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“Can—” That’s all I manage to say before Gail interrupts me.
“If you were just about to ask if I can eat pizza, the answer is yes,” she beams, kicking off her boots.
“But what about the cheese? Dr. Patel said—”
She waves her free hand in the air, drawing my attention to the smaller box she’s carrying. “It’s fine in moderation as long as it’s properly cooked.” Narrowing her eyes, she continues. “I want pizza so badly I think it’ll be more of a health risk to deny me.”
Mickey chuckles, and I can’t help smiling at her display. “Then by all means,” I say.
Gail hands me the smaller box, she announces she’s going to change into something with less of a judgemental waistline—her words, not mine.
“Kitchen or living room?” Mickey asks, and I point at the living room. If Gail wants to be comfortable, that’s a lot better.
While Mickey moves things around to make it easier for all three of us to reach the table, I check the internet on my phone to make sure it really is okay for her to have pizza and a fizzy drink, which it is. It’s not that I don’t trust her when she said… wait, I don’t trust her, do I?
Shit, I don’t know anymore.
Spending the last week with her without Mick around, I’ve noticed new things. She talks to Fet when she thinks she’s alone, and she rubs her stomach a lot when she’s feeling… I don’t know how to describe it… like, when she’s feeling extra happy, sad, or even frustrated she rubs the skin, telling herself and Fet about it. It’s cute. So I guess when it comes to Fet, I do trust her to know what she’s doing.
It’s more than that, though. We’ve bonded through trivial and mundane tasks like cooking and watching TV. She told me about her family, her life, and confided about her friendship with Lucia, which is more like a sisterhood—one she misses terribly.
Now I also know that she’s not a morning person, she misses coffee, she snorts when she laughs heartily, and she pees more than she used to. Though I could go without her telling me that, I’m kinda glad she did.
On top of that, she’s restless when she sleeps alone. So most nights, I’ve crept into her bed, spooning the fuck out of her until I had to get up, and then I crept out again. I don’t think she knows I’ve slept with her, but if she does, we’ve both left it unmentioned.
When Gail rejoins us, she’s wearing a pair of black satin shorts and a tight, formfitting shirt that makes her tits look so fucking phenomenal I have to adjust myself. Noticing my movement, she smirks as she sits down on the cushion Mickey threw onto the floor, crossing her long, shapely legs under her. Following suit, I sit opposite her, while Mickey sits next to her.
I open the pizza box, and Gail’s eyes sparkle with satisfaction as she takes a slice, moaning when she takes a bite. “Damn, this is good.”
Chuckling, I dig in, abandoning my principles on healthy food for the night. The pizza is great, but it’s nothing compared to the sounds and satisfactory expressions Gail makes as she devours one slice after another. Seriously, she might be small, but when it comes to food, she isn’t holding back.
While Mickey and I are drinking beers, she’s enjoying soda and water, making jokes about double-fisting every now and then. They’re cheesy jokes, yet I can’t stop myself from laughing. Everything about this moment it’s easy; there’s no pretense or tension, we’re just three people having a great time.
“I have something to tell you,” Gail says, her gaze flitting between Mickey and me, blue eyes bright, searching. “We need to talk.” Her words are simple, yet they carry the weight of unspoken promises—or threats, depending on how you look at it.
So much for having a great time.
“I don’t really know how to say it,” she admits, nervously wringing her hands in front of her.
“From the beginning, sweetheart,” Mickey croons. “Always start at the beginning.” He takes one of her hands, gently caressing the skin on her wrist with his thumb.
She nods and looks down at their joined hands. “Right, right,” she mumbles to herself. Taking a deep breath, she looks straight at me. “You said you didn’t believe that I wasn’t at Cupid’s Court because of the two of you. And… umm… you’re right about that.”
Fuck!
My eyes immediately fly to Mickey, worried he’s going to leave again. To my surprise, he just furrows his eyebrows. “I thought you said you didn’t know it was us,” he says, and despite the guarded look in his eyes, he sounds calm.
“No, no, wait,” she rushes out. “I’m not explaining this well.”
There’s something in her eyes, something I can’t quite explain, but something that tells me she’s right; she’s botching what it is she really wants to say, making her words come out all wrong. I get up from the floor, moving closer before sitting down closer to her. “Try again,” I implore. “Just get it out.”
Closing her eyes, she nods. “When I first joined Cupid’s Court I didn’t sign up for threesomes, can’t say I ever considered it. But then the night at O’Jackie’s, when you said… when you wanted… I had to say no because I’d already joined Cupid’s. But I wanted to go home with you that night. I…” Trailing off, she licks her lips.
“Open your eyes,” I croon, wanting her to watch us as she explains this.
She shakes her head, continuing her admission like she never stopped. “But I couldn’t because of the contract. That’s why I had to say no. After that, I was curious. Really fucking curious. So I… err, updated my preferences to include threesomes—”
“Because of us?” Mickey rasps, finally getting it.
