AllFreeNovel
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Because Beau and I are bisexual NFL players, in a throuple with a woman, while we’re about to begin the biggest, most winning season of our career. I can smell the Super Bowl in the air. I can feel the one hundred and twenty-three million fans of the game and their eyes already watching us.
And I can read the posts of my angry ex-girlfriend, blasting shit on socials. She’s on a mission to ruin our lives.
And then… there’s my secret. The one ripping me apart inside. Now that I’m living with Beau and falling in love with Blair, I don’t know how long I can keep it.
It’s a bomb, ticking on the sidelines.
But this group feels like a solution, a way out of the closet.
“But then, if you like the party and feel comfortable,” Ruby answers me. She has a way of making this feel safe. “You can go upstairs and explore. You can meet others like you, but there’s one rule.”
“Which is?” Blair asks, and I cock a brow at her tone.
Is our woman twitching hot and curious like me?
With her fingertip rimming her crystal goblet of merlot, Ruby answers, “You know that saying: having skin in the game?”
“Yeah,” Beau answers, his voice gruff. I know his tone, too. He’s aroused. “In this case,” he says, “you mean literal skin, right?”
Proudly, Ruby lifts her chin. “If others show you who they are and how they love—consensually and safely, of course—our one rule is you show them your skin, too. Even just a little, but with no shame.”
Now Blair’s leaning over, kissing Beau’s cheek, her lips brushing his ear. She lets us hear her say, “Imagine being safe and free enough to show everyone how beautiful our love is—the three of us. Imagine not hiding it.”
I watch the idea land in Beau’s blue eyes. They’re a storm of desire, hope, and fear, and I’m in the hurricane with him.
All we’ve ever known is hiding who we are, living as half of ourselves, cutting off our truth to fit into someone else’s narrow definition of love.
It used to piss me off. It made me silently rage. Sometimes, I still do.
But the older I get, with my love with Beau and my love blooming for Blair, too, I understand.
I don’t accept it, but I get it.
The only people who judge the love of another are those who have no love of their own.
As we leave, it makes me proud, wrapping my arm around Ruby’s bare shoulder. She may not be my girlfriend, but she’s my friend.
I trust her.
I can feel my mom smiling down on us.
It’s the same way I felt the first night Blair sat by the pool with me. I felt my mom guiding me to Blair, like giving her to me like a gift, and I feel her now, blessing our foursome as the maître d’ holds the glass doors open for us.
Beau exits first, holding Blair’s hand.
The flash of lights, the wall of hissing camera shutters, and shouts of, “Beau! Beau! Colton! Over here! Over here!” are instant.
We’re greeted by the swarm of paparazzi we summoned.
I squeeze Ruby tighter. I’m six-five, and she can’t be over five-five; I got her covered. She turns her face toward my chest, acting shy and surprised, but it’s a performance. We don’t want to look staged.
“Beau! Colton! This way! This way! Are these your dates? Are they your new girlfriends?”
The paps shout questions we don’t answer.
Beau blocks, and so do I. We try smiling through the swarm, making our way to the end of the sidewalk while the valet signals for the limo we left waiting for us.
“Ms. Monroe! Ms. Monroe!” Some dude with a Nikon shouts. “Is it true? Do you write books about Beau Bronson? Is he your alien fantasy lover? Does your father approve of your kinky romance?”
