do, then what we have here—in this apartment, in this Club, in this arrangement—will definitely be over for me. If I ever find her again, Chella, I’m leaving for good. She’s the love of my life and maybe she doesn’t feel the same way, but I won’t know unless I try.”

  “So go look for her now.”

  I shake my head no. “She left for a reason and I won’t go searching until I figure that out.”

  “Maybe she’s just playing hard to get? Maybe she wants you to chase her to prove your love?” Chella is grabbing on to my upper arm now, holding me tight. When she looks up at me, she smiles. “Girls have been known to do stupid shit like that.”

  I grin back, because she’s right. Fucking girls. But that’s not what I think. “I think Smith said something to her.”

  Chella sits up straight, still holding my arm. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrug. “But that same night I found you in her bed, he admitted he was tired of her. Called her boring. Was ready for it to end.”

  “So you think… he, like, paid her off, or something?”

  “Let’s just say, when it comes to Smith Baldwin, it wouldn’t surprise me. And,” I add, “it wouldn’t be the first time, either.”

  We think about that for a while. Just sitting in silence as the snow starts coming down in large flakes that want to stick to everything. And when I speak again, there’s a full-on storm going on outside. “What are you doing for Christmas? It falls on a Sunday this year so you’ll be alone.”

  “My dad was supposed to come but…”

  “Let me guess, he’s working?”

  “How’d you know?” she asks in a sad whisper.

  “I grew up with one of those fathers too. He’s dead now, so I don’t let myself think about all the fucked-up holidays in my past. But I get it.”

  She nods, leaning back into my chest for comfort. “He’s made me a promise to come home from DC every Christmas since my mom died three years ago. But he never does. He never comes home.”

  “Fuck him,” I say.

  “Yeah,” Chella whispers. “Fuck him, I guess.”

  “Hey,” I say. “You wanna go get a Christmas tree today?”

  “For here?” Chella asks, sitting up straight again.

  “No, for your other house. Yes, of course, here.”

  She starts laughing and we let the depressing mood lift. “I haven’t had a Christmas tree in… Hell, I don’t even remember. I was very little.”

  “You don’t celebrate Christmas?” I ask, a little stunned. “But your dad is—”

  “Yeah. One of those fundamentalist Christians in Congress. I know. It’s a weird, long, complicated story.”

  “Well, we’ve had enough of that bullshit for one day. Fuck him twice. We’re getting a tree. We’re gonna get a huge one, too. These ceilings are twelve feet high, that means we can get one that’s at least fifteen.”

  She laughs again. And I realize… I like her laugh. “I think there’s a lot selling them a few blocks down.”

  “Lot? Jesus Christ, woman. You don’t get a Christmas tree from a lot. You go into the goddamned mountains and cut that fucker down with your bare hands. Or an axe,” I amend.

  “That’s not legal!” she squeals.

  “The fuck it’s not,” I say. “I get a permit every year. Rochelle and I did it three times. It was always so much fun. So it’s settled. You’re getting the biggest Christmas tree I can strap to my Suburban. Ceiling height be damned.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three - Chella

  It’s the most perfect day
ever. And since we spend five hours fighting snow to get to the forest where Quin has a valid permit, then another forty-five minutes hiking to find the perfect Christmas tree, and then we hike back to the Suburban—which takes twice as long because we’re hauling the tree behind us using ropes and we are not sled dogs—and tie it to the roof, we’re exhausted.

  “I’m too tired to drive,” Quin says, the truck idling, heat blaring on our flushed faces. His head is tipped back against the headrest, his breathing low and slow as he closes his eyes and we’re just still, out here in the forest.

  I’m tired too. My arms ache and my legs are numb. But it’s a tired I haven’t felt in a long time. It’s a good kind of tired.

  I take off my coat and he opens one eye to peek at me. “What are you doing?”

  I blush, but don’t answer. Just scoot over and place my hand over his zipper, gently rubbing. “If you don’t want to—”

  “Shit.” He laughs. “I want to.” His hand reaches down to find the controls for the seat and he moves it all the way back. “Come here,” he says, patting his thighs.

  Quin is handsome in a very different way than Bric or Smith. They are both polished and serious. But he’s the fun version. The wild version. The happy version.

  I know he loves Rochelle and I know I should probably not be so forward. He might want out. But I don’t think he wants out before the four of us get our chance to see what happens. So he’s still mine. For now. And I want him.

  I climb into his lap, straddle his legs, and drag his coat down his shoulders. He sits forward until I get it off, and I throw it in the back seat.

  “You’re very pretty, Chella.”

  “Thank you,” I say, smiling down at his blue eyes.

  “Even prettier than Rochelle, but in a different way.”

  “I think Rochelle is beautiful,” I say. “I like her hair. I wish I had her long, straight, dirty-blonde hair. And her eyes. The hazel is so unique. And she’s so… fragile. I always felt like a giant next to her, even though I’m only a few inches taller. She’s tiny everywhere I’m not.”

  He places both of his hands on my breasts. I’m wearing a loose cream-colored silk blouse with a flared ruffle at the wrists. I close my eyes when he begins to unbutton my shirt and I can’t stop biting my lip when he opens it up and pulls my bra down, exposing my nipples. I lean into his mouth as he sucks them, his hands squeezing, his cock growing bigger underneath me as I hold his head.

  He stops, looks up at me and says, “Do you like me, Chella?”

  I give him a slow nod. “I do. You’re so easy to like, Quin.”

  “I think you’re pretty easy to like as well. I didn’t expect it. I really thought I’d hate you forever. But you surprised me that second time we were together. With your easygoing humor. Your willingness to play along. And for letting me feel my loss however I wanted. Smith and Bric just wanted me to move on. I get it, she’s gone. And like I said, I’m not going after her until I know why she left. I don’t want to be that guy, you know?”

  “I don’t know why she left, but she’s crazy for leaving you behind. I think she’s gonna figure that out pretty fast, if she hasn’t already.”

  “But I like this,” he says, playing with the long strands of dark hair hanging over my face. “I like what this is turning into. I was having a lot of fun already today. Even before you got horny.”

  I smile and a laugh escapes. “We don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want.”

  “Fuck that.” He leans up and kisses me. It starts gentle and soft, but then his hands are grabbing my hair, pulling me towards him so he can kiss me harder. “Fuck that. As long as you’re in, I’m in too.”

  His hands drop to my shoulders and he slips my blouse down until I help him take it off. The heat is blasting into my back, keeping that side of me warm while Quin heats up my front. A moment later he’s unclasping my bra and tossing it in the back with his coat. I lean over into the passenger seat and unbutton my jeans as he takes off my snow boots and they join the bra.

  He pulls on my pant legs as I wiggle them over my hips, dragging my underwear down at the same time. And then, when I’m naked, he opens my legs and fingers me.

  “You’re always ready,” he says. “Always so fucking wet.”

  My foot finds the hardness over his zipper. “I like that about you too.”

  We smile, then laugh together as he opens his jeans and pulls out his cock. Fully erect. Thick and perfect.

  I get up from the seat and maneuver on to my knees, then lean down to take him in my mouth, but he stops me. “Just climb on top,” he says. “I don’t want to wait.”

  I lift my leg over his lap and settle on top of his thighs. We kiss for a little bit, his fingertips gently dragging up and down my spine, sending chills through my entire body as we get to know each other better through our tongues.

  But eventually we can’t wait any longer. I sit up, wrap my hand around his cock, and play with my clit until he takes over and the pressure of his hands on my shoulders makes me sit down.

  We both moan. I bury my face into his neck, rub my cheek on his to feel the perfect scratch of stubble on his jaw.

  We fuck like that. Slow. Our hips moving just enough but not too much. Like we don’t want to rush it. Like we want to stay in this moment and savor it. Keep our release bottled up for as long as possible. Hold on to our longings, whatever they may be.

  He comes inside me. I come all over him. And we sit there in the truck—in the middle of the snow-covered Arapahoe National Forest, windows steamed up with our heavy breathing, only the sounds of our hearts beating against each other to break the silence—and hug the loneliness out of each other.

  By the time we get home it’s evening, we’re starved, so Quin orders room service from the kitchen and we don’t even have the strength to do anything to the tree except stand it up in front of the living room window.

  We don’t have sex again, but we don’t need it. Quin pulls me on top of his chest and we pass out on the couch, still thinking about the forest, and the snow, and how we aren’t so lonely anymore.

  It was the perfect day.

  We wake the next morning to his cell phone ringing in his pants. He shifts me around so he can reach it, tabs the accept button, and then croaks out, “Yeah,” into the phone.

  I move aside so he can sit up. I get a smile over his shoulder for my thoughtfulness.

  “It’s fucking Tuesday,” he says to the person on the other side of the phone. “I told you I’m out of the office today.” His hand finds its way under my shirt and begins to rub my stomach. My bra is still in the back of the Suburban, so he finds my nipple almost immediately as he tries to concentrate on the conversation. “Why can’t Robert handle that?” Quin says. His voice is rough and angry, but he’s smiling at me as he talks.

  “Fine,” he says. “I’ll be there in an hour.” He ends the call with a long, heavy sigh. Then tosses the phone onto the coffee table. “I gotta go into the office today. I hate being the goddamned boss.”

  “What do you do?” I ask, kind of embarrassed that we’ve gotten this far into the relationship and I have no clue.

  “Online marketing company. Private consultant, actually. I have a big account starting tomorrow and Robert is supposed to handle it, but he’s out with the flu. I’m sorry,” he says, leaning down to kiss me.

  “For what? If you have to work, you have to work.”

  “Yeah, but we should be decorating the tree today. And you don’t have any ornaments. I’m pretty sure Bric threw away, gave away—whatever the fuck he did with Rochelle’s things—all the ornaments and lights.”

  “I can go down to Walgreens and get new ones. No big deal.”

  “Yeah, fuck. I was gonna say you could go get some from your house. But you don’t do Christmas, do you?”

  “I have nothing.” I laugh. “Not one twinkling light to my name.”

  “That sucks. We should buy them together, but I have a conference cal
l in an hour and I have to go to the office to get Robert’s computer because he’s got the presentation.”

  “I’ll be fine, Quin. Just do your thing.”

  “Sorry,” he says again as he leans down to kiss me. “If I can get out of this early, I’ll come back.”

  A few minutes later he’s gone and I’m alone again.

  I’ve lived alone since I was eighteen. Not always at that Little Raven house. That was a gift from my father when I completed my PhD. I had another, much smaller—and more homey—place just a few blocks from here before that. It wasn’t trendy or new. In fact, the heat barely worked in the winter and I was always wearing two pairs of socks to bed to fight the chill.

  But it was my place.

  The Little Raven town home has never felt like mine.

  For one, my father purchased it as a surprise. A three-million-dollar surprise. Buying me things has always been the only way he’s showed me love. He was proud that day I graduated. Or maybe… he was just feeling obligated? Does it matter?

  But this place came with all the same furniture they used to stage it for the sale.

  So.

  None of that stuff belongs to me. I have zero attachment to any of it. All of it. Whatever. In fact, the only things in that house that weren’t part of the sale contract, aside from the clothes and jewelry in the closet, are the things Smith brought along when he decided he lived there last week.

  Fucking Smith.

  I shake my head. I don’t want to think about Smith right now. It’s way too early in the week to think about Smith.

  I reluctantly get up off the couch so I can take a shower and head down to Walgreens for leftover Christmas decorations.

  “What should new Chella wear today?” I ask my closet. Almost all these clothes are new. I brought a few of my own things over so I can go to work in something that won’t start a new conversation about Elias Bricman with Michell on Thursday.

  I opt for a pair of jeans and a festive red cable-knit sweater and then sit down on the floor to look over the boxes of shoes one of the guys must have purchased for me, looking to see if any have snow boots in them.