Double Team: A Menage Romance

by Sabrina Paige

  "Never ever been skinny-dipping," she says. "How stupid is that?"

  "You're sheltered," I say.

  "I'm not," she protests, wrinkling her forehead. "Okay, I am. But I'm not. Does that make sense? I've met foreign heads of state. I've met the Dali Lama."

  "But you've never been skinny dipping," Aiden says.

  Grace sits up, pointing at him. "I've never been skydiving, either."

  I shrug. "I've never been skydiving."

  "That's because you have a fear of heights," Aiden points out helpfully.

  "Just because I don't want to hurl myself out of a plane doesn't mean I have a fear of heights," I protest.

  "You're afraid of heights?" Grace asks.

  "I'm not afraid of heights!"

  "No skydiving for me either," Grace says. "Aiden, you're next. What have you not done?"

  Aiden looks thoughtful for a second. "I've done everything."

  Grace stands and takes the jar of blackberry moonshine from the table. "This stuff is getting less strong now," she muses.

  Aiden raises his eyebrows. "You better watch yourself. We don't need to be peeling you off the bathroom floor."

  "I've never been drunk," she notes.

  "You were a little tipsy when I met you," Aiden says.

  "I know!" Grace says, sipping from the jar, her eyes wide. "That was from two glasses of wine."

  "Alrighty then. I'm just going to take that from you for a little bit."

  "No, no," she protests. "This must be really weak. I can't feel it."

  Aiden gives me a look. "Are we going to be holding her hair back when she pukes later?"

  "Awww," Grace says. "That's so nice of you to offer. But you didn't say what you haven't done. Rock climbing? Snowboarding?"

  "Done and done. Come on, I grew up in Colorado."

  "Scuba diving," she says.

  "Done it. Got certified." He pauses. "Okay, I have one. I've never been in love." Then he grins stupidly.

  I groan and make a vomiting sound. "That's so fucking lame, dude."

  "It's not lame," Grace protests. The edges of her words slur a little. "I've never been in love, either."

  Aiden looks at me expectantly.

  I roll my eyes. "Fuck, fine. Me neither. Are you happy now?"

  "Actually, yes," Grace says, taking another gulp of moonshine.

  "You're getting cut off, darlin'," I tell her, reaching for the jar.

  "Stop being bossy," she says, smacking my hand, but she lets me take it easily. "And you interrupted me."

  I laugh. "Excuussse me."

  "I was saying something important," she insists, then starts giggling.

  "Go on."

  She stares blankly at both of us for a minute, then sighs. "Nope. It's gone. I can't remember."

  "You were saying that–" Aiden starts.

  "Oh!" She holds her hand up. "Happy. I don't know if I've ever been happy."

  "You just said you were happy," Aiden says.

  "I am. That's what I just said," she says, exaggeratedly frustrated. "I'm happy right now. Here. I'm happy here. Oh, and skinny dipping."

  "Let's focus on the skinny dipping," Aiden says. "Nudity is my favorite topic of conversation."

  "We can fix the never-been-skinny-dipping thing," I point out. "The pool is right there."

  Aiden rolls his eyes. "That's bullshit skinny dipping. It doesn't count unless it's a public place where you can get caught."

  "If we're loud, the Secret Service agents might hear us and catch us," Grace points out.

  "Well, shit, that's good enough for me." Aiden stands and starts undressing. "Get your ass out of that chair and take those clothes off, sugar."

  "What? Now? The water is going to be cold," she protests.

  "I know. The pool isn't even heated," I agree.

  "No excuses. We're checking two things off your list of shit you've never done, right here and now: drinking moonshine and getting naked in the pool. Move it, girl."

  Grace mock-salutes as she stands. "Yes, sir."

  "Ooh, I like the sound of that," Aiden says.

  Grace shimmies out of her shirt and jeans, then starts for the pool clad in her bra and panties until Aiden stops her. "What?"

  "Nice try. Take it all off, sugar. Besides, we've already seen the goods. Fuck, we've already been inside you tonight."

  Grace swats at him. "You're so crude. Both of you."

  "What did I say?" I ask innocently.

  "You were thinking the same thing," she accuses.

  "What?! Never," I lie.

  She leaves her bra and panties in a heap on the ground. "If my nipples freeze off, it's your fault," she says before running across the patio and jumping straight into the pool. She hits the water and lets out a little shriek. "Oh my God, it's really not heated, is it?"

  The three of us make it in the pool for all of about ten minutes. Inside the house, I wrap Grace in a giant bath towel and she stumbles against me. "I think I might be a little drunk," she says.

  "Checking more off your bucket list," Aiden says, grinning.

  "You guys are bad influ– influencesh," she says.

  "Not me," I protest. "Aiden is the bootlegging lawbreaker."

  "You are!" She points accusatorily at him. "I've slept with a criminal."

  "Yeah, we're practically Bonnie and Clyde," Aiden deadpans.

  "Bonnie and Clyde." Grace points at herself and Aiden, then drunkenly at me. "And Clyde."

  I roll my eyes. "Thanks."

  She leans against me, standing unsteadily, so I pick her up and carry her to the bed, where I lay her down on the sheets. She settles in between me and Aiden, her head on Aiden's chest. Her eyes close softly, then flick open again. "Are you happy?"

  Aiden laughs. "Are you kidding?"

  "But you guys didn't want to share me before – when we started," she says. "Do you feel like if you're sharing me you’re shettling … shuttling … settling?"

  “I’m happy,” I say, even as her eyelids flutter closed again. And for the first time in my life, I think that’s actually true.

  The problem is that happiness like this – with this girl – can't last.

  35

  Grace

  “I’m surprised you made it out of the house,” Vi says, putting her champagne glass to her lips. “I was beginning to fear for your safety.”

  “It’s been weeks since I got finished with the camp, not months.”

  Vi sighs. “I’ve been working eighty hours in Miami and you’ve been getting laid like good tile in Denver. Our roles are suddenly reversed. The student has become the master.”

  “Keep your voice down,” I hiss. “Someone’s going to hear you.”

  “Oh, please. Half of the people here are wearing hearing aids anyway,” Vi says. “Why did you force me to fly in for this?”

  “Because you’re my only friend, so you have to be my plus-one. Don’t forget you forced me to fly in to Miami back in March to help you cast models. And you get to showcase your new line on me.”

  Vi cocks her head. “You were helping me cast male runway models. It was hardly the equivalent of a boring political function.”

  “Trust me, listening to all of your lewd comments about the models was as taxing as this evening will be.”

  “What are you wearing tonight?” A reporter asks the question as we stop and pose in front of a backdrop with the event name printed across it while camera flashes go off in my eyes. I’ve never ever gotten used to media attention, no matter how much I’ve been in the public eye. Being in Denver is a million times better than it would be anywhere else, but there are still events like this that I have to attend for the foundation or as a representative of my family. I've always hated them.

  Vi on the other hand, is at home in front of the camera. Her hand around my waist, she flashes a smile at the journalist who asked the question. “She’s wearing me, of course," she replies, her voice flirtatious.

  “I’m wearing Vi Scott,” I answer with
a smile. Professional.

  “Are you here with anyone tonight?” a reporter asks.

  “No, I - ”

  “I’m her plus-one,” Vi says, kissing me on the cheek and kicking her leg up behind her before she pulls me out of the spotlight before she whispers in my ear. “Even though you should have plus-two.”

  My face flushes red, despite her whispering it low enough that only I could hear. “There is no plus-two. And thanks for that photo. It should play well with my mother.”

  “I know.” Vi grins as she downs the rest of her champagne and links her arm through mine. “I love screwing with her. Seriously, I don’t know why you don’t just go public with the whole two-men thing.”

  “It would literally give my parents a heart attack,” I hiss. “And I would be forever remembered as that whore, the President's daughter. I don't like the spotlight as it is – I'd be torn apart in the media."

  Vi sighs heavily, waving dismissively at me. "I know, I know. We all remember what happened to Monica."

  "Exactly. Besides, there is no thing."

  "I think there are two things." Vi giggles.

  "But there's no thing."

  "Right. Because all you're doing is having the best sex of your life with them."

  "How do you know it's the best sex of my life?"

  Vi cocks her head and looks at me like I'm an idiot. "You're saying they're not pounding you like a piece of veal?"

  I hiss at her to be quiet.

  "No, wait. You're saying that what's-his-name, your college boyfriend – Stefan? Andreas?"

  "Stewart," I say flatly.

  "Oh, God. Stewart." She wrinkles her nose. "You're saying that Stewart rocked your socks more than the two hunks of man-flesh you're getting schtupped by right now?"

  I give her a blank look. "It's plausible."

  Vi grabs another glass of champagne from a passing waiter with a tray. "You're delusional. And you're in denial."

  "Don't throw your fancy self-help words at me."

  "Seriously, you haven't dished a bit, and I'm your best friend. And you've been holed up with them for weeks. As an aside, I'll point out right now that I had the self-control to not turn that last statement around to be a comment about how they've been in your holes for weeks."

  I exhale heavily. "You're like a frat guy. How are we still friends?"

  "We're yin and yang," Vi says, sipping her champagne. "I'm the id to your superego. And you love me."

  "I do love you," I agree. "And its… okay, the – " I glance around before leaning in close to her and whispering. "The sex is amazing. Insane. And we haven't even, you know… "

  "I do know." Vi raises her eyebrows. "One in the pink and one in the sti –"

  "Don't even finish that sentence. That is really the worst thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth," I reprimand her. "And yeah, that."

  "What the hell have you been doing?"

  I cock my head to the side. "Do you want me to draw diagrams?"

  "Would you?" Vi smiles. "I can whip out my iPad right now. I have some graphic design apps."

  "It's more than just the… sex," I say, dropping to a whisper at the end. "We've been hanging out."

  "Does anyone know?"

  "I told my security I was talking to them about donations."

  "You really need to get better at lying, doll," Vi says, shaking her head. "That's the worst cover story I've ever heard."

  "Trust me, I know."

  "So you're hanging out and the sex is great. And your eyes light up when you talk about them," Vi muses, eyeing me. "Are you falling for them?"

  "What?" I squeal. "No. I mean, no. No way. Definitely not. It's exactly what you said before – it's casual. That's it. I'm having fun and they're really easy to hang out with."

  "Uh-huh," Vi says, her tone betraying her obvious disbelief. "So tell me about them."

  "What do you want to know?"

  "What do you think about them now that you've spent the last few weeks 'hanging out' with them?" Vi uses air quotes to emphasize her words.

  "Aiden is really outgoing and flirty and funny. I thought he was a goof off, that he didn't take anything in life seriously, but there's really a lot more to him than that. And Noah is this grumpy, grouchy asshole on the surface, but he's a good guy underneath and – why are you looking at me like that?"

  "Looking at you like what?" Vi bats her eyes innocently.

  "Like you are right now."

  "You're falling for them."

  "I certainly am not."

  "I know you better than anyone else. You can't bullshit me."

  "I'm not," I protest, then say it again, to reassure myself more than Vi. "I'm not."

  "Whatever you say, doll."

  "This is not the kind of press your father needs right now," my mother hisses. She stands in my living room wearing a light blue suit and a pillbox hat. A fucking hat. She flew here wearing this outfit, like she'd dressed up to be photographed for the cover of a magazine… fifty years ago. She looks insane. The fact that she's standing here, gesturing wildly as she berates me doesn't make her look any less crazy.

  "I just can't believe you flew to Colorado to lecture me about something so stupid," I snap. "I'm an adult. Even if I were in a relationship with Vi, which is obviously silly, it wouldn't be any of your business."

  "Not my business?" she huffs.

  "My personal life is no one's business," I protest, suddenly more filled with bravado than I ever have been. "No one's. Not yours, or dad's, or the press, or anyone's. And if I were seeing Vi, it would be my relationship."

  "So you are seeing Vi." My mother's eyes go wide.

  "I'm not seeing Vi," I say, exasperated. "But if I was, I wouldn't stop just because you didn't think it was politically expedient."

  Look at me, all brave and… full of shit. Brave enough to talk about what I wouldn't do in the case of dating Vi, not brave enough to come clean about Noah and Aiden and I.

  "You're not seeing Vi," my mother repeats, her voice skeptical.

  "I'm not seeing Vi," I sigh, rolling my eyes. "She kissed me on the cheek. It's not like we were making out at the event. The whole thing is more than ridiculous."

  "Grace Monroe Sullivan," my mother cries. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but your language ill-befits a woman of your breeding."

  "My breeding?" I laugh. "I'm not a horse."

  She ignores the comment. "Brandon Redding. Harvard and Yale. He's going to be seen in public with you. You've been dating for three months, keeping things quiet so as not to distract from the campaign. You're hopeful about where the relationship is going and you can see a future with him. He's already been briefed. He'll pick you up at seven o'clock tomorrow night. Paparazzi are on notice."

  "I'm not going out with some guy you've hired to play my boyfriend," I protest, appalled.

  She waves at me dismissively. "He's doing it for free."

  "I'm not going out with him, mother."

  She ignores me. "He'll take you out this weekend, and he's already been told to clear his schedule for the Fourth of July. That will be your introduction to the Washington crowd."

  "I'm not–"

  She's out the door before I can even finish my sentence.

  Later, my father calls me. “Gracie, I heard about your mother’s visit.”

  "Your wife is insane. I'm not being set up with some guy for PR purposes, Dad."

  "You know your mother," he says. "She thinks it'll be good press. It will be good press. You're not seeing anyone, are you? She swore you weren't seeing anyone. Brandon is from a good family – he's even attractive, too. It’s not like she set you up with an ugly man."

  "No. I'm not seeing anyone," I lie.

  "So what does it matter? It's one date, Gracie. Do it for me and I'll owe you."

  "You'll owe me," I repeat flatly.

  "I'll owe you," he says again. "The President of the United States will owe you a favor. What do you need? Does the foundation need more dono
rs? Is there another event I can attend?"

  "Yes," I say, thinking of the quarterly report and the decrease in donations. "I mean, no. I don't need you to attend functions or lean on one of your corporate buddies."

  "I'd never do that," my father says, his tone the same one he uses when he talks to the press. "In fact, I'm shocked that you'd even suggest something like that."

  More of my dad's ass-covering in case the NSA is listening in, even though this is a secure phone line. I think he does it without even thinking about it now, his self-preservation instinct. I roll my eyes hard. "I'm not doing it, Dad. You can figure something else out."

  "Why are you being so difficult, Gracie?" he asks. "It's not like you. You've always understood that we all do what it takes to help the campaign. The campaign is the important thing."

  "Yeah, it’s always the important thing," I blurt out, before he can stop me, or before I can chicken out and just go along with his grand plan. "Dad? I have to go.”

  36

  Aiden

  “I can’t believe she’s doing this,” I whisper to Noah.

  “I can hear you,” Grace whispers back. “I’m literally standing right behind you.”

  “We just can’t believe you wanted to come to West Bend for the Fourth of July,” Noah says. “Or that you didn’t have something to attend at the White House.”

  A look of irritation passes across her face, but I can’t tell if she’s irritated at us or at the mention of the White House. The First Lady showed up at her house the other day, I know that much, and Grace was grumpy as hell afterward. It took three orgasms before she was less stressed out. Then when Noah mentioned the Fourth of July celebration in West Bend, Grace agreed immediately, surprising both of us. She shrugged off any mention of the White House celebration, saying that her parents didn’t decide where she could spend the holidays.

  Noah and I stayed far away from that topic of conversation ever since.

  "Boys!" Bess calls. She walks from the living room to the entryway, her arms outstretched wide, drawing Aiden and I in for hugs before she turns to Grace. "And Ms. Sullivan, we are just so honored to have you here."

  Grace blushes as Bess hugs her without blinking. "Mrs. Ashby, call me Grace," she says. "And I'm the one who should be thanking you for letting me join you for dinner. I hope my security wasn't too much of an imposition."