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“Right here, sweetie. In my backpack,” Reese answers. “Tie your shoe first. And don’t throw near the little kids. Go over there where I can still see you.”
I wait until she asks, “You there?”
“Yes, Reese. We’re here, and we’re not going anywhere.” I draw a deep breath, feeling so damn protective, too. “Listen, you love your husband and son, and I love my men. So don’t make me be a bitch. You know how nuclear that can be. This is happening the easy way or the hard way. It’s your choice. What’ll it be?”
“Okay,” she sighs. “Just give me a few days, and I’ll call back. I promise. Just let me do this my way. I mean… the easy way. Let me talk to my husband first.”
We end the call and I drop the phone on the bed.
Colt holds his arms open, and I crawl over, snuggling his chest. He kisses my hair while Beau reaches over Colt, gently brushing his hand up my back.
“I love you.” That’s Beau, and I smile against Colt’s beating heart.
“I love you, too.”
In our world, you is plural. There isn’t one. There’s three.
Silently, we hold each other until Colt murmurs. “I’m getting hard.”
“Really?” I start laughing. “Can’t we have a sweet moment?”
“We did,” Colt answers. “It’s so damn sweet watching you go all Blair on someone. It turns me on.”
I pull back as Beau appears over Colt’s shoulder. “Yeah, baby,” he agrees. “It’s hot.”
“Hot?” I huff. “You just turned me into a verb.”
“Woman,” Beau grins, “Blair is a verb. It’s a full body and mind fuck. In the best way.”
“Speaking of… ” Colt rolls on top of me.
“Flag on the field!” But I point to the clock on the nightstand. “Ruby will be here in an hour, and we have to get ready.” I bat my lashes. “You gotta be ready for some pro-NFL butt-balling.”
“See what we mean!” Beau laughs, tossing the covers aside. He aims for the shower, proclaiming over his shoulder, “That’s a classic Blair!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“No more silence.”
COLTON
My brain is blitzed.
Can anyone tell?
I’m casually leaning against the deck railing of a swanky beach mansion, the Atlantic sparkling blue on my right. I got a chilled beer in my hand. I look relaxed, my ankles crossed, all casual in my black shorts and a weathered gray T-shirt.
But I wish I didn’t leave my shades at the hotel. They’d hide my roaming eyes.
There’s an outdoor dining table covered in brown paper, with a pile of seasoned shrimp, smoked sausage, half corn cobs, and red potatoes steaming on it.
It’s a traditional Lowcountry boil while I’m steaming, too. And it’s not from the bright afternoon sun.
It’s the crowd of beefy bodies milling around. It’s the faces I know, the names, too, ones I’ve played against on the backs of jerseys. It’s the laughs and jokes and ease.
It’s a dozen NFL players, along with other guests, men and women, who are so relaxed, I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
All of these players are gay or bi?
