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“If you’re not hungry,” Nate says with his mouth full, “I’ll have your food.”
“Don’t even think about it.” I slap at his wrist, and he grunts.
He didn’t flinch, I think randomly, taking small bites of my food—which is pretty good, by the way. He doesn’t flinch when he spars with Kash, either. It’s as if what bothers him is gentle touching.
My gentle touching.
Ouch.
What happened to letting go—of that want, that desire? It’s not even as if Nate is the only one drawing my attention, getting me breathless and hot. All three of them are growing into such hunks. Tall, muscled, beautiful. All male.
And this brings me to my question… is it normal to want three guys with the same intensity? Needing their touch, kisses, needing to be one with them?
Asking for a friend.
I spend my evening texting with Gigi. Remember the girl I met almost two years ago at school, the one I lied to about my age? That’s the one. Well, we’ve been talking more and more at school, and now we’re besties. Honest to God besties, talking every day, on the phone or chat. Girl’s funny and sweet and checks in on me regularly. I like that. A lot.
I like her. She feels like the little sister I never had, someone who understands me. Not like my boys. My relationship with them is complicated, but with her it’s relaxed and fun.
My life is sort of getting on track. If only Nate would talk to me, get better… If all three of them opened up to me and let me in, I’d be so happy.
Kash comes in late, like usual. I hear the apartment door click open, then closed. He curses softly, and something thumps in the hallway.
The apartment has three bedrooms. It’s a miracle we can afford it. We all got a bedroom to ourselves, and God I wish we’d gotten a studio and slept all together…
Rolling out of bed, I open my door and pad out to say hi. Summer is rolling in again, but the floor tiles are cold un
der my bare feet.
“Hey.” I smile at him. “How was work?”
He shrugs, gathers his backpack from the floor where it’s fallen.
“We had the leftovers for dinner. Did you eat?”
“Yeah, I’m good.” His voice is low and gravelly, and it does strange things to my insides. Heat gathers low in my belly.
He’s dressed in low-slung jeans and a white T-shirt with the name of some group called DeathMoth stamped on the front. His lean, muscled arms are bare, all that dark ink winding around them like black snakes. The silver hoops in his ear glint as he turns toward me.
His pale eyes glimmer, and he lifts a brow.
The heat rises to my face, scorching my cheeks. “Great, I…” I suddenly become aware that I’m only dressed in my sleep shorts and camisole, and though I’m far from naked, I feel I am, with those eyes moving over my bared skin, darkening. “Just checking.”
A smile tugs at his lips. “So I see.”
That smiles makes me bold. I haven’t seen it in weeks. “Going out to smoke?”
“Yeah.”
“I need some fresh air, too.”
He grabs his ever-present tobacco pouch and heads toward the balcony doors without a comment.
A cool night breeze blows. I stand next to him, breathing in, and I get a whiff of him. Burned caramel, pepper, a hint of pine and the sweetness of the weed he’s smoking.
“Everything okay?” he asks me after long moments.
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
