by Angel Payne
After a deliberate swallow, I looked up once more into his endless eyes. Battled to apologize with my silence. Willed him to forget it all.
“I love you, too.” His eyes literally twinkled when he said it.
“We both do.” Fletcher kissed my shoulder from behind.
An all-too-familiar sting pricked behind my eyes. “You…you do?”
Drake chuckled softly. “See? There’s no reason to panic. We’ve been in love with you for months, baby. We were just waiting for you to get on board with the program.” He gave me a teasing wink and a quick kiss on the nose. I stared back, still speechless, attempting to soak in all the words as truth.
“Sweet girl.” Fletcher rasped the gentle chide into my ear. “I’m really glad we tied you up before telling you. I have a feeling you would’ve just bolted. Am I right?”
The man knew me so well, it was unnerving. “Maybe,” I finally squeaked. And now that he mentioned the ropes again… “But can you please untie me? My arms are starting to hurt and I’d really like to use the restroom.”
Drake tilted his head. Lord, he was hot when he did that. “Promise that’s the only reason?”
“Mmmm hmmm.” I tacked on a quick nod but couldn’t look either of them in the eye.
His sideways gaze deepened with doubt. Still, with a couple of quick jerks, he had the ropes loosened and my wrists freed. One more efficient move and my ankle was out as well. “Thank you,” I said, circling fingers into my shoulder. Drake acknowledged the words with a brisk nod.
“Go do what you need to,” he directed. “Then I’ll rub you so you don’t get stiff.”
“That’s—uhhh—not necessary.”
The words came out in a mumble as I scrambled toward the bathroom, grabbing Fletcher’s shirt as I went. I really didn’t feel like parading around naked all of a sudden.
After locking myself in the bathroom, I marched to the mirror and glared at my reflection. The idiot in the glass wasn’t forgiving, nor did I want her to be.
What the hell had I just done? What the hell had I just said? And what had they just said, as well?
None of us was thinking clearly. None of us was thinking at all.
Too deep. I was in way too deep. If it hadn’t been clear before, it definitely was now. My only saving grace—and hope for sanity—lay in the fact that Drake and Fletcher were scheduled to return to Chicago in the upcoming week. With any luck, their businesses would start to demand more time away from the Stone Global side projects. Now that SGC Cosmetics had been launched with wild success, they wouldn’t be needed as much here.
Real, physical distance. Getting it and keeping it was my only hope of getting out of this without a completely broken heart.
Stop that. Neither of them is Gavin. Neither of them is remotely like him, thank God. You know at least that much.
That wouldn’t stop this situation from becoming a different kind of train wreck.
I dove into the shower, hoping the steam would ease my mind. I emerged a few minutes later, just as anxious, though a bit fresher. I quietly opened the door back to the bedroom, hoping they’d fallen asleep. That was what guys did after—well—what we’d done—right?
Wrong.
Two pairs of expectant eyes followed me back to the bed. Two hands raised, strong fingers extended, beckoning me between them once more.
“Lie back down, baby,” Drake directed. “I’ll work on your arms for you.”
I stiffened a little. “Really, that won’t be—”
He cut me off with a kiss, pushing me down until I was pinned to the bed beneath him. Just like that, my pulse was a wild staccato, my blood a zooming speedway—and my hands thankful zips of motion, as I relished the chance to grab the thick spikes of his hair, scratch the sinewy cords of his back, grip the tight globes of his perfect ass.
“Ohhhhkaaaayyyy,” I finally gasped out when we parted.
“Figured you’d see it my way.”
I smacked his shoulder, making him laugh as he grabbed the bottle of lotion from the nightstand. I cherished the moments I could do this to him, getting him to let down the stony guard walls to embrace this nearly boyish side of himself, sideways grin and all. The part of him that remained all man was, by the grace of God, tucked beneath the boxers he’d put back on. Clear thought did not go hand in hand with seeing these men naked.
I flipped over onto my belly, loving the feel of him sitting back lightly, against my butt. As he warmed the lotion between his hands, it made a slick, slathering sound.
Cue the magic.
Drake Nathaniel Newland had the most entrancing pair of hands on the planet. Within two minutes—max—the frenzy of Anya’s birthday party, along with all the amazing moments of the after party, had vanished. I was well on my way toward a peaceful sleep—though not so deep that I couldn’t hear when the two of them started whispering above me.
“Shit.”
“What?”
“She’s fucking beautiful, even from this angle.”
“Yeah. Are we the luckiest bastards or what, man?”
“Pretty much sums it up. But you know she’s spooked now, right? Did you see the look on her face?”
“I did, but I don’t give a fuck. She said it. Finally.”
“Yeah, finally.”
They were silent for a few beats. A few too many. I was afraid to even breathe, for fear of them discovering my spy game.
“We need to make sure she doesn’t retract it.”
“Agreed. Fuck. This is the worst time to have to go home.”
Another interminable pause.
“Maybe we need to make this our home. Like Kil did.”
“Or convince her to make Chicago her home again.”
“No way. Not with her family here. They’re like anchors for her.”
“Obviously. But why? After that show with her mother today, it barely adds up.”
“Well, I’m the wrong one to solve that mystery. My family could evaporate into thin air and I’d barely notice.”
So much for falling asleep. I fought to keep my body at least looking languid, as my heart did sprints against my ribs. I wanted to flip over and take Fletcher in my arms, soothe his life-long pains regarding his family.
“First things first. We need to make sure she’s not going to bolt every time someone utters the L word.”
“Lesbian?”
“You’re such an ass, Fletch.”
Once more, I struggled to feign sleep—but now, for different reasons. I wanted to roll over and laugh at them. Smile with them. And, yeah, maybe other things with them, too. I loved their playful banter. I loved their serious conversations. I loved their competitiveness, their closeness, and their giving hearts, with each other as well as me.
I was in love with two men.
I was so screwed.
Chapter Three
Talia
“Is this place new? Wasn’t something else here before?”
Taylor winced as I shouted over the pounding music throbbing from the wall-mounted speakers surrounding us. Literally, surrounding us.
“Jesus,” she shouted. “Were you a cheerleader? Your voice carries like a sonic boom.”
She playfully rubbed her ears, but I was too stressed to manage more than a smile in return. I knew what was coming and was not comfortable about it.
We’d decided to meet at a new craft brewery in the Gaslamp District. While waiting at the bar to place our orders, we finally agreed it had been a nightclub, but had never really taken off with the local hipster-and-baseball stadium crowd. Nightclubs usually did better out by the beach. After we ordered our beers—hers one of the house brews and mine an Irish blonde of some sort—we found a table for two in the corner, somewhat distanced from the noise.
“Soooooo.” Her lead-in was less than subtle, though Taylor was rarely a woman who danced around the proverbial flame.
“A needle pulling thread?” I offered, taking one last shot at levity.
She’
d been texting me daily for ‘deets’, as she called them, regarding the men in my life—or at least that was what she’d been perceiving them as—since our return from Vegas. How the woman possessed such a keen sixth sense about this stuff was way beyond me, but she had me over the coals and was ready to make me walk on them. Good news though, Taylor’s heart was as big as her girl balls. She’d never make a sister walk alone.
“Ha,” she rejoined. “Nice try—but you’ve not been a saint lately, have you?”
“What?”
I feigned innocence. Taylor rolled her eyes.
“Drop the act, T. I want to hear all about those two beefcakes you’re hiding from the world. Don’t think the female population hasn’t noticed, either. And since we’re like this”—she held up her twined index and middle fingers—“you should spare no detail.”
I huffed. “I swear, you’re one of the most dramatic people I know.”
“That’s why you love me?” She flashed hopeful eyes while taking a drink from her mug.
“Uhhh…yeah. Exactly.” I laughed. Well, tried to. It sounded tinny and insincere. Taylor, God bless her, accepted it at face value. “Look. Can we just talk about something else, instead?”
“Of course.” She traced the moisture on her glass with a finger. “But eventually, you’re going to have to spill the beans, hon. It’s not healthy to keep it all bottled up.”
I gave a skeptical look. “‘Not healthy’? You’re really going there?”
“Damn straight I’m going there. Because it’s true.”
Her conviction worked. I sighed heavily. “Okay, okay. I know you’re right. Maybe after another round. Or three.”
She straightened with a jolt. “Oh, shit, are things bad?” She wagged a finger. “Nope. No third-drink-in rambling. You have a staunch one-drink limit when we aren’t doing a girls’ night in.”
We giggled together as she tried to swipe away my beer. I wrapped an arm around the mug, convict-style, and took surreptitious sips from it. “All right, fine!” I finally relented. “Just no questions that require me to check your ID before answering.”
Taylor pumped a fist into the air. “Yes!”
“Jesus.” I took a bigger swig of the crisp brew.
“He has nothing to do with this,” she rebutted. “Spill. Now.”
I shrugged and lifted a slow grin, suddenly unsure of where to start. The basic truth seemed appropriate. “Things are…great, actually.”
Her eyes sparkled, turning the gray in them to silver. “Ohmygod. Awesome!”
“I’m just…”
“Just what?”
“Overwhelmed.” I’d racked my brain for something subtler—but that just about said it.
She tilted her head, contemplating my answer…as always, sensing the thought I’d put behind it. “I imagine life with the notorious ones could be just that.”
A frown snagged my lips and creased my brow. “‘Notorious ones’?”
“My term, not anyone else’s. At least I don’t think it is. With Misters Newland and Ford, you never know.”
I blew out a harsh breath. “That’s just my point. There’s so much more to them than their looks…and even their reputations. So much more.”
“I’m glad to know that,” Taylor confessed. “I mean, they are kind of legendary, huh?” She seemed wistful as she said it, a disposition I was getting used to by now—at least with other women when my boyfriends’ names came up. And, yeah, I’d started calling them my boyfriends, at least in private.
Maybe I just needed to hang out with non-SGC people a little more. But who did that leave? My family? I’d take a huge pass on that option. Talking to anyone in my family about the real relationship with Drake and Fletch was a super-bad idea—as in ‘don’t come for next Christmas’ bad. The idea scared me so much, especially when remembering how Mama had looked when watching us hugging at Anya’s party, that I had to laugh from sheer nerves. Luckily, Mama hadn’t brought it up since—but I’d also been avoiding her phone calls from then until now. When she finally did pin me down, I was certain she’d have tons of advice lined up, ready to pound deep into my psyche.
“What’s so funny?” Taylor queried, vaguely echoing my giggle.
“Nothing…except that I wonder what it would be like to explain my relationship to my mother.”
She hissed as if severely burned. “Oooo. Yyyeah. That sounds more scary than funny, if I’m going by what you’ve said about your parents in the past.”
“Funnier than that whole thought?” I countered. “Considering what I’m involved in as a ‘relationship,’ yeah”—I dropped hands from the air quotes I’d put around the big ‘ship’ word—“that has to be the most ridiculous part of all.”
Taylor’s frown deepened. She cocked her head back, as if it were on rails between her shoulders. “Girl, what the hell are you talking about? Only half of your thoughts are coming out, aren’t they?”
“Huh?”
“Just as many are stuck in there.” She pointed to my head.
I rushed out another breath, fully aware I couldn’t deny her accuracy.
“Oh. Ugh.” I mumbled it as I took another drink. “They say that all the time.”
Her scowl vanished—though she certainly didn’t morph into a hearts-and-happiness fairy godmother either. She folded her arms then glared at me, as if to say explain.
“Drake,” I explained. Wait. There was more to it than that, wasn’t there? “And Fletcher,” I quickly added—though that wasn’t the ‘more’ part. “They always tell me to get out of my head. They won’t be happy until I’m exposed completely. Totally open,” I added in a fast mutter. “And vulnerable.”
“And that’s what has your knickers in a twist?”
I clenched my teeth. Taylor took note of it with tartly raised eyebrows. Thank God she didn’t have X-ray vision down to the coil in my stomach. “I don’t do vulnerable, okay?”
She rubbed a hand over mine. “But, buttercup, they really seem to care about you.”
“I don’t do vulnerable, Taylor.”
“Pah.” She pushed away, sitting back in her chair with folded arms. “Is that really what all this hemming and hawing is about?”
I laughed. Couldn’t help it. She looked like a Victoria’s Secret model but sometimes—many times—was like the long-lost daughter of Scarlett O’Hara. “I really love your southern expressions. They’re so unexpected.”
“Hemming and hawing? That’s not from the south, honey. Everyone says that. But once again, nice try at deflection, Miss Perizkova.”
“Moi?”
“Not falling for the French, either. You know I’m a straight-up, right-proper, English-speaking girl.”
I snickered. “Also unexpected.”
She leaned forward again. “Okay, that’s it. Recess is over. Spill it. You were just on to something there.” Her gaze narrowed. “Why the air quotes around ‘relationship’?” She demonstrated again, for good measure. “Air quotes are serious business, you know. Friends don’t let friends use air quotes unless they’re willing to explain.”
I gave the push-back thing a try. Yep, complete with folded arms. “That is not a saying.”
“It is now.”
So much for throwing her off with stubbornness. My shoulders sagged. I angled over and threw back the last of my beer. Promptly grimaced. Yes, it was a light brew. Yes, it was handcrafted. And yes, it was still disgusting. I really should have stuck to tequila, but when the bartender had pressured me to try it, I’d instantly thought of Drake and his love of beer. I’d wanted to give it a good effort.
I wanted to try so many things with those two.
Like having them make me forget my own name again…
“Helllooo? Earth to Talia?”
I jerked my head up—and vowed not to reveal I’d been peering at the dark wood table through the bottom of my empty glass and thinking of the glassy sheen that appeared in Drake’s eyes whenever he climaxed. “Huh? What?”
> “Oh, my God,” Taylor snorted. “You’re as bad as Claire when she talks about Mr. Stone.”
“I am not.”
“So are.” She casually lobbed a few pretzels into her mouth. “You know, I should just secretly take a video and you could see for yourself. You’d completely see what I’m talking about, and it’d also be awesome Snapchat story material.”
I yanked the pretzels away. “Don’t you dare.”
“Kidding, okay? But, dammit, T, tell me what’s going on.” She grabbed for the pretzels. I continued holding them hostage. “What else am I good for?”
I slid the snacks back over, while wondering about the distinct, sad flash in my friend’s eyes while concluding her comment. Wasn’t the first time I’d witnessed it—or fought against the protective lurch in my stomach because of it. She couldn’t be more than a year or two younger than me, just like my twin cousins Mariam and Milena. If one of them kept defaulting to that expression, I’d call them on the carpet about it. Well, tonight’s cone of silence has upgraded her to cousin status.
“Don’t say things like that about yourself. You are amazing, dammit. And one day, you’re going to find your prince, too.”
She snorted harder than before. The sound was oddly adorable, clashing totally with her model-perfect features. “Nah. I don’t need a prince. Shit, a toad would work at this point. I could just mold him into a prince. Customize the job, right?”
“Any man would be lucky to have you.”
“Does that mean you’re sending over one of your studs?”
I glared at her—a hot, unnamable feeling flooding my veins.
No. Not unnamable. It was jealousy, pure and simple.
What the hell?
Thank God for Taylor and her razor-sharp insight. And huge sense of humor. “Ohhhh, little sweet pea,” she laughed out.
I scowled. “What?”
“If I did have that video rolling, the look on your face would go viral.” Her expression tightened, full lips pursing, before exploding into surprise. “You really don’t see it, do you?”
My teeth clenched again. Hard. “See…what?”
“Talia. You’re in love with them, and nothing you say is going to convince me otherwise.”