The Gift of Three

by Kaitlin Maitland, Allie Quinn,

  Jacob continued to glare.

  “Aunt Mercy!” She peeked over the girls’ shoulders to see a small linebacker running toward her. She couldn’t move the girls in time, so he tackled all three of them together. They went down, Mercy on the bottom of the pileup.

  “Richard!” She laughed with the girls as he began to babble about school and sports and something called Adventure Time. The kid was a talker and the spitting image of his burly dad, her second-to-oldest brother, Quinn.

  “You can watch the kids for a while, right, pip-squeak?” Jacob asked with a laugh as he stood, leaving her on the floor under a stack of small children.

  “I’ll get you back, Jacob!” she cried as Richard began to tickle her for not listening to him.

  The girls picked up on that delightful action too quickly for their own good. It was going to be a long night.

  * * * *

  Austin smiled and nodded at all the people Dylan’s mom had introduced them to before running off to assist with the party. The mansion they were in was huge, thank goodness, to be able to fit this many people inside. Austin wasn’t a fan of over-the-top gatherings, but he played his part and didn’t complain, enjoying watching Dylan in his hometown and the stares he received upon introduction. He was the adorable gay partner of the charming man nobody in their little hometown had ever suspected of being attracted to men. Well, Dylan wasn’t attracted to just men, but it was sometimes too convoluted to get into the whole bisexual thing. Austin had grown up in a place where small town meant ignorance. It would take him longer than the short time he’d lived in Dylan’s hometown to realize that particular stereotype was unfair and mostly untrue. From the moment they’d moved into their new house, they were welcomed with open arms. At the party, Austin continued to be warmed by the acceptance freely given from the people who’d called the town home for many decades. It wasn’t until about a half hour through the introductions he learned Mrs. Danica Johnson had two gay sons, each with a partner of his own, and was completely intolerant of intolerance.

  Austin kept Dylan close, wrapping his hand around Dylan’s muscular arm. The man worked out often, and shit, did it show. Every now and then Dylan would shoot him a mischievous glance as Austin kept probing and squeezing his biceps. Austin couldn’t help it; the muscles were tempting, and he was still crazy horny from that blowjob…and then that conversation before they left. It also didn’t help that the thought of seeing Dylan fucking a woman they could both share was one of the sexiest, and most frequent, fantasies he had. Their relationship was solid. They were ready for an addition, and hearing that Dylan was down with bringing a third to their party made the idea even more erotic.

  “What do you do, Austin?” a heavily pregnant woman named Jennifer asked. She was stroking her belly over her sweater in an absently tender way. It made him smile and squeeze Dylan’s arm tighter.

  “I’m a musician. I just signed a year’s contract to play with the city orchestra. It’s one of the reasons we moved here…well, back here, in Dylan’s case.”

  “No kidding!” Jennifer said excitedly. “What do you play?”

  “A bunch of things, but I specialize in piano.”

  “Don’t listen to his modesty; the boy is a musical prodigy,” Dina Gabor, Dylan’s mom, exclaimed as she passed by with a half-empty tray of cheese and crackers. After her divorce, Dina had changed back to her maiden name. Not wanting to cause trouble, she hadn’t asked Dylan to do the same. Dylan might have grown up in what could be considered a broken home, but Austin saw the love both Dylan’s parents individually lavished him with. Dylan’s mother and father adored their son, but the one time Austin had ever seen the two parents together, that love had turned toxic and accusatory. They had looked to Dylan to settle a debate and essentially choose sides, something Dylan later told Austin was all too common. Austin could only imagine what that torn life must have been like as a child. Dylan sometimes wondered out loud what it would have been like if they had never split, but Austin was convinced if they had stayed together, Dylan would have turned out to be a very different person, and not necessarily a better one.

  “Oh, have mercy, thank goodness. Maybe you can play for us?” their delightful hostess, Mrs. Danica Johnson herself, exclaimed with a smile that went above and beyond gleeful. If Santa were a woman and slightly thinner, he would be this woman. She wore a long-sleeved red sweater dress trimmed in white with black boots. Her eyes were gray, and her hair was as white as any Santa’s beard. There was an energy about her, a positive vibe that emanated from her heart you couldn’t help but laugh with and enjoy.

  “Speaking of Mercy, I think I hear my girls attacking the poor woman,” Jennifer said with a chuckle, looking behind her into a large, central living room. There was a lovely fire burning and what sounded like the worst piano rendition of “Jingle Bells” Austin had ever heard.

  “Come on, Austin, Dylan, let me introduce you to my wayward daughter—my only daughter—and then maybe you can play something and save us from the pathetic tinkering of Billy the One-Handed Piano Man.”

  “One-handed?” Dylan asked quizzically.

  “Oh, don’t worry, he has both hands.”

  “Then why does he call himself that?”

  “I couldn’t say.” Danica shrugged.

  They were all laughing as they walked into the living room, but the vision that appeared to Austin sucked the laughter right out of his lungs. Next to him, Austin felt Dylan’s muscles tense and heard a quick cough of surprise. He couldn’t blame Dylan as they were currently staring at the sexiest pair of bare legs Austin had ever seen.

  Adorning the mystery woman’s legs were three-inch, sparkly red pumps, and a black dress that had ridden up to reveal red lace panties. There were also three small children on top of the body those legs were connected to, tickling the torso mercilessly.

  “Oh, Lord,” Mrs. Danica Johnson muttered to herself with a snort in her daughter’s direction. “Mercy, I can see your panties,” she called out brashly.

  “Mooom,” the woman whined, trying to gently push the children off her torso. The children refused to be moved and continued to giggle madly as they tickled her.

  “Austin,” Dylan murmured with a nod toward the woman.

  Austin winked, taking the hint and following his lover to the helpless damsel.

  Dylan grabbed the boy, and Austin scooped up a girl in each arm. The kids giggled and screamed in delight, glorying in the attention. Dylan placed the boy on the sofa, and Austin followed suit with the girls. He then turned to offer a hand to the stranded woman on the floor and nearly began to drool at how shockingly stunning she was.

  Long, curly red hair cascaded over shoulders in a rippling waterfall of silken strands. She had clear blue eyes and lips so plump and red he couldn’t help but imagine his tongue darting out for a taste. She stared up at him, cheeks pale and her mouth slightly parted. She seemed unable to look away from him as well. After a moment, she shook off her paralysis and accepted his help. Her hands were warm and somewhat dry, making Austin think she worked with them frequently. Her fingers slid across his palm, and a nail scraped the inside of his forefinger, causing a flash of heat to crawl up his arm. He pulled her up a bit too fast, and Dylan had to step behind her to place steadying hands on her generously curvy hips.

  She looked over her shoulder at Dylan, and Austin almost laughed as her cheeks turned red. Her blush might have been from embarrassment, but Austin had experienced that reaction after first meeting Dylan as well. His lover was quite the exotic beast. Black hair that fell to his shoulders, eyes so dark they nearly matched the strands, and muscles beyond muscles to touch and lick at Austin’s leisure. Dylan was pure male. And this woman—oh, this woman—was pure, sensual female.

  Now that she was standing, he got a better view at the rest of her body. She wore a sexy black dress with a sequined-embellished bust and flowing skirt. Her breasts were small and pert, her skin pale, in that redheaded way, and as soft as the silky fabric
of her dress. Austin wanted her. He saw Dylan’s eyes widen and his mouth squeeze tight, lines forming around his lips with exquisite tension. He did that when he was trying to contain an overwhelming and inappropriate emotion in public.

  Oh…this was going to be a fun party, Austin thought as the conversation he and Dylan had before the party became grounded in reality.

  “You all right there?” Austin asked Mercy, waking his lover and the sexy woman from their staring.

  She cleared her throat and pushed her curly hair off her face with a small smile. Austin loved watching as she wriggled herself free of Dylan’s hold. “Yes, thank you.” Austin adored her awkwardness. Her gaze caught the group of women standing and staring at the trio, their smiles a bit too knowing for Austin’s comfort. Even the children on the couch had gone quiet in fascination.

  However, as if right on cue, one of the girls stood on the sofa and pointed with a gleeful shout. “Aunt Mercy has two boyfriends!”

  Mercy, a beautiful name to match the beautiful woman, waved her arms in the negative and backed away from the men and children. Her hands shook like she was in a panic. She bumped into the piano and turned quickly, her hand flailing out and knocking the porcelain Santa-face tip jar off the piano.

  “Hey!” the piano player said with a disgruntled yell. Austin whispered a prayer of thanks as the pianist ceased his horrific playing.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Dennis!” Mercy said. She knelt to pick up the change spread across the hardwood floor.

  “My name is Billy, Mercy!” the man said with a disgusted huff.

  Clearly this wasn’t the first time Mercy had clashed with the piano player.

  “Right, of course. I’m sorry. I knew that.” Her hands were beginning to shake more violently as she dropped the change back into the jar. Dylan bent to help her. “Oh, thanks. You don’t need to do that—”

  She turned and, before Austin could yell look out, accidentally knocked her head against Billy’s.

  “Christ, Mercy!” Billy yelled.

  Austin noticed her family laughing at the spectacle Mercy was making. If he knew the girl, maybe he would think it was funny as well. But couldn’t they see she was trembling? There was clearly something wrong about this situation. She was far too upset for having knocked a tip jar over.

  It was low, too low for her giggling family to hear, but Dylan and Austin heard it when Billy whispered to her, “No wonder your husband fucked your cousin. You’re a hot mess.”

  Austin’s and Dylan’s gazes met for a split second before they turned to grab the shithead and toss him out of the house. But Austin wasn’t surprised when he realized they didn’t need to defend this woman’s honor; she was no damsel in distress. Mercy had it covered as she slammed her fist into the asshole’s face, then launched herself on him to continue the battering.

  “Say that to me again, fuckwad,” Mercy growled, hitting the man over and over. It was impressive…and shamefully arousing.

  “Mercy!” her mother cried from the entryway alongside the gasps of the gathering crowd of partygoers. Austin felt bad for the sweet hostess and could tell Mercy wouldn’t be happy with all this attention once she had finished unleashing her anger on the piano-playing dickhead.

  Austin wrapped his hands around Mercy’s waist. It didn’t take much effort to lift her off the man, saving her from further spectacle. She continued to punch and kick blindly until her constant shifting unbalanced Austin, and he fell back on the couch with her in his lap. Dylan lifted the piano player by the scruff of his collar and shoved the Santa-face mug into his hands.

  “Get out,” Dylan said, jostling him toward the door.

  The people standing in the entryway watched in shock but parted once the man stumbled toward them, blood dripping from his nose.

  “I’m pressing charges on that crazy bitch of yours, Mrs. Johnson!” he shrieked in a pitch that could have matched that of the little girls’ laughter.

  Danica Johnson squared off with the man and fisted her hands at her plump hips. She appeared fierce, and Austin could see where her daughter got the feistiness.

  “I don’t know what caused my daughter to beat your ass, Billy, but I know she would have never done so unless provoked. Please, take your tips, leave, and I will mail you your check as I always do. Do not expect an invitation back next year.”

  “Mrs. Johnson, I did nothing to warrant such an—”

  “Yes, you did,” Dylan said, crossing his formidable arms and barricading Billy’s way back into the living room, his deep voice brooking no argument. “I heard what you said to Mercy. Get out.” Dylan advanced on the man until he scrambled back. With a swipe at his bloody nose, Billy grabbed his bag and coat off a nearby seat and then dashed for the front door.

  “Mercy,” Mrs. Johnson said, reaching for her daughter, who had remained on Austin’s lap, all the fight having gone out of her. “Mercy, what happened?”

  Mercy pushed off his lap suddenly before shoving past her mother, her heels clomping on the wooden floor. “I don’t want to talk about it.” The sound of her heels faded until a door slammed shut somewhere in the house.

  “It’s only nine o’clock, and Mercy has beaten the crap out of the shitty piano player!” Jennifer clapped her hands in glee. “It’s going to be a great night.”

  “What does shitty mean, Mommy?” one of the blonde girls asked, tilting her head to the side like a curious puppy.

  “It’s a bad word for poop, sweetie. But don’t tell Daddy I was the one who told you that.”

  “Poop!” The girl giggled conspiratorially with her sister.

  “We’ll go get her, Mrs. Johnson,” Dylan said, taking Austin’s hand in his and using a squeeze as a silent message. “She probably needs to ice those knuckles. She hit the bastard pretty hard.”

  “Thank you, Dylan, Austin,” Danica said with a grin, not looking too worried about her daughter. “That’s sweet of you. She probably won’t want company, though.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Austin said with far too much confidence for his own good. “We’re persuasive.”

  “Oh, Dylan?” Danica stopped them. “What was it Billy said to set her off?”

  “Something about a husband, I think.”

  “Oh,” Danica said with an angry glare in the direction of the piano, as if the instrument were the one to offend. “Well, that would do it.” She smiled at the men, her fury and anger dissipating as quickly as it came. “Mercy was married once upon a time, but that’s all over now. Go fetch her, will you boys? Thanks.”

  At their clear dismissal, they went in search of their quarry.

  “Are you as turned on by Mercy as I am?” Dylan asked as they exited the large living room.

  “Yes.”

  “Even when she was punching that dickhead?”

  “Hell, yes,” Austin said aggressively, rounding the corner as they searched for the girl.

  Dylan stopped Austin’s rapid pace by pulling him close so their bodies slotted against each other from groin to chest. “You glad we had that talk about adding a third?”

  “Fuck, yes,” Austin said with a determined grin, knowing what he wanted, what they had to do to get it, and how amazingly turned on he was by how much Dylan wanted the exact same thing.

  Chapter Three

  And that was that. Mercy didn’t think it was possible to embarrass herself worse than what her ex-husband had done during the infamous Christmas party no one in her family let her forget. But she succeeded, and as her brother-in-law Oliver would say, she did it with panache.

  “Idiot.” Mercy tugged at her tangled hair, groaning. She might as well leave the party now, because there was no way she could show her face for the rest of the night. Or year.

  “No, the idiot would be the dickhead you rightfully beat the crap out of.” A voice made her turn from the track she’d paced in the snow. The two men. The sex gods of the ChristmaHanuKwanzikah Extravaganza. They were so alluring she’d nearly forgotten her own name when she first s
aw them. One dark, one fair. Perfection in two muscle-bound packages. They were walking toward her, braving the cold to come fetch her. Her mother had probably asked them to check on her, but she was going to enjoy this view all the same. At least until she remembered they had seen her underwear and then watched as she punched Billy out. Ah, there was her familiar friend, embarrassment.

  “Please go,” Mercy said, unable to face them from how flustered she was. She had managed to fuck up her mother’s Christmas party with unnecessary drama again. Maybe she should stop coming to this party altogether.

  “You cold, ma’am?” Goldilocks asked, hunching his shoulders against the wind and digging his hands into his pockets. The position only served to accentuate the masculine line of his large shoulders. The men hadn’t put on their winter gear before coming out in search of her. She didn’t know whether to be flattered by their urgency or annoyed by the fact her mother had ordered them after her posthaste.

  “I live for the cold.” She grunted as her heel caught against a rock under the snow, throwing off the pacing rhythm she’d dug herself into during her self-flagellation. The skin on her legs felt like it was on fire from the penetrating cold, but she kept stubbornly trudging on, avoiding a return to the party. “Live, breathe, and die for it.”

  “Well…dyin’ in this cold seems like a sure thing with that itty-bitty skirt you’re wearin’.” She could detect some sort of Southern twang painting his words, emphasized by the one eyebrow he’d cocked her way. She could almost see the man wearing a cowboy hat and boots. Fuck, he would be sexy in a cowboy hat and boots.

  “Don’t worry about me and my skirt. We’ll manage.”

  “I wouldn’t feel right leaving you and that skirt out here to face the cold on your own,” the dark-haired one said, sidling up alongside his friend. His cheeks were bright red from the sporadic bursts of wind peppering the yard; she could only imagine how bright red and unsightly her skin was. On him, the windburned look was sexy and rugged. On Mercy it read lobster. Not that her appearance mattered to them; she just needed them to go away. Far away so she could endure her mortification in peace and quiet.