Three Brothers: A Menage Romance

by Samantha Twinn

  “I won't argue. Thanks,” Finn says with a smile. He takes his beer and heads into the living room.

  I want to ask Reid about the state of their business. Maybe I could somehow help. But I’m already concerned about Mitchell's mood, and I don't want to add any more stress to this day, which up until dessert had been going well.

  I want to stay in the shelter of the comfort I'd been feeling, at least for today. If the moment seems right tomorrow, I'll try to find out more then.

  “More wine?” Reid asks.

  “Sure.”

  He refills my glass, and then keeping to safe, neutral topics, we clean the kitchen together, under the steady beat of raindrops on the roof.

  Later I find Finn on the couch in the living room, looking through a photo album.

  “Can I join you?”

  “Sure,” he says.

  I sit close so I can look at the book. When I catch sight of three blonde heads I lean in close and squint. “Whoa, wait a minute. How have I not seen this before?”

  Finn laughs.

  “Oh my gosh, you were adorable. And blonde! These are you, right?”

  “Our hair got darker as we got older.”

  “Looks like you were about two here?” In the picture, Finn is sitting in a wagon and Reid and Mitchell are both holding the handle, getting ready to pull him. “Oh. My. Gosh. Adorable.”

  “I was adorable. They were thugs,” Finn jokes.

  “Probably fighting over who got to pull the wagon?”

  “Without a doubt.” We look at each other and smile.

  “Where does this start?” I ask, reaching across him to flip back a page.

  “This is my baby album. There's one for each of us.” He turns back to the beginning and I'm treated to the image of a plump, round-cheeked, smiling baby. There are pictures of him alone, swaddled, sleeping, and several others with his family holding him. A pang of baby-longing grabs me by the uterus.

  “Your mom,” I say, my tone reverent as I study the proud, smiling woman holding Baby Finn. “Oh, and your dad looks so young.”

  He continues to flip through, and I watch Finn grow and change as the pages turn. I try to keep myself from gushing over all the cuteness, but can’t hold it in when we come to a picture of him, probably four years old, wearing a suit and tie, his hair carefully combed, and a miserable frown on his face. “So handsome!”

  “Are you talking about me?” Reid says, coming into the room. Mitchell is right behind him.

  “Little Finn!” I say. “And both of you, too! Sorry, Finn, but this album is the highlight of my day.”

  Reid sits down next to me, and Mitchell stands beside us, looking down. I flip back to the wagon picture, still one of the cutest. “Look,” I say. “Here’s proof it was fun having siblings.”

  I take the book from Finn and lay it on the coffee table so we can all see it better. Finn and Reid lean forward with me, Reid putting his hand on my knee as we look. Mitchell folds down to sit on the floor next to Finn. We’re all so close, heads together, shoulders and knees touching. It’s a little overwhelming, and I feel my cheeks flush, though maybe that’s the wine.

  “What’s the story with this frog?” I ask. In the picture, Reid is laughing, Finn looks like he’s about to cry, and Mitchell is serious, a frog caught in the act of jumping out of his hand.

  “I told you they were thugs,” Finn says.

  “It wasn’t me!” Reid says.

  I smile, noticing how much they sound like the young, carefree brothers they must have been.

  “A frog somehow got into Finn’s bed,” Mitchell says.

  “Somehow!” Finn says.

  “You may find this hard to believe, but our big brother was a big prankster,” Reid tells me.

  I do find it hard to believe. I look over to Mitchell and the faintest hint of a smirk tells me that it’s true. “Do tell,” I say.

  “Oh, there are so many stories,” Reid says, flipping through a few more album pages as he talks. “There was sometimes salt instead of sugar in the sugar bowl, which we wouldn’t realize until we’d added it to our cereal…”

  “There was hot sauce he’d sneak onto our sandwiches, there were wedgies, of course, and rocks hidden in our schools backpacks, with more added little-by-little each day until we couldn’t figure out why the packs were suddenly too heavy to carry—” Finn says.

  Mitchell laughs out loud. “That was a good one.”

  Finn continues, “Mustaches drawn on our faces when we were sleeping…”

  “You did that to me!” Mitchell says, still laughing, his eyes crinkled in merriment.

  “We managed to get you back a few times,” Reid says.

  “Not too many,” Mitchell says.

  “No, not nearly enough,” Finn says, smiling.

  I bask in the brothers’ laughter, and look between them, trying to reconcile their cute little boy faces with the handsome, strong men they are now.

  “To be fair, Mitchell looked out for us, too,” Reid says, still slowly turning pages. “Remember when he kicked Joey Manning’s ass in your defense, Finn?”

  Mitchell chuckles modestly. “I didn’t kick his ass.”

  “You stood up for me,” Finn says. “He left me alone after you confronted him.”

  “Sometimes we were the three musketeers,” Reid says. “All for one and one for all.” He points to a picture of the three of them, sitting together on a blanket eating watermelon slices, smiling juicy smiles for the camera.

  “Yeah, but usually we were the three stooges,” Mitchell says. He reaches across and points to another picture, taken the same day judging by their clothes, that has the three of them all tangled together in a three-way wrestling hold.

  “Aww, it’s plain to see how much you all love each other,” I say.

  “We do,” Mitchell says, simply and sincerely. “I’m going to get another beer. Anyone want anything?”

  “Hit me,” says Finn.

  There are just a few sips left in my glass. “I’ll have a refill, please,” I tell Mitchell.

  “Coming right up.” I watch him as he heads to the kitchen, sure, strong, steady, all man, though I’ve just caught a glimpse of the boy he was.

  10

  Twister

  I’m onto my next glass of wine when Finn, who’d taken the album back from Reid, finds a picture of the boys playing Twister.

  “Oh, I always wanted that game,” I say. “I used to feel jealous seeing kids play it on TV.”

  “I don’t know if we ever actually finished a game,” Mitchell says. “We were usually fighting after a few spins. We played Tackle Twister.”

  “We played ‘tackle’ everything,” Reid says.

  “Wait, you guys.” Finn sets the album on the coffee table and gets up. He disappears from the room for a minute, and returns with a battered but distinctive game box featuring red, blue, yellow and green dots.

  “Twister!” I yell, my enthusiasm no doubt fueled by the wine.

  Reid laughs. “We still have that old game?”

  “You’d be surprised what’s still in the closet under the stairs,” Finn says.

  “Want to play, April?” Reid asks, raising an eyebrow in invitation.

  I look back at him, trying to decide if he’s serious.

  “You can’t bend like that anymore,” Mitchell says to his brother.

  “It might be easier now. Our legs are longer,” Finn says. Without waiting for my answer to Reid’s question, Finn opens the box and unfurls the crinkly plastic mat onto the floor. “You first, April,” he says.

  I stand up, take another drink, and eye the boldly colored game mat. “I’ll play,” I say, “if you promise it won’t turn into Tackle Twister.”

  “Can’t promise that,” Reid says, “but we’ll try.”

  “I’ll be the caller,” Mitchell says.

  “Oh no,” I say. “If we’re going to play, everyone has to play!”

  “I need another beer,” he says in response
.

  “Bring out another round,” Finn says.

  “Is this how you pictured your college graduation party, Finn?” I ask.

  He just laughs.

  “Okay, I’m embarrassed to have to ask, but how does this actually work?” I say. “Remember, I never did get to play.”

  “We spin the spinner, and all follow the directions,” Finn says. “We can’t share circles, and if you fall, you’re out.”

  “Sounds simple enough,” I say. While we wait for Mitchell, I take another drink from my nearly empty wine glass. I am definitely feeling the alcohol, and I wonder if being tipsy will make the game easier or more difficult. I’m sure it will definitely make it more fun.

  The guys have been drinking quite a bit, too, celebrating Finn’s special day, and maybe trying to drown their pain after our visit to the cemetery. As the evening goes on, we’ve all been laughing more than usual. Reid’s been talking louder, and Mitchell’s just plain talking more than usual. We’re not exactly getting wild, spending the night in, about to play a child’s game, but being silly suddenly feels so good.

  “Ready?” I say, after Mitchell returns, distributes the beer, and everyone takes a drink. He offers to refill my glass but I decline. My head is delightfully dizzy, and I know from experience that having much more will not be so pleasant.

  “As I’ll ever be,” Mitchell says, but I notice he’s smiling broadly.

  Reid spins and calls out, “Right foot, blue.”

  Each in our socks, we approach the playing area from different angles and put a foot in on a blue circle. Two more moves are called and we play without incident until on the third move, my foot and Reid’s foot land on a circle at the same time, and we both call out “Mine” at the same time.

  I wiggle my leg and nudge Reid’s foot playfully, trying to push him off the circle. With his free hand, he digs his fingers into my side. I twist away from him, laughing. “No fair! No Tickle Twister either!”

  Reid moves his foot to another circle and we all pause, getting our balance. On the next play, Finn bends in front of me and his shirt slides up his body, revealing one side of his toned abdomen. I get the urge to touch him, maybe to tickle him as Reid just did to me. I know it’s the wine doing my thinking.

  To avoid temptation, I turn my head the other way and see what I think are Mitchell’s limbs. It hasn’t taken long for us all to become quite entangled. Reid makes the next spin, since he’s now in the best position to reach it.

  Our left hands have to go to red, and I’m not sure how it happens, but Finn and I end up face-to-face. He’s laughing as he moves, but when he looks at me, the laughter fades to something serious. We’re close enough, again, to kiss. Our mouths are just a few inches apart. I can feel his soft exhalations and smell the hoppy scent of beer on his breath. We don’t speak; we just stare.

  “How has no one fallen yet?” Reid asks. He lets the spinner fly and then calls out, “Left hand yellow.”

  I search for my next move, and make a big twist, thinking it might be best if I put some distance between Finn and myself, if that’s at all possible. My leg presses against Reid’s as I contort myself, and when my hand is in its new position, I end up facing Mitchell. I’ve seen him kind, and serious, and sad, but playful is something new, and right now his eyes are twinkling with fun.

  “You’re pretty good for a first-timer,” he says.

  “Beginner’s luck?” I say, my arms shaking slightly as I hold my position. When his smile broadens, my words come out uncensored by my usual filter. “It’s nice to see you smiling,” I tell him.

  “Yeah?”

  “It looks good on you,” I say. My words cause his face to change. His smile fades and he looks deeper into my eyes. Something passes between us, intangible, but with as much energy and meaning as a physical touch. His eyes don’t leave mine.

  When Reid calls out, “Right hand blue,” Mitchell doesn’t move. I reach past him to find a new spot, and then look back toward him to see how he’ll move. Our faces are close and our chests are nearly touching. I draw in a breath and hold it.

  “I want to kiss you,” Mitchell says, his voice just above a whisper, his body rigid. My eyes search his, and then, without speaking, I cover the space between us and press my lips gently to his.

  The small part of my brain still sober thinks, What are we doing? And the me that’s in control answers, We’re just playing.

  As soon as my mouth meets his, Mitchell responds with hunger, but his kiss is brief, as if he’s still uncertain.

  “What’s going on?” Reid asks from somewhere close behind me, his voice teasing and warm.

  It takes me a moment to speak, but then I say, “Just a kiss.” My eyes are still on Mitchell, questioning.

  “A kiss? That sounds like way more fun than Tackle Twister ever was.” He spins the wheel again, and my head spins just as quickly. I don’t notice what move Reid calls out, but Mitchell shifts away and somehow Reid is there, limbs entwined with mine.

  “My turn,” he says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. As if it’s just part of the game. And maybe it is, because his kiss causes me to fall. Spinning head and shaking limbs, and the next thing I know, my butt is down on the mat, but Reid is still kissing me, his mouth lingering longer than his brother’s, tasting and exploring.

  When we part, nearly breathless, I say, “I guess I’m out.” Finn is behind Reid, watching with equal parts lust and curiosity in his eyes. There’s a hand on my leg that must be his.

  “Or maybe I’ve won the game,” I say.

  Finn nudges his brother aside and crawls in to kiss me next. His lips are soft, and his hand on my face is tender, but his kiss is deep and soulful. It’s a good thing I’m already sitting down.

  Is this really happening? Have I just kissed all three brothers within the span of a few minutes? Am I dreaming, or is someone caressing my back while someone else is running a firm palm along the outside of my thigh?

  “What are we doing?” I say when Finn pulls back. We’re all still sharing the small space of the crinkly game mat; they’re all watching me, their hands still on me. I look to each of them one by one, their handsome, rugged faces, flushed red from play, and drink, and kissing. These men who I’ve desired ever since I met them, who are nearly all I have in the world, and at this moment, are all that I want in this world.

  “That’s up to you, April,” Mitchell says. He cups my jaw in his hand and tangles his fingers in my hair. I watch him for a moment, as if I’m deciding, but I already know what I want.

  I pull his hand to my mouth and nuzzle the fleshy spot at the base of his thumb. “Kiss me again,” I say. “Please. All of you.”

  And they do. So very well.

  Mitchell is on me in a beat, his mouth covering mine, with a serious intensity that is his essence. I rise up on my knees to better fit against him and he molds his body to mine. Cradling my head in his hands, he kisses me deeply and thoroughly, filling me full of butterflies and making me more light-headed than wine ever could.

  Just as I start to fidget against him, my body wanting more from him, he moves aside and Finn is there, covering my sensitive lips with his. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he says between kisses. “To taste you.”

  “Me too,” I murmur against his mouth. And he tastes so good. Beer and mint and comfort.

  As our lips tangle for position, much like our limbs had while playing the game, Finn slips his hands just under the bottom of my shirt. My breath hitches from the electric sensations brought on by his touch on my bare skin.

  I run fingers through his soft, shaggy hair, wanting to communicate how good he’s making me feel and how much I’ve longed to have his hands on me. There’s something tentative about Finn’s actions. I get the sense that he wants to make sure I’m okay, and without words, I want to tell him how very much more than okay I am right now.

  I nip Finn’s lip gently between my teeth and feel his mouth smile against mine. As our
tongues tangle, someone brushes my hair aside and another hot mouth presses against the side of my neck and begins trailing upward. Reid reaches between Finn and me, and pushes me backward until I’m lying down, looking up at all three brothers.

  “Sorry. Old tackling habits,” Reid says, moving over me. As his broad body blocks my view of Mitchell and Finn, I’m struck by how odd it is that this all feels so natural. If I could have ever dreamed this up, I would have pictured them being competitive, or that maybe if I kissed one of them, the other two would back off and give us privacy.

  Instead, they’re taking turns with me, and it’s kind of blowing my mind.

  “Twister was never, ever this much fun,” Reid says, slowly closing in on my mouth.

  “Best game ever,” I say, balling his shirt in my fist and pulling him to me.

  As our mouths meet, he stretches the length of his body against mine, pressing down only enough so that I can feel the heat of him. He supports himself on one elbow while using his other hand to caress my stomach, my side, my collarbone. He traces a finger along the neckline of my shirt, lighting me up and sending sparks down to my fingers and toes.

  When Reid moves lower, to trace that same path with his mouth, Mitchell is there, never letting my lips get lonely. “You okay?” Mitchell asks.

  “Very much so,” I say, before also answering him with my kiss.

  Mitchell touches his tongue to mine, while at the same time, a stiffness presses against my leg through Reid’s jeans. His mouth, hot and wet, pressing toward the top swell of my breasts, has me growing hot and wet in other places.

  “Take me upstairs,” I say in a clear voice meant for all of them. Reid and Mitchell pause, and all three of them look at me, wanting to be sure. Their expressions are serious, and I know I’m moving the game to a whole different level.

  But I don’t second guess it. Of course, part of me knows it’s a bad idea, and if I were to think about it logically, I’d put an end to things right now. But I don’t want to think; I just want to feel. I want to follow my body’s lead… or am I following my heart?