Page 57 of How To Catch A Killer … And Date His Best Friend

LYRA

I’m sprawled on the floor of my apartment, looking over my laptop, trying to adjust next week’s messed-up roster. It’s been a wild few days. Since the moment the boys realized they had competition, they’ve been fighting for my attention, and just because I’m a spiteful, petty bitch with a mean streak, I’ve been giving every ounce of it to Maddox and then sitting back to watch the fallout.

Don’t get me wrong, Hunter hasn’t accepted it lying down. He’s fought for justice, and I hate to admit how good that makes me feel. Maddox is my loyal golden retriever, but Hunter is my unpredictable dark horse.

I want and crave them both. Yet at some point, I’m going to have to actually choose.

I’ve made a point to tell Hunter that there’s nothing between us, that it’s Maddox I want, but all three of us know I’m lying. It’s obvious in the way my heart races when he’s near me, the way I catch my breath when his fingers brush my waist, or the way I stare at him like he’d burn the world just to protect me.

Maddox is the same, and despite his cocky, playboy nature, I’m starting to realize that there’s a darker side to him as well. It comes and goes in little pieces, not quite giving me enough to truly understand the man inside. He gets jealous, is overly protective, and every now and then, when Hunter reminds him just how deeply he claimed my throat, I swear he looks as though he could end him.

I should be running from them both. So why the hell can’t I get enough? Every moment they’re not here, I’m thinking about them, craving them, needing them. It’s getting insane. I can’t eat, sleep, or drink without one of them crossing my mind.

I’m a fucking mess.

I shake my head, trying to focus on the roster in front of me. It usually takes thirty minutes at most, yet I’ve already spent three hours on it, and it’s starting to drive me crazy. Today’s particular distraction is sponsored by one hell of a raunchy daydream featuring both Maddox and Hunter taking me in the shower, all soaped up and wet, the bathroom so steamed up that I could Titanic the shit out of the window.

Damn. Here I go again.

Another twenty minutes passes with me still sprawled on the ground, doing absolutely nothing, when my phone chimes beside me, relentlessly dragging me out of the best daydream I’ve ever had.

Grabbing my phone, I find a new text from Maddox, and my brows furrow as I glance up and spy him lying shamelessly across my couch, his feet kicked up looking like a snack with that perfect shirtless body on display. I swear, unless this man is straddling his bike, he doesn’t understand the purpose of a shirt, but I’m not complaining. It’s all part of the charm. Or it’s a manipulation tactic, and in that case, it’s absolutely working.

“What’s this?” I ask, my thumb hovering over the notification.

Maddox just grins, not willing to spoil whatever I’m about to find, and studiously focuses his attention on the phone in his hand.

Letting out a sigh, I open the notification, and a brand-new group chat appears before me.

Me. Maddox. And Hunter.

What could possibly go wrong?

The first text isn’t a text at all, but a poll specifically designed to rub Hunter the wrong way, so naturally, I’m here for it. The polling question: Should Maddox fuck Lyra raw now or later?

The options given are obviously now or later, and I grin as I select now. Hunter’s face appears under the poll, showing that he’s seen it, and he selects later before the little typing bubbles appear.

Hunter: She should be fucking me.

I roll my eyes and laugh to myself as I make some adjustment to the group chat, only for a new notification to pop up. You set the nickname for Hunter Cole as Hannah Montana.

He instantly responds.

Hannah Montana: Ummmm . . . wtf?

Lyra: Self-explanatory.

Hannah Montana: I don’t think so.

Lyra: Best of both worlds, psycho killer. You’re Hannah in the flesh, living a double life.

Hannah Montana: You’re fucking lucky I’m not there right now.

Lyra: Okay, Hannah.

Maddox chokes on a laugh. “Fuck me. And to think I was jealous that I didn’t have a nickname, but you know what? I think I’m good.”

I grin up at the delicious man meat sprawled on my couch. “Good call,” I say, before getting back to the really important things like creating a new poll. Should Maddox fuck me over my kitchen counter or get hot and heavy in the shower?