《Her Two Billionaires and a Baby (Her Billionaires #4)》


 Page 1

    Chapter One


    The waitress''s giant set of balls always threw her off.Advertisement


    Jeddy''s was one of those neighborhood holes in the wall that had probably been a breakfast joint since Laura''s grandma was a kid. During the height of factory shift work it had been open twenty-four hours and, as a relic to the Industrial Age, had never stopped. Even as the fluorescent lights buzzed and blinked and the streets were empty in that surreal hour between 3 a.m. and 4 a.m. when everyone in the world is asleep and you''re not, Jeddy''s still had the cheap red vinyl bench seats, gummed-shut sugar containers and a few ancient men scratching their balls and chewing on a piece of something from 1983.


    And then there were the waitress''s balls. Someone, years ago (since Laura and Josie were in college) had taken a cut-out cardboard life-size person, put a Jeddy''s uniform on her, and attached a pair of those truck hitch plastic balls to it.


    It had, uh...stuck. So the waitress with balls greeted every customer with a smile, except that the cardboard cutout was actually Julian Sands from the old ''80s movie, ¡°The Warlock.¡±


    The stuff of nightmares and cheap Netflix thrills. Everything about Jeddy''s screamed old, forgotten, ratty and dated.


    Except the food.


    One of the owners had passed the restaurant on to a family member who had earned a degree at Le Cordon Bleu in Boston, and this had created as schizophrenic a restaurant as ever there was, for as Josie and Laura greeted the ball-bearing waitress, which involved giving her nuts a squeeze and saying ¡°How you doin''?¡± in the best Joey Tribiani imitation, the aroma of the restaurant was strictly gourmet. Better than gourmet. Cheesy roadhouse Top Chef Gordon Ramsey Fucking Awesome gourmet.


    Chipotle maple sausage. Cinnamon caramel ricotta crepes. Peanut Butter Hulk Smash cake. You name it, Jeddy''s had it, including honest-to-God real fried green tomatoes, but with a dill agave tarragon cream sauce for dipping instead of ketchup.


    All served on chipped, ancient industrial-grade restaurant wear by an old woman named Madge who''d been working the booths since 1948. And could still walk and talk faster than Josie on three espresso shots.


    ¡°Whatcha want, Sweets?¡± Madge asked Laura, her breath the graveyard where old cigarettes and Chanel go to die. The woman had to be at least eighty but looked fifty ¨C except for her mouth, where smoking lines were grooved so deeply her lips looked more like an elephant''s puckered asshole than anything resembling human flesh.


    ¡°Oh, let me see,¡± Laura said, amazed at how quickly she downshifted into comfort here. The glare of the overhead strip lights and the cracked vinyl held together with duct tape didn''t faze her. Madge''s bags under her eyes, though, were mesmerizing, with caked-up foundation in the creases. Who knew undereye circles could have wrinkles in them that would hold enough makeup to cover a small community theater''s needs?


    China blue eyes reminded her of Mike, and when Madge started tapping her stylus on her ordering tablet, the incongruity hit her.


    ¡°You guys use a wireless ordering system?¡± She pointed to the smartphone-like device in Madge''s hand.


    ¡°No. This is a chisel and a chunk of marble. Grog back there deciphers it all with hand puppets and grunts. Now what are you two eating? I''ve got work to do.¡±


    Josie craned her neck around, surveying the nearly-empty joint. ¡°It sure is hopping.¡±


    Madge smirked. ¡°The silverware don''t roll itself.¡± Those eyes. Mike. A pang of despair hit her ¨C hard. His hands on her. Dylan''s tongue on her.


    Josie shot Laura a skeptical look and turned to Madge. ¡°What are your specials?¡±


    ¡°At 4 a.m. you get the fryer and the desserts. And maybe a limp salad. Jeff ain''t here now to cook the good stuff.¡±


    ¡°Do you have coconut shrimp with that aioli?¡± Laura perked up. Despair faded a notch.


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    ¡°Two of those, an order of chipotle maple saus ¨C you got that tonight?¡± Madge nodded, not looking at them, hand flying with the stylus. ¡°With cheesy potato pancakes. One piece of Peanut Butter Hulk Smash cake and a giant peppermint hot fudge sundae,¡± Josie declared.


    ¡°And drinks?¡±


    ¡°Just water,¡± Laura replied.


    ¡°Watching yer weight, huh?¡± Madge snickered, walking away. Fortunately for Laura, she''d looked at Josie when she said it. The last thing she needed right now was a comment on her weight. Eating comfort food ¨C even at 4 a.m. ¨C no, especially at 4 a.m. ¨C was exactly what she needed.


    ¡°What about coffee?¡± Josie asked.


    ¡°I''m not making you any.¡±


    ¡°Hah. I''ll order some after we pig out.¡± Each booth had an old-fashioned jukebox attached to it. ¡°You have a quarter?¡± Josie begged.


    Laura fished one out of a pocket. Josie slipped it in as Laura wondered how they got away with still just charging a quarter. She remembered long car trips to visit her relatives in Ohio and stopping at the L&K Diners, the jukeboxes identical, a burgundy red she only saw in ancient Italian restaurants and rest stops in the Midwest.


    Back then a quarter got two songs. Now, one. Josie punched some buttons, fingers more accustomed to glass phone screens than analog squares, and soon Gloria Gaynor crooned.


    Laura groaned.


    ¡°First I was afraid! I was petrified,¡± Josie sang, using her rolled silverware as a microphone. Seriously? The song was bad enough. Josie''s tone-deaf performance would be worse.


    ¡°Kept thinking I could never live without them by my side...¡±


    Them?


    ¡°Stop it,¡± she hissed, whacking Josie''s forearm. The fork slid out and shot across the room, hitting a table leg. Madge strode by without missing a beat, picked it up, and threw a clean one on the table in front of Josie, her stride completely fluid.


    ¡°And then Thor and Superman, they came to me in the same bed, and now I''m half dead, ooooooh now I am half dead!¡± Josie wriggled and thrust her neck out as if singing, her voice a cross between an eight-year-old''s earnest choir attempts and something out of Killer Karaoke.


    ¡°You have the music ability of William Hung.¡± And the stage presence.


    ¡°I will menage! I will menage!¡± As Josie parodied the familiar chorus, Laura lunged across the table and clamped her hand over Josie''s mouth. That was quite enough.


    ¡°No brawling,¡± Madge chided as she used a bissel to sweep the tattered carpet a few tables away. ¡°Don''t make me call the bouncer.¡± She hooked her thumb over at the old homeless man sucking on a cup of coffee. He looked up and grinned, two teeth total in his mouth, eyebrows shooting up to a bald pate and creased, greasy hand waving. The girls laughed and Laura settled back down in place.


    ¡°You are such an asshole.¡±


    ¡°But you love me.¡±


    ¡°Well, now you''re buying.¡±


    ¡°No way.¡± Laura reached for the triangle game with pegs. All the writing had worn off long ago, and the wood was a solid block ¨C this was an old stand-by that had probably been original to the place when it opened. The pegs were worn down and the colors faded, but the premise was the same: get down to one peg.


    Laura played. Three pegs.


    Josie played. Three pegs. ¡°Doo doo doo doo,¡± she teased, like music from a creepy movie. ¡°The universe it telling you something.¡± Laura snatched the damn game out of Josie''s hands as Gloria Gaynor went into her second verse.


    Just then, Madge appeared with the potato pancakes and a huge, steaming pile of coconut shrimp. Three cruets of aioli and she and Josie dug in before Madge could croak out with ¡°Anything else?¡±


    ¡°Mmmmmmmm,¡± Josie groaned, her mouth nibbling on the end of a fried shrimp the size of her hand. ¡°Uh, yeah.¡± Brow furrowed, she caught Laura''s eye. ¡°Did we forget the fried green tomatoes?¡±


    Before Laura could reply, Madge said, ¡°Got it,¡± striding off.


    ¡°We are going to be so full,¡± Laura said, using the side of her fork to cut a pancake.


    ¡°Is that a complaint?¡± Josie opened her mouth and panted, trying not to burn her tongue.


    ¡°Nope. Can''t you wait until it cools down?¡± She pointed at Josie''s mouth.


    ¡°Nope.¡± The two sat in silence, the only sound now their masticating, jaws working furiously on dissembling the amazing tastes before them. It was a relief for Laura; too many hands, too many mouths on her, too many feelings that didn''t have a home. Eating was easy. Order delicious food. Have it delivered. Open mouth. Enjoy. Repeat ad nauseum.


    Food was always there for her. It never changed. Hot fudge was hot fudge. Butter crunch ice cream just was. Coconut shrimp were steadfast and tasty, filling time, her belly, and whatever aching hole was in her that needed to be sated.


    Cheesy potato pancakes didn''t send out confusing signals. Cookies didn''t judge her. Peanut Butter Hulk Smash cake would serve her, would be at her disposal, would meet her needs.


    With no expectations.


    Screw Dylan and Mike. Fuck them.


    Fuck them in the eye.


    At the thought, she punctuated the air with her fork, imagining poking them with it. Josie looked up from her plate, mouth stuffed now with the cooled-down shrimp.


    ¡°You conducting a symphony?¡±


    ¡°Fork you.¡±


    ¡°Paradise by the Dashboard Light¡± wafted through the restaurant, a group of college kids snarking on the old tune and torturing poor Madge with half-drunk requests. She''d probably served their parents. Maybe even their grandparents. Laura rolled her eyes and dug in, her turn at coconut shrimp heaven.


    ¡°Ahhhh,¡± she moaned. Josie''s impatience made more sense now. Each bite was like something out of a food porn movie, like Coconutty Clit Lovers with Clam Sauce or ¨C no, scratch that. She had just grossed herself out. Did she make that joke aloud? If not, why was Josie staring at her like that?


    ¡°Coconutty what?¡± Josie gagged, her face in a confused snarl. Laura could feel her cheeks turn a hot red as she felt the room spin a bit, overwhelmed by what she now realized was nearly twenty-four hours of being awake, the most intense sexual experience of her life just a few hours behind her, and Madge''s lined face twisted into a pantomime of smoking, her fingers against those leathered lips and sucking away at an imaginary cigarette.


    Her thousand-mile stare bore through Laura, who pulled her eyes away to look down and see the last coconut shrimp on the plate. Grabbing it, she shoved the entire thing greedily into her mouth, only to hear Josie''s confusion shift to a self-righteous howl.


    ¡°Hhhheeeeyyyy! No fair! What the hell is wrong with you?¡± Josie''s sulking face was an after-thought for Laura, who right now felt like an animal in the woods, all instinct and no thought.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± Laura muttered. What the hell was wrong with her? ¡°It''s just ¨C this is soooooo good.¡± She ate the tail and all, the breading and the crunchy outer shell making her gag.


    ¡°Coconutty...Laura, you need some sleep.¡±


    Madge turned and nearly ran into the kitchen, then emerged with a still-sizzling plate of friend green tomatoes and more cruets filled with sauce from heaven.


    Palm outstretched, Laura flicked her wrist toward Josie, the gesture meant to allow her friend first dibs on the tomatoes. Appeased, Josie dug in, playing hot potato with the breaded delight. ¡°Hot! Hot! Hot!¡±


    Chipotle maple sausage appeared out of nowhere, followed by an enormous piece of green cake smothered in hot fudge and peanut butter sauce, sprinkled with pistachios and surrounded by two huge scoops of vanilla ice cream coated with a crunchy brown sugar sauce.

 Page 2

    ¡°It''s as big as your head, Laura,¡± Josie gaped.


    ¡°It''s bigger. It''s the size of my ass.¡±Advertisement


    Madge pointedly peered behind Laura, pulled back, and pursed her lips, contemplating. ¡°Nah. Not quite, honey.¡± Laura gave her a grateful smile. Madge was Laura''s new best friend. ¡°You girls need anything else?¡±


    ¡°No ¨C thanks!¡± Josie had a sausage on one fork, was spearing part of a potato pancake, and had a spoon attacking the ice cream. Laura dipped a piece of pancake in the aioli and stabbed her fork into the luscious pistachio cake, made green by the nuts.


    ¡°Who needs sex when you have Jeddy''s?¡± she muttered, filling her mouth with the cake.


    ¡°Hello! Me?¡± Josie waved her hands like an air traffic controller on an airport runway. ¡°Right here. I''d give all this up for what you just had tonight. Wouldn''t you?¡±


    Laura stared plaintively at the spread before her. ¡°Uh...¡±


    Josie stabbed the dark chocolate and mint rose off the top of the cake and ate it. ¡°You don''t have to choose. Lucky you.¡±


    Lucky. Lucky? Here she sat, drowning her sorrows in fudge-covered cake the color of infected snot while her body still hummed from being double stuffed (note to self: get Oreos on the way home) and as the sun began to make its first entrance on this glorious day, Laura had to go to work in a few hours. Then there was at pesky issue of needing to deal with the fallout from storming out of Mike''s cabin, leaving the two people in the world she most wanted to forget wondering what the hell was wrong with her.


    ¡°Madge!¡± Laura shouted. A quick glance down showed her cleavage covered with green crumbs and an embarrassing number of hot fudge drips. It was a meal unto itself. For Dylan...or Mike...


    Stop that!


    Madge didn''t even blink, just tilted her head up, painted-on eyebrows lifting up. If she''d been bald she could have given Tim Curry a run for the role of Pennywise. ¡°Whatcha want?¡±


    ¡°Got any caramel sauce?¡± That shit cures everything, like Windex or Robitussin.


    ¡°Nope. How about peanut toffee swirl?¡±


    ¡°You''re a good woman, Madge. My new BFF.¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± Josie mumbled, her face stuffed with ice cream. ¡°Wha'' ''bout me?¡±


    ¡°You''re my old BFF.¡± Laura heard the door behind her creak and the sound of loud voices. More college guys. Swiveling around, she took a look. Fresh, unlined faces. Wet t-shirt contest-looking tops and running shorts. Sneakers. Backwards baseball caps. Why did they all look twelve?


    ¡°Henderson Cross Country¡± read all the wet shirts. Ah. High school. That''s why they looked twelve.


    The sound Josie made caused Laura to pivot back, whiplash a distinct possibility. ¡°You pig! At least try not to burp,¡± she hissed.


    ¡°In some cultures it''s a compliment, you know.¡±


    ¡°In some cultures, a woman who did that would be stoned to death.¡± Josie stuck out her tongue and stifled another belch. ¡°How can I be your old BFF when that woman is like a thousand years old.¡±


    ¡°She''s young on the inside.¡±


    ¡°She could be the cryptkeeper''s mother. Grandmother. Uh ¨C ¡±


    The door behind her creaked open again and she heard footsteps. Then a low whistle from Josie, who peered around Laura. ¡°Hot damn!¡±


    Madge slid a cruet of peanut butter joy at Laura, who speared a chunk of green cake and dipped it in the creamy mixture. ¡°Whuh?¡± she asked, tipping her face up to watch her friend.


    Josie pitter-pattered her fingertips over her heart. ¡°Some day my Thor will come. And this one is mine, Laura. All ¨C ¡± She halted, eyes growing alarmingly huge, her words ending abruptly in a strangle. Mouth dropped, Laura could see parts of Josie''s meal in her tongue.


    ¡°Jesus, Josie, shut your trap.¡±


    ¡°Hey ¨C I didn''t say anything bad.¡± Squinting, Josie cocked her head and flinched, suddenly nervous.


    ¡°No, I mean literally. Your jaw is almost on the table. Shut your mouth. I can see what you just ate. We''re not in third grade.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± Josie answered absentmindedly. What the hell was wrong with her? Laura''s feeling of comfort, of relaxation was dissipating fast as Josie''s distracted body language just added to Laura''s feeling of exhaustion and confusion. As she shifted to look behind her to see what on earth Josie was staring at, her friend shouted, ¡°No!¡±


    Huh? ¡°What the hell is wrong with you?¡±


    When she turned around, though, she understood exactly what was wrong with Josie. There stood Thor, cupping the waitress''s balls, with a more muscled version of Joey Tribiani grinning madly at him and saying ¡°How you doin''?¡±


    Dylan hadn''t been back at Jeddy''s in, what, two years? Last time he was here was with a group of guys from work, after a fire, when in the bowels of the night they''d found themselves embraced by soot, dead tired, and starving. No ramen noodles or scrambled eggs back at the station would do, so they''d come here.


    His balls greeted him nicely. OK ¨C their balls. Because it had been the trio who had invented the famous cardboard, be-balled icon at Jeddy''s, a combination of some wicked bad peyote and Mike''s college job working at Newbury Comics. Old Madge had helped, offering up an ancient server''s uniform, and the balls had been Jill''s idea. Dylan''s Joey Tribiani imitation stuck ¨C a little too well, because he was known as Joey until they''d finished college.


    ¡°You two,¡± Madge greeted them, shaking her head, lips pursed in an expression that was either pleasure or disgust. Dylan didn''t think the difference mattered much at her age. Or with her temperament. How the hell do you serve drunk frat boys, homeless glue sniffers and post-coital munchie seekers for six decades and not become ¨C


    Was that? Mike elbowed him. No way.


    No.


    Fucking.


    Way.


    From behind, he couldn''t quite tell whether it was Laura, but he had to be dreaming. She sat at a booth, hunched over a plate, blond hair in need of a combing, the woman across from her looking like a greasy chihuahua posing as a human dancer. Teeny tiny and hyped up, eager and craning to look at something.


    Him?


    Them?


    ¡°Is that Laura?¡± Mike whispered furiously as they followed Madge, who threw two menus down on the scarred formica table and walked off unceremoniously. Dylan slid in on his side, ass catching something, impeding his fluid movement. Duct tape. He wiggled his ass to settle down the torn edge, then froze.


    ¡°What? You''re crazy, man. What are the chances she''d be ¨C ¡±


    ¡°Come to claim your third?¡± Madge''s gravelly voice nearly made Dylan laugh. She sounded like a caricature of an old South Boston woman combined with Harvey Fierstein.


    Mike''s eyes bugged out of his head, shifting between the blond in the booth and Madge. ¡°Our third?¡± His voice sounded like Peter Brady going through puberty.


    ¡°Someone grab your balls too tight tonight?¡± Madge rasped, clenching the plastic balls in her hand. She nodded toward the warlock waitress. ¡°You ever gonna cart this monstrosity away?¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± Mike groaned. ¡°You mean him?¡± He pointed at the cardboard cut out.


    ¡°What other third would I be talking about?¡± she asked, incredulous, her hand batting the testicles and shooting Dylan a dirty look. ¡°You two are too old to come in here drunk,¡± she chided.


    Mike sighed, his lips buzzing as the air left him and he and Dylan buried themselves in the menu. ¡°God damn, Dylan. We need to figure all this out.¡±


    The last notes of some Meatloaf song faded out and then the all-too-familiar first chords of AC/DC''s ¡°You Shook Me All Night Long¡± filled the air. The blond''s head began tapping out the beat and the ratty little brunette with her looked like Will Ferrell playing a cowbell. Could that really be Laura?


    Nah.


    Why did the brunette keep staring at him? She huddled with the blonde, who fake-scratched her head and tried to do that sly thing where you look behind yourself without making it obvious.


    ¡°Chipotle maple sausage and a five-scoop sundae for me,¡± Mike announced. ¡°Fried green tomatoes, too. Double order.¡±


    ¡°Swear to God, Mike. Look at her. It''s Laura.¡± Just then, Madge appeared, dragging the warlock waitress with her. Julian Sands seemed to be judging their meal choices.


    ¡°The third in your threesome,¡± Madge announced grandly. The frat boys at the other table all did a spit-take in unison, bursting into good-natured laughter.


    And then the brunette froze. The blonde turned slowly, the folds of her neck reluctant to complete the motion, her arm reaching back as if through water, her body needing to know but so ¨C


    Yes. It was Laura.


    And boy was she pissed.


    ¡°Motherfucker!¡± she hissed. ¡°They''re following me?¡±


    ¡°So that is them? Holy shit, Laura, they''re more scrumptious in person than online.¡± Josie actually licked her lips and said, ¡°I wish they were on the menu.¡±


    Threesome? Had Madge actually said something about a threesome with them? Were they that open with everyone but her? Why on earth would a dried-up old octogenarian speak openly about their sex life like this?


    ¡°Warlock Waitress here wants you to take her home. Have your way with her. Give her the complete sex change she''s entitled to,¡± she heard Madge joke, a raspy smoker''s laugh rumbling after.


    ¡°You mean make Julian into Julia?¡± Dylan dished back. All three laughed.


    They had no right to laugh! Not when everything in Laura''s mouth turned to sawdust and Josie stared at her like something in an insane asylum under twenty-four hour watch.


    ¡°I''ll make a scene and you can crawl out through the kitchen,¡± Josie suggested.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°And then I''ll go over there and hang with them and we can be besties and I''ll,¡± she licked her lips again, ¡°get my own taste of Superhero Sandwich. I can be the meat.¡±


    ¡°You are a sick woman.¡±


    ¡°I got the fever and they got the cure.¡±


    ¡°I know you''re joking, but this isn''t funny anymore.¡±


    Josie dropped the act instantly. ¡°Sorry. You''re right. What can we do?¡±


    Crawling on hands and knees was starting to look like a great option, except she would have to abandon the rest of her cake. Was saving face worth leaving this luscious, green-tinted pistachio chocolate mound of salvation?


    With ice cream? And the untouched homemade mint whipped cream?


    No. She would stand her ground.


    For the sake of gastronomical integrity.


    Someone had to. And she would make that sacrifice. Determined, Laura took another enormous bite of cake, ice cream, whipped cream and all dipped in peanut butter sauce.


    The moan that escaped her body rivaled anything she''d made in bed with those two.


    Which is why they both turned in unison, she imagined, staring as she devoured her true love. Thor could have his hammer. Dylan looked enough like a short Christian Bale to be Batman. Right now, though, she was going green, getting her most important hole stuffed by the Hulk.


    Peanut Butter Hulk Smash cake allowed her to be the avenger now.


    Could those two be any weirder? Following her here to Jeddy''s, where she still had their funk on her. In her. In places no man had ever been before on her body. Places she suspected no one except maybe, once, the gynecologist had touched during a routine ¡°Hi! Welcome to 25!¡± exam.

 Page 3

    Was it getting warm suddenly? ¡°Are you hot, Josie?¡± she asked through a mouthful of cake.


    ¡°No. But they are ¨C hey! One of them is coming over. Thor,¡± she drooled.Advertisement


    ¡°Not funny.¡±


    ¡°It is when I''m not you, hon.¡± She nodded behind Laura. Shit. Mike really was walking over here. Covered in food splotches from haphazardly digging into the delights, she wondered if the rest of her was as disheveled. Barely able to look, she forced herself to anyhow. The ratty old sweats that seemed like a good comfort choice at home made her look like Tori Spelling after giving birth. Her hair was shoved into a knotted mess and makeup ¨C what makeup? It had been smeared off long ago. Hell, some of it was probably still on Mike''s torso.


    Her mouth watered. And not from the food.


    ¡°Hey.¡± Why did his voice have to have this reaction on her, like a warm breeze on wet skin, her every pore attending to his presence before she even looked back? Why did his tone make her body inhale sharply, every part of her lungs ready to sigh with pleasure at the very thought of his presence?


    And why, for the love of all that is holy, was Josie goggling at them both like this was some sort of side show at a carnival?


    Oh. Because it was.


    ¡°Grab his balls!¡± Josie''s words made Laura glare, wide-eyed and wild.


    ¡°What?¡± she hissed.


    Jumping up, Josie skittered around Mike as if he were a pillar holding up the restaurant. ¡°Hey! Grab his balls!¡± She ran over to the cardboard cutout and began chatting up Dylan. All Laura heard was a handful of words from Dylan''s sweet mouth:


    ¡°...I know, I...¡±


    ¡°...no, the balls weren''t my...¡±


    ¡°...four? No, we never considered...¡±


    and Josie''s rat-a-tat-tat machine-gun fire conversation. Don''t look at him, she told herself, though she could feel him, inches away, the hair on her skin like hundreds of thousands of little clitoral hoods, all aching for him, for release, for this yearning to go away, no matter what.


    But especially via his touch. As if on command, his hand touched her shoulder. Involuntarily, she flinched. He pulled back. This dance? Really?


    It sucked.


    ¡°Hi, Mike,¡± she said reluctantly. Couldn''t ignore him.


    Fluid grace poured into his limbs as he deftly slid into Josie''s space, his movements belying his size. How could he ¨C oh, she knew. Hands eager for connection, she pulled them into her lap, then sat on them, her ass pinning errant fingers in place, knowing damn well what she''d do if she didn''t.


    Wait. No. She was supposed to be angry with him. Them.


    Everyone.


    ¡°Hi.¡± The shy act wasn''t going to cut it tonight. She went for the throat.


    ¡°Stalking me? Isn''t that Dylan''s specialty?¡± He flinched and winced, then arched one eyebrow and took a deep breath. Target hit. So why didn''t she feel victorious? Instead, her stomach roiled and nausea crept in. Why did he and Dylan have to ruin this? Her one refuge ¨C food and Josie, together ¨C and now what had been the beginning of sorting through threads entangled between the three of them had turned into even more enmeshment, confusion, and hurt.


    ¡°No ¨C we ¨C uh ¨C ¡± He gave up, not making eye contact. Eyelids fluttered shut and he splayed his palms on the grooved table top, his right index finger worrying someone''s carved name. Jane. Who had Jane been? Could have been Madge''s mother, for all they knew.


    Or one of Mike and Dylan''s lovers.


    Using his arms as leverage, he slowly stood, back curling and shoulders flaring, leaning in toward her. When his face tipped up his eyes locked with hers.


    ¡°Whatever you think right now, you''re wrong. And when you''re ready to talk, we''ll be there.¡± One hand reached for her, steady and firm, the touch like tissue paper against a rose petal. An apologetic smile twitched in his lips and the skin beneath his eyes softened.


    ¡°We won''t come after you, Laura.¡± He glanced over at Dylan, who was laughing at Josie, who had removed the warlock waitress''s balls and was teabagging in front of an audience of golfers and hungover college boys. Mike rolled his eyes. ¡°OK, I won''t. Can''t guarantee what Dylan will do.¡±


    ¡°He and Josie seem to have hit it off.¡±


    ¡°Is she twelve inside?¡±


    That made Laura laugh. Bingo. His thumb stroked the underside of her cheekbone and she went liquid, all muscles melting and everything warm became wet. Mike leaned in and softly kissed her temple.


    ¡°When you''re ready.¡±


    Was Mike seriously kissing Laura right now? Right now, as Dylan was stuck with her friend, who was mouthing the very balls thousands of people had manhandled for the past decade? The very balls Jill had grabbed and stuck on the warlock in what now felt like another life?


    Cool.


    Whatever it took to thaw everything, to get Laura to believe that they wanted her, that they wanted a we that no one else really understood. Hell, they didn''t even understand it. Who could blame Laura for feeling conflicted and fearful and ¨C


    Oof. This Josie chick just whomped him in his very real balls with those very fake balls.


    ¡°Hey! You paying attention there, Thor''s sidekick?¡±


    Thor''s what? ¡°My name is Dylan. Who is Thor?¡±


    She laughed, rubbing the plastic testicles against her cheek, like stroking a kitten. ¡°Like I don''t know your name. You and Mike are all Laura talks about.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± So they call Mike ''Thor''?


    She shot him a look. ¡°Really? Like you don''t know. You aren''t exactly conventional. I haven''t seen Laura eat that much food in one sitting since Ryan left her. Some wicked show you two got going on.¡±


    Show? ¡°We didn''t mean to ¨C ¡±


    Placing one long finger with an even longer fingernail against his lips she shook her head slowly. The rest of her fingernails looked like peacock tails. ¡°You don''t get to speak right now. In fact, I hope Mike there doesn''t try to talk too much.¡±


    Dylan snorted. ¡°No worries,¡± he said. Except it sounded like ¡°mo uhwees¡± with her finger pressing against his mouth. ¡°He''s a quiet giant.¡±


    She made a face like she was impressed. ¡°Then you might have a shot. Too bad you guys set her up. The last thing Laura needs is to feel manipulated.¡± She glowered. ¡°Why am I telling you this?¡±


    Whack. She smacked him with the rubber balls. ¡°Ow!¡±


    ¡°You deserved it.¡± She was right; he did. They did. His stomach rumbled and he checked the wall clock. Pushing 5 a.m. Shit ¨C he started a new shift in two hours. Whatever they needed to do to get Laura to believe that they wanted her ¨C wanted more ¨C and that this wasn''t some pervy plot, they needed to do it fast.


    Turning on the charm, he shot Josie a warm grin, his arm going up around the back edge of the booth, the gesture intimate and inviting. ¡°You''re her best friend. What would you tell some amazing guy ¨C ¡±


    ¡°Guys.¡± She turned it into two syllables. Geye ¨C ZUH. Which made it all sound rather pervy.


    He kept going. ¡°Guys. OK. What would you tell us to do to get her to explore this with us?¡±


    ¡°Explore? That sounds so...eww. Would you say that to someone if you were just in a one-on-one relationship? ''I want to explore this. Explore you. Explore your hoo-haw'' ¨C ¡±


    ¡°Hoo what?¡±


    Just then, Mike approached. Thank God, Dylan thought. He was starting to feel a little too...something. Flinching, he pulled back from Josie and shot Mike a pleading look. Rescue me?


    ¡°Hi,¡± Mike said to Josie, extending his hand to shake. She grasped it and Dylan got a good, long look at those weird, long nails. Yep. Peacock tails. Golden, glittering streaks interspersed with some weird, glittery green and a bunch of colors you''d only see in nature.


    She smiled real wide at Mike, clearly drinking him in. Some part of Dylan''s ego felt chipped away, irked that she didn''t look at him like that. What the hell was he thinking? Whether Laura''s best friend found him attractive or not wasn''t exactly top on his list of issues right now. Besides, Josie had asked him earlier if he and Mike had ever been in a foursome. Her intent was hard to read; sarcasm? Or ¨C worse ¨C an actual offer?


    Mike''s return grin was polite. Hesitant. He gave nothing. Atta boy, Dylan thought. Josie''s face went a bit tentative, the first sign of any social filter in the woman. Mike could do that to people. He was so centered ¨C not self-centered, but grounded ¨C that his openness unnerved people. It was yet another aspect of him that drew Dylan, and probably Jill and Laura, to the giant ¨C


    Ah. Thor. Studying Mike''s features, Dylan suddenly got it, chuckling at the women. Taller than most men, Nordic features, the dark blonde hair and those glittery eyes. Legs like tree trunks and a cobra chest and back. Thor.


    Did that make him Loki? He shuddered at the thought, his chuckle fading fast. He was waay more built than that guy. More Captain America than ¨C


    ¡°Earth to Dylan.¡± Mike was waving a hand the size of a catcher''s mitt in his face. ¡°Josie was just telling us some important information about Laura.¡± Mike widened his eyes and his look said Hey, dumbass, show some respect.


    ¡°Yeah. Sure.¡± Movement at the other booth caught his eye as Laura stretched her neck from one side to the other, then slid to the right, out of the booth and walked unsteadily to the bathroom. Her gait caught him unaware, and ¨C yep, he was hard. That fine, round, soft ass sashayed away from him, her hips encased in some loose yoga pant fabric that clung to her curves, disappearing around the corner as she opened the door. It was unsettling when what he really wanted was that ass on him, in his lap, or in front of him, hands feeling every ¨C


    ¡°...so I''m not going to sit here and pour out all of Laura''s secrets to you two idiots, but you obviously need someone to hit you with a clue bat.¡± Josie held up the plastic balls. ¡°Or clue balls. Whatever. You should have been upfront with Laura and told her that you know each other. And that you''re gay ¨C ¡±


    ¡°Nope.¡± Dylan crossed his arms over his chest. Here we go again. ¡°Not gay.¡± Mike shook his head.


    She smiled slyly. ¡°OK, not gay. But...not not gay?¡±


    Dylan pursed his lips, eyes narrowing, face hard. Mike had closed up, too. ¡°We''re not having this conversation with you.¡±


    ¡°No offense,¡± Mike jumped in, palm up and facing Josie in a gesture that asked her to give them a second to explain. ¡°It''s complicated.¡±


    ¡°It''s always complicated.¡±


    ¡°Where have I heard that before?¡± Dylan muttered. Now he was getting pissed, and he could tell Mike could tell he was getting pissed, and he was hard from watching Laura walk away and now this little yippy drowned rat of a friend wanted to tell him allll about him and Mike. Judgment was all fine and good until the other person was just plain wrong.


    Then it was torture.


    ¡°You don''t know us from Adam,¡± Mike said in a soothing voice. Josie looked at him with rapt attention, her mouth open slightly, lips parted and face softened. It made Dylan like her a bit. Just a bit. Mike had that effect on women. On men. On dogs, for that matter. He could make almost any living being feel like they were the center of the world.


    ¡°And we hope you respect that. We know you''re Laura''s best friend and we know you know her far, far better than we do. Someday we hope to rival you on that,¡± he added, his grin widening, eyes lasered on Josie''s.

 Page 4

    She smiled. Dylan dropped his hands from his chest. Now they were getting somewhere. He couldn''t stop surveying the women''s room. A glimpse of her was what he wanted.


    Not really. What he wanted was to storm over to her table, slide in next to her and charm the pants off her. His pants tightened. Damn jeans.Advertisement


    ¡°If you really want to understand Laura, you two need to back the fuck off.¡± The profanity caught Dylan''s attention; her tone was nasty but matter-of-fact. ¡°You''re not asking for anything she''s ever experienced. Or that most people, much less most women, have experienced. You lied to her ¨C ¡±


    ¡°We didn''t lie,¡± Dylan sputtered. Mike tried to shut him up with a look but Dylan wasn''t having any of it. ¡°We just didn''t tell her everything.¡±


    ¡°You Catholic?¡±


    ¡°How''d you know?¡± he asked, bewildered.


    ¡°You have the Irish-Italian Catholic look. So you know the difference between lies of comission and lies of omission.¡± She said it flatly. It wasn''t a question. Mike pinged between the two of them, a confused look on his face.


    ¡°Yeah.¡± She had him. Omitting the truth was as bad as telling an outright lie.


    ¡°Fill me in?¡± Mike asked, waving at them both. ¡°Lapsed Lutheran here.¡±


    ¡°You guys didn''t tell her the truth,¡± Josie said, exasperation coating her words. ¡°You have a lot of trust to regain. A lot.¡± She screwed her face into a disapproving look that was a bit too reminiscent of those nuns Dylan dealt with back in elementary school. ¡°I don''t see how you ever thought that was a good plan. Date her separately and then assume you could just shift into threesome mode?¡± Hissing the word ¡°threesome,¡± Josie twisted her head back and forth, making hard eye contact with each. ¡°Not the smoothest of moves. Who came up with that one?¡±


    Both men dipped their heads, suddenly entranced by the silverware, Mike fingering a fork while Dylan polished his spoon with his old t-shirt.


    She snorted. ¡°Yeah. Well, whatever led you to surprise her like that ¨C don''t do it again. Not if you hope to get her back.¡±


    ¡°Any ideas?¡± Mike asked, a half smile trying to coax some allegiance from her.


    She shook her head. ¡°Don''t stalk her?¡± As she stood to walk back to her and Laura''s booth, Dylan caught a glimpse of a blonde pony tail, Laura''s face down as she hurried back to her booth.


    ¡°We didn''t stalk her,¡± Mike protested. ¡°We just wanted Jeddy''s as much as you guys did.¡±


    ¡°Everyone has a big appetite after a menage,¡± Josie joked. Madge appeared, arms laden with plates of hot sausage and more, just as Josie spoke. Plates delivered, Madge pivoted three steps, stopping.


    ¡°Menage, huh?¡± Madge muttered as she filled salt shakers the next table over, pointedly taking in Dylan and Mike. ¡°I wouldn''t mind surviving that.¡± She shot Josie a sideways look. ¡°They must have crushed you to a pulp.¡±


    Laughter filled the restaurant as Josie plunked the rubber balls in front of Dylan and Mike and walked back to her friend, leaving Dylan with no appetite and a million questions. Go slow? How do you go slow after...


    Madge waggled her eyebrows. ¡°You buys ever need a third, you know where to come.¡±


    Ewww. Dylan''s pants loosened instantly. ¡°Uh ¨C ¡±


    She threw an arm around the warlock waitress. ¡°I meant him. Her. It.¡± A choking laugh carried down the aisle as she shouted back, ¡°Sorry, boys. I''m taken.¡±


    Laura hyperventilated in the bathroom stall. Calling it a stall was a bit of a stretch. Years ago, someone had removed the metal door and replaced it with a cheap shower curtain with an outline of an arm wielding a knife and red splotches. All that stood between her and the mess out there was Psycho. Nice.


    Crying on the toilet felt like an accomplishment. Hell, just walking down the aisle into the bathroom was a victory, her legs shaking from nerves and anxiety and panic. If her heart rate was any indication of what those two men could do to her, she should be in an ambulance on the way to a cardiac center for immediate surgery to fix...to fix...


    Whatever they''d broken in her heart.


    This was not how she''d envisioned seeing them next. If at all. No, Laura. Stop it. She hadn''t even gotten to the point where she could think about whether she wanted to see them again after what they did to her. With her. In her...


    Gah! Now motormouth Josie was out there spilling all her secrets. She knew Josie well enough to know what was happening out there, and that it was useless to try to stop her. The tongue lashing those two were getting from her friend ¨C


    OK. Bad choice of words. The nagging lecture Mike and Dylan were likely getting would turn them off her anyhow. She chuckled through the tears. Served them right. They knew each other? Were double-teaming her in every sense of the word? Had planned this big threesome night without telling her the little, trivial detail that oh! hai! I can haz menage?


    And they were together? But not gay? Neither had touched the other ¨C not once ¨C during their lovemaking. So how did that work? It was complicated enough to figure out one guy''s needs, his wishes, his quirks and such. In a hetero relationship.


    Two guys? Double the fun and double the trouble, and then the dynamic between them that would mean ¨C what? ¨C for her? If she were in some sort of permanent relationship with both men, would they always have sex together? Or would they pair off and rotate nights? Would it be like something out of Big Love but in reverse ¨C with Laura the one they shared?


    If she wanted to cuddle on the couch could she pick one and hang out, or would they always be three? Her head hurt and as she relaxed enough to pee she felt a stinging that took her by surprise. Oh. Yeah. That whole area was still sore from those two.


    Who had lied to her.


    Lied. Not told. Same thing.


    Snot covered her face as she wiped her nose with the palm of her hand, misjudging how full her nose really was. Cheap, scratchy toilet paper cleaned her up but just made everything feel raw now. Would any part of her ever not feel raw, so shaky and vulnerable? As she finished up and washed her hands in the sink she found herself staring into the mirror, her eyes puffy and red from crying, the bloodshot whites in great contrast to the shiny color, the stained walls behind her covered in graffiti that probably extended back to Madge''s youth.


    Big sigh. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale ¨C just as the automatic air deodorizer pushed out a little spritz, filling her lungs with some God-awful fake Lily of the Valley scent that mixed with the stench of the bathroom and made her gag.


    Great. Like this couldn''t get any worse. She fled the bathroom, gasping for fresh air, and the sight before her told her that why, yes, Laura. It could get worse.


    Josie was whacking Dylan with a set of rubber balls.


    Retreat! Retreat! Had they seen her? Ducking behind the coat rack, she crouched, feeling stupid and ridiculous. Mike sat down and introduced himself; she had a full view of the scene from behind someone''s cigarette-soaked tan barn coat. He shook Josie''s hand and then Josie yammered at him. From afar, the interaction was almost comical, Josie''s mosquito-like buzzing a stark contrast to Mike''s slow, steady existence. Dylan sat, cocky and comfortable, arms stretched out behind him across the top of the booth. Josie whacked him in the lap with the balls and Laura giggled. The way he folded in half told her it hurt.


    Good.


    Tears filled her eyes. Good? Jesus, Laura ¨C Good? Now you''re wishing harm on him?


    No. Not OK. Time to go out there and ¨C what? Confront them? Confront yourself?


    Nope. Time to go back and have your cake.


    And maybe finish eating it, too.


    The more she talked, the calmer he got. Zen. Focus on what is. Just breathe. Let her existence interfere with nothing. What she said, she said. Who she was, she was.


    When she whacked Dylan with the balls, it just was.


    And it was funny as hell.


    Mike pulled out every meditative awareness technique he could think of, with more than ten years of reading, practice, conferences, and seminars under his belt. Nothing seemed to work very well with Josie, though; she was spitfire and alllll reaction. Completely unaware of how she seemed to everyone else kinetically, she just moved through time and space as sheer energy.


    He remembered a time when he was like that, years ago, a time when he was so exhausted all the time. So busy searching for something, judging everything, fiercely protective and loyal to his loved ones and scanning, yearning, sorting and journeying to find ¨C what?


    He hadn''t known. Still wasn''t sure, but he definitely understood now that slowing down, acting rather than reacting, and just being present helped him to find it.


    All this back patting must be tiring, Mike, his inner voice said, clearing its throat. He sighed.


    Touch¨¦.


    Nothing about the night was going as planned. Plans. His plans; Dylan had been very kind back there, not blurting out the truth. Having Dylan surprise them at the cabin had been Mike''s bright idea. Stupid stupid stupid, the voice said now, a taunting, lilting tone.


    It wasn''t supposed to look like they''d ganged up on her. He''d envisioned a different outcome, not the threesome they''d enjoyed but more of a quiet talk, some soul bearing, and a gentle discussion about possibilities.


    Dylan had changed the plan, coming far later than planned and interrupting them at the most delicate of moments, then broaching the subject like a bull in a china shop. Delicacy and tact were never his strong suits, to say the least.


    When she''d agreed, Mike had been as shocked as she probably was. Never in a million years would he have pegged her as someone who would, in the heat of the moment (and oh, what a hot one it had been...) make a snap decision like that and just jump. Leap. Go for it.


    Have her fill.


    The thought made the corner of his mouth shift up, not quite a smile, definitely not a smirk. Washing his face with his hands, he wondered how he and Dylan appeared to Josie. Were they freaks? Jerks? Guys who were somehow mindfucking her best friend?


    From the look on her face right now he guessed the answer was All of the Above.


    He made himself seem like he was paying attention to the conversation that unfolded before him between him, Josie, and Dylan, but all of his focus was on Laura. She''d gotten up and gone to the bathroom and her skin was still on his lips from that simple kiss. Why had he been so bold? She seemed moved to tears, unable to walk straight.


    Maybe that was a result of something earlier. He made a face at the thought. Dylan frowned, watching him. ¡°What?¡± he mouthed. Mike shook his head imperceptibly and resumed paying attention to Josie, who was giving them hints on how to handle Laura.


    If being whacked over the head by their own stupidity could be categorized as a hint.


    Right now, he''d take any advice if it had half a chance at working. Why did he know when to back off and give someone space, but was utterly clueless when it came to drawing close? Josie assumed they''d been stalking Laura, coming to Jeddy''s at the same time, and he knew trying to explain that it was a weird coincidence ¨C Jill would have called it ¡°the universe speaking to us¡± ¨C was futile.


    Josie and Laura would believe what they wanted to believe, and nothing he and Dylan said or did would make a difference.


    So why were they even trying?


    Because.


    Because.


    That''s all Mike knew. Because. Laura staggered back to her booth and Josie walked away. The old waitress made a lewd comment. Mike inhaled. Mike exhaled. Mike inhaled. Mike exhaled.

 Page 5

    And then Dylan stood, eyes flashing and intense, body aimed for Laura''s booth, and Mike stopped breathing.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Laura whispered.Advertisement


    ¡°What?¡± Josie asked, sucking the last remnants of ice cream from her spoon.


    ¡°Fuck me, Josie!¡±


    ¡°I don''t do girls. Well, except for that one time in college when ¨C ¡±


    Laura grabbed Josie''s arm, her fingernails sinking in. ¡°They''re coming over here.¡±


    ¡°And you''re surprised?¡± Josie looked at Laura like she had three heads.


    Three.


    As if he owned the joint ¨C no, as if he owned her ¨C Dylan slid into the booth right next to Laura, arm stretching across the back of the booth, his chest against her shoulder. Mike had the decency to stand at the side and look awkward. Because he was awkward. This much, she knew.


    And Dylan was being a strutting ass because he was a strutting ass.


    This she knew, too.


    What she didn''t know was why they had decided once again to come after her. One fuck. She had been just one fuck, right? They''d convinced her (you convinced yourself) to have her first threesome and she''d reveled in it. Still felt it on her skin, inside her, in her mouth, on her thighs ¨C everywhere.


    But this wasn''t how she wanted it to go. Her guilt at dating two guys at once was bad enough. Learning they knew each other and were an item (sorta) that wanted her to complete them was too much to absorb at nearly 6 a.m. When she needed to go to work on zero hours of sleep. She still needed a shower, was starting to get a headache, and now six eyes stared at her with expectations that turned into a churning soup of hope and dread.


    ¡°Can you people pick one table and stick to it?¡± Madge croaked, refilling Laura''s water glass. ¡°Breakfast rush is about to start and I''ll need the table.¡±


    ¡°We''re over here now, Madge,¡± Dylan replied, winking at her.


    ¡°You done with your food?¡± She nodded at the half-full plates. Mike gave her a closed-mouth smile and nodded. ¡°OK,¡± she sighed. ¡°I''ll bring your check here.¡± Laura pretended Madge was the most interesting sight ever and watched pointedly as the old woman cleared the table in about three seconds, delivered the checks, and pointed a new group to an empty table.


    ¡°Man, how old is she?¡± Josie asked, admiring her energy.


    ¡°She''s been here at least since we were in college and put up old Warlock,¡± Dylan joked, nudging Laura. The heat from his chest made her feel like she couldn''t breathe, as if the warmth itself, made true from his blood, his flesh, his movement and soul, were some sort of force field that stopped time, stopped her heart, stopped everything and made her want to bathe in him. His presence. His scent.


    Wait. What?


    She looked up at Dylan, the muscle of his upper arm poking through the thin lines of his cotton t-shirt. Could she lick it without being caught? Bad Laura. Bad.


    ¡°You made the Warlock Waitress?¡± Laura''s hold on reality was tenuous at best. Learning these two had been responsible for a local culture legend would send her over the edge.


    ¡°Not quite,¡± Mike chuckled. ¡°It was really Jill''s idea.¡±


    If Mike had thrown a bucket full of cold ice water on her head, he couldn''t have jolted Laura out of her slump any faster. Jill. Of course. Of course it was Jill''s idea. Some part of her that had been churning and unfocused came into play again, sharpened by competition. She wasn''t seriously threatened by a dead woman, was she?


    Even one who looked like she''d been hand-chiseled by Ralph Lauren?


    Dead, Laura. Dead. You can''t compete with the dead.


    And maybe that was part of the problem here. Two very real, very alive men breathing next to her, both with heartbeats and fingers and raspy stubble and soft smiles. Both in love with a woman who had died not quite two years ago, someone they had spent early adulthood loving. Surfing and skiing and forging a very unique relationship that few would ever dare to try.


    They had ten years of this to draw on.


    She had a handful of hours. And was competing with a dead woman.


    She wasn''t feeling stifled for no good reason. And Josie saw something in her face, could read Laura so well, because before Laura could open her mouth to fumble through an explanation, Josie stood, ushering Mike away from the edge, and kicked Dylan in the shin.


    ¡°Hey! What was that for!¡± he shouted, rubbing his leg bone.


    ¡°Out. Give Laura some space.¡±


    ¡°But I ¨C ¡± Her glare cut him off. Rolling his eyes, he huffed ¨C but moved. Biceps flexing under that Rush t-shirt, Dylan''s body moved away, leaving a vacancy, a coldness where he''d been, that made her feel a little bit abandoned. Ping-ponging back and forth emotionally like this wasn''t her style at all, and she was weary. Just wrung out and ready for this night to end.


    The sun blinded her out of the blue, the restaurant''s windows unshaded. Madge went down the line lowering the blinds. Laura checked her phone. 6:07 a.m. Time to put the night to rest.


    Scooching over, she stood, Mike''s arm inches from her, his eyes purposefully not meeting hers. She smiled at Dylan and he took it as an opportunity, stepping closer to her until Josie blocked him with an arm the size of his ¨C


    Josie shook her head slowly, piercing him with her stare. ¡°Don''t be that guy.¡± She looked up at Mike, tipping her head way, way back. ¡°Those guys.¡±


    As the sun radiated through the filthy glass and illuminated Jeddy''s, a renewed sense of...something struck Laura. She lacked the right word for it, but knew the feeling. Not hope. Not promise. Not quite possibility.


    Willingness.


    Mike took a microstep toward her. ¡°When you''re ready,¡± he said, echoing his earlier words.


    ¡°Can we make you dinner some night this week?¡± Dylan asked, pushing ¨C ever pushing.


    She made a mirthless laugh. ¡°Last time Mike did that, dinner wasn''t just dinner.¡±


    ¡°We swear,¡± the men said in unison.


    ¡°Unreal,¡± Josie muttered.


    Laura grabbed the rubber balls from the table, where Josie had propped them up against the jukebox. Fishing a quarter out of her purse, she leaned over, giving anyone who walked by a nice money shot of her ample ass. She knew both men were staring and she cared ¨C more than she knew.


    Plunking the quarter in and making a choice, she turned and attached the balls to the cardboard cutout''s crotch. Giving them a squeeze, she and Josie sauntered out as the opening chords of ¡°Call Me, Maybe?¡± wended their way through the early breakfast crowd.


    Calling in sick was the best decision Laura had made in the past five days. Not that this was a week for exhibiting stellar judgment, though. As her fingers punched in the number for her boss''s personal cell phone, though, she felt legitimately ill. So ill, he just said, ¡°Do what you have to do to recover¡± and made sympathetic noises.


    Off the hook for the day, she stared dully at the back of her front door. ¡°Do what you have to do to recover¡± was easier said than done.


    Josie came out of the kitchen using one talon to peel a clementine. ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°I''m off for the day.¡±


    ¡°Cool. I don''t work until three, but I need some sleep.¡± Yawn. ¡°For once, I won''t ask you to make me coffee.¡±


    Laura was too tired to smile. ¡°Help me, Josie. What the hell do I do?¡±


    ¡°You''re asking the woman who hasn''t been laid for seven months for romance advice?¡± She shoved a wedge of citrus in her mouth. ¡°I''ll tell you what I would do.¡±


    ¡°That''s what I''m asking!¡±


    ¡°I would hear them out. Let them make you dinner. Spend time with them ¨C together. Don''t fuck them, though.¡±


    ¡°Josie!¡±


    ¡°You can''t blame me for saying that, Laura. ''Cause you did. Fuck them. And it freaked you out. They caught you off guard and I''ll bet it was the hot Italian dude who made it all happen.¡±


    Laura''s face must have revealed all, because Josie pointed and said, ¡°I knew it,¡± as she shoved the rest of the clementine in her mouth, standing and crossing the room to throw the peels away.


    ¡°He''s a charmer,¡± Laura answered. Choke. Not that Mike wasn''t, but Dylan. He could talk the pants off a prison guard.


    ¡°And the other one ¨C Jesus, Laura. Did you need stilts and a stool to fuck him?¡± Josie cringed and held up one hand, fingernails radiating from her palm like a metal sun sculpture. ¡°TMI. Don''t answer that.¡±


    ¡°Then why did you ask?¡±


    ¡°Because I have no filter. Duh. You''re my filter. And I have no filter when I''m talking to my filter about her positions when fucking a guy the size of a streetlamp.¡±


    Laura pretended to mull that one over, then threw a couch pillow at Josie, who seemed to know it was coming and ducked well ahead of time. ¡°Dinner? Really?¡±


    Josie blinked hard, rubbing one eye. ¡°Yeah. I think you need to just get to know these guys. Spend time with them. Not the kind of time where you sit there, all anxiety-filled, wondering when you''ll end up in bed. I mean the pal-around, cuddle on the couch, watch a movie and cook dinner for each other kind of time.¡±


    ¡°That''s called a date.¡±


    ¡°Yes. You need to date them.¡±


    ¡°Date them. Double date by myself?¡± Both laughed. ¡°Josie, I don''t even have a language for this!¡± she wailed.


    ¡°That''s the problem, hon. No one does. And I think,¡± she added, pensive suddenly, ¡°I think that''s why they care so much about you. Because you are the first person they''ve met in a long time who is even willing to learn whatever rare language they speak. So far, most people don''t even view it as words. Just offensive gibberish.¡±


    ¡°I find it lovely,¡± Laura whispered. Yawn.


    Josie laughed quietly, grabbing another clementine and her purse. ¡°I know you do, sweets. But right now the only language you need to speak involves a lot of zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Go to bed.¡±


    ¡°I need a shower.¡± Laura sniffed one armpit. ¡°God, that bad?¡±


    ¡°Sleep first. Shower after.¡±


    By the time she heard the door click as Josie left, Laura''s living room was spinning, the air washing before her like waves of water, her eyes heavy and lids drooping. As she heard footsteps waning down the hall, before she knew it she was fast asleep, vulnerable now only to whatever her subconscious conjured for her in her dreams.


    Chapter Two


    She knew he was there long before her eyes, her nose, or her skin registered him, ears perked and hearing an unspoken need that shouted through the silence. Her neck shifted to the left, open for his lips, and he did not disappoint. As if forged by God for his very shape, the touch of his mouth on the nape of her neck seemed divine, shaped for this moment, the two parts of flesh melding into one through the sigh that escaped her, unbidden and knowing.


    When Mike''s hands slid over her shoulders, down to her elbows, then effortlessly transitioned to her hips, the two slipping into a V that traveled to her womanhood and stroked out to her thighs, his cock hard against the cleft of her ass as the shower spray poured down on them, the sigh that came from her was like a prayer. Spinning around, she took his face in her hands and kissed him, hard, the sudden, fierce uprising in her needing as much of him now, right now, hard and fast and tough and quick and in and out immediately. His tongue matched hers, all fire and taking, as his knees parted her legs, then let her go with a tight nip to her lower lip, turning her around and bending her down.

 Page 6

    ¡°You are so luscious,¡± he murmured in her ear, words shattered by the spray and the steam, cut into bits and pieces her overwhelmed, pulsing mind and body could barely understand, the allure of his hands on her breasts, one pausing to shift himself and plunge into her, then resuming its spot on her overflowing cup, taking her to an aroused madness. As friction grew, his thrusts timed perfectly, her swollen, red passage seemed tapped into her lungs, her heart, her lips and her everything.


    Mike''s hands roamed her torso, teasing her clit as his gliding tightened, thrusts harder and more focused, the feel of his body behind her hardening as his own climax surely built. Her fingers clawed at the tiled walls, needing flesh to dig into, to hold on to for the wild ride of an explosive, wet, dripping orgasm that ¨CAdvertisement


    Beep, beep, beep. ¡°Ack!'' she squeaked, hand flailing for her phone. An alarm? What? Eyes unfocused and clit in the throes of an orgasm (huh? In her sleep?) she fumbled the phone, its ineffectual clunk on the floor making her cringe in horror. Another broken glass screen wasn''t going to please the geniuses at the Apple store.


    Retrieving it and sighing loudly with relief at its intact condition, she stared dumbly. An alarm for a meeting at work. Jesus. So why was her pussy on overdrive, pulsing as if she ¨C


    Oh.


    A flash of her dream drizzled into her subconscious ¨C and then a tsunami of tactile and mental dream memories hit her.


    Seriously? Coming from a dream? Was she that far gone?


    As her clit drummed a beat like a bass drum being attacked by a throng of marching band directors, the answer made her weep with frustration.


    Yes. Apparently.


    Josie was, quite possibly, Dylan and Mike''s savior, because it appeared that she had convinced Laura to give them a shot and to come over for dinner. One very, very long week had passed without word from her, and then ¨C a text. A quick phone call. An invitation heartily extended and hesitantly accepted.


    Accepted. That''s what counted, right? They had a chance.


    Mike knew they could blow this so easily, so he had deferred to Dylan as the cook tonight. Admitting he was better in the kitchen was hard, but he had to face facts: something about the Italian in Dylan made his food a little extra...something. Extra flavorful? Extra intense?


    Extra fine. Like the man. And if that little bit of extra could be the deciding factor between Laura''s giving them a chance or walking away, Dylan could cook.


    Choosing the wine, though, was Mike''s fierce prerogative.


    ¡°Oh, a nice red!¡± Laura teased, taking the glass by the stem from Mike''s nervous hand. They were standing in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen in his and Dylan''s apartment, the entire place decorated in a slick, cold grey and black scheme he had never liked, but that been a legacy of choosing this place a few years ago. The price had been a stretch for him and Dylan, though Jill had shouldered a bit more of the rent; after her death they''d learned she had paid well over half the real price, the two of them blindly forking over a rent check to her every month, never knowing the true cost.


    So he understood ¨C on a more trivial level ¨C how it felt to be duped. You''re really comparing that to this? his conscience exclaimed, riding him. Not even close.


    ¡°It''s a Chilean carmenere.¡± OK, OK, he argued back with himself. Not the same. Stop comparing and just stay in the moment. He took a deep breath, held it for seven seconds, and let it out in four. Center yourself, man. She''s worth it.


    ¡°It''s, um, very red,¡± she agreed, drinking half the glass in one long sip. Her hair was down and flowing tonight, framing her face with soft curves that mirrored her body. Casual, in a simple v-neck pink sweater, low-rise jeans that made his hands itch to grab that voluptuous ass, and with a tentative, but guarded, approach that made him want to reassure her, Mike wasn''t sure how the night would end but he did know one thing:


    He and Dylan were going to pull out all the stops to encourage Laura to take a giant, unconventional leap.


    Even if it meant ¨C


    His fingers slid over her forearm, the touch soft and reassuring, meant to get her attention ¨C not her arousal. He nodded toward the living room. ¡°Can I talk to you for a minute?¡±


    Laura had a way of tipping her eyes up first, eyebrows hitching up slightly, then bringing her entire face into the light ¨C Mike''s light, that is, given his height ¨C that was so endearing his heart felt like it blossomed, a lotus flower of love. Love? Where''d that come from? His conscience panicked.


    ¡°Sure,¡± she said, eyebrows furrowed now. He didn''t want to worry her. In fact, what he was about to say was all about getting her to relax. He compared what he was wearing to Dylan''s flour-coated polo shirt, jeans, and bare feet. On balance, he''d done fine after changing three times ¨C a simple blue button down and his most comfortable jeans seemed to fit in. Spending so much time worrying about little details was, at best, nothing more than angst and nothing less than an exercise in occupying his scrabbling mind.


    Either this would all work out or it would just fall apart. And either way, he had to find peace with the outcome.


    She leaned against the arm of the deep, scarred leather couch, a couch made shiny from too many hours of his and Dylan''s asses being planted on it, watching some sports game (Dylan) or a quirky documentary (Mike). Jill''s butt had left its considerably smaller imprint, too, for she had tortured them with her Christopher Guest obsession until Mike had finally gotten it ¨C and loved those movies, too.


    Shaking his head slightly, he willed himself back to the present, where Laura''s perplexed look was shifting, microsecond by microsecond, into wariness. No, no, no ¨C not what he was going for.


    ¡°I just wanted to say, first, that we''re really glad you came tonight.¡± The skin between her eyes wrinkled with something other than a smile.


    She looked up and simply said, ¡°Thanks.¡±


    ¡°And Laura, I ¨C this is awkward, but I want to say it. There are no expectations tonight.¡± His words had the opposite effect as his intent, her body bristling, eyes shifting away from his. Damn it! ¡°I mean, Dylan and I ¨C we just want this to be a simple dinner. No expectations.¡±


    ¡°You mean no assumptions.¡± Her voice was hard. Cold. Closed off. She nailed Ice Queen, that''s for sure. It made the awkward teen in him come out, his voice shifting up.


    ¡°I just ¨C I mean ¨C I,¡± he choked out. Fuck. This wasn''t how he meant it!


    ¡°Mike,¡± she said, interrupting him. ¡°When you tell me there are ''no expectations'' what you really mean is that normally you and Dylan would want sex. Expect sex. But you''re ¨C what? Being kind and letting me off the hook tonight?¡± She searched the room, looking for something, and then her head froze. Her purse. She was looking for her purse.


    Ah, fuck. Mike had driven her to leave by trying so hard, with good intentions, to put her at ease.


    Once again, his plans destroyed everything. This wasn''t really happening, was it? In horror he watched as she handed him her glass of red wine and walked to the couch where her purse sat.


    Dylan appeared in the doorway, mouthing ¡°What the fuck?¡± to Mike as Laura turned her back to them, pausing with her hand inches from her purse strap.


    ¡°No,¡± she said, shaking her head. Turning toward them her eyes widened at the sight of Dylan, who now wore half a pound of flour in his hair and on the front of a bright red apron he''d donned. It even sprinkled the tops of his toes, giving him a disheveled, slighty-nuts chef look that made Mike wonder whether Laura noticed.


    ¡°Guys, we need to talk.¡± She picked up her purse and sat down, plunking it in her lap, then cocked one eyebrow at Dylan''s appearance, a hint of a smile spreading her lips. Good. Good. Mike let out a rush of air; he''d been holding his breath without realizing it, as if that could stop time. Or, maybe, prevent him from bungling this. Too late for both.


    ¡°I don''t have anything to lose here, so I''m just going to say this.¡± She paused, eyes rolling up and to the left, as if rethinking something. ¡°Well, I have plenty to lose,¡± she muttered, ¡°but pride can be rebuilt.¡±


    With a frown, she put her purse back down and stood, waving her hand at Mike and Dylan, who both followed her lead and soon Mike found himself sitting next to Dylan, who plopped on the couch with a poof that made Mike cough a bit, flour now sprinkling his forearm. He gave Dylan a c''mon, are you kidding me? look.


    ¡°What? I get artistic in the kitchen.¡± Dylan self-consciously wiped his face, looked at his palms, and grimaced at the white powder.


    ¡°You cook like a four year old with an Easy Bake oven and a fan.¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± Laura said firmly. ¡°Me. Remember me?¡± Sheepish, they both had the sense to dip their heads before giving her their eyes. Mike suppressed an urge to shove Dylan. Unfortunately, Dylan had the impulse control of Bill Clinton in a room full of interns and couldn''t hold back his nudge. Mike simmered. Not worth it. Not worth it. Not worth it.


    His eyes settled on Laura.


    Worth it.


    Dylan blinked, his eyelashes white. ¡°Yes.¡± His voice came out like silk. ¡°Of course we do.¡±


    ¡°Then shut up and stop the childish crap and hear me out.¡± She wasn''t angry now ¨C her voice was preternaturally calm, and it creeped Mike out. Like she was detaching. Detaching not in some Buddhist sense, but detaching from them. From the relationship. From the possibility of what he knew, deep inside, was achievable.


    So that creepy feeling needed to be respected.


    And so did Laura.


    ¡°You know that what you did was wrong. You know that you should have told me.¡± Ah, here it comes, he thought. Good. Let''s get this out in the open so we can deal with it like adults.


    ¡°We don''t need to talk about this right now,¡± Dylan jumped in. Mike''s hands twitched. If he strangled him would it be justifiable homicide? Instead he shoved him, hard, and stepped on his foot.


    ¡°Ow! Hey! What was that about?¡± Dylan crossed his leg up and massaged his instep. More flour. Jesus.


    Mike gestured toward Laura while disdainfully brushing flour off his arm, carefully aiming it toward Dylan. ¡°Let the lady talk.¡±


    A grateful look from Laura was his reward. ¡°We do need to talk about it. Now. So settle down there, buckaroo.¡±


    Both men flinched, Mike''s entire body turning into a lightning rod during a storm, directing all the electricity in the air through his nose, making his scalp stand on fire. Dylan just gawked at her, wide-eyed.


    Instantly on alert, she seemed to realize something had happened, but Mike knew she wouldn''t understand. ¡°Did I just say something wrong?¡± she asked.


    He leaned forward, wishing he could touch her, soothe her. Knowing he couldn''t. Not yet. ¡°No, no. Nothing wrong. It''s just ¨C that''s what Jill used to call Dylan when he was, well, when he just was. Buckaroo. We haven''t heard it in nearly two years.¡±


    That face. Her cheekbones were so perfect, soft curves blunting hard bone, her eyes serene, questioning, and hard all at once, brows knitted in confusion and wariness, in something more ¨C a look of evaluation, of surmising what was critical and worth knowing, to apply to some emotional calculus he didn''t understand.


    Buckaroo.


    How one word could so easily change everything. Dylan swallowed so hard Mike could feel the click in his throat, and then he realized he had to break the tension, he had to make this all make sense, because Laura and Dylan weren''t going to do it. All those years of Jill and Dylan carrying the emotional water in the relationship had made him stale. Soft. Lazy.

 Page 7

    Time to step up.


    Literally. He stood, took two steps and reached for her shoulder. The sweater was warm, she was warm and soft, and she smelled like something sweet, a vanilla-scented perfume that made half the words fall out of his head before he could say them, replaced by a desire to embrace her and just stand there, bathed in her. Warmed by her.Advertisement


    Holding back that impulse was 100 times harder than not shoving Dylan had been. ¡°Laura, it''s fine.¡± She tipped her face up, head at an angle, eyebrows up and questioning. Is it really? her face seemed to ask.


    ¡°I know,¡± she answered. He froze. Expecting to comfort her, to reassure her, instead she came out with the one answer he''d least expected, the one answer that made his heart swell and his mind nearly crack in half. For Laura knew herself far better than he had ever imagined.


    And that made this all the more compelling.


    ¡°If there is any hope here,¡± she said, talking to him but also giving her eyes equally to Dylan, who now stood next to Mike, ¡°we need to get two things straight.¡±


    They nodded.


    ¡°No more lies. None. That doesn''t mean we need to spill everything about ourselves into one big baggage pile-up right here and right now ¨C ¡±


    ¡°But we could! I could! When I was in eighth grade I set fire to a field that caught train tracks on fire. And my senior year I slept with the new, hot assistant principal at my ¨C ¡± Laura cut Dylan off with a well-placed finger to the lips. Mike got hard just watching it. He could only imagine what Dylan felt.


    ¡°No.¡± She tsk tsk''d him, finger now wagging in his face. ¡°But no more enormous lies. You''re lucky I am even here tonight.¡±


    ¡°We know,¡± they said in unison. She laughed. Mike felt a shift in the balance of power now, as if she had come in uncertain and questioning and now ¨C she was the one in charge. It made his body buzz a bit more, set his senses on fire, and made him want to rescind his earlier offer of no expectations.


    Fortunately, his rational mind knew better. But his body....He''d need to run a solid half marathon to pound this one out.


    ¡°What''s the second rule?¡± Dylan asked, his hand running up and down her arm, slow and steady.


    ¡°No sex. Not tonight. Not until I ask. Being double-teamed like that ¨C ¡±


    Dylan snorted involuntarily. Mike cocked his jaw in irritation and kicked him in the calf. Dylan yelped.


    Laura just shook her head and resumed. ¡°Being ¨C OK, new word ¨C ambushed, by you guys, was really destabilizing. I don''t regret anything we did. Not for one second.¡± She took a step back and Mike understood why. It was getting hot in here.


    ¡°And yet...I need to just hang out with you. Get comfortable. Understand how this all works. It''s not like there are books out there on how to be a threesome.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I know,¡± Mike muttered. ¡°I checked.¡±


    Every muscle on Laura''s face came to life with laughter. ¡°Me, too!¡±


    Dylan shook his head. ¡°I totally didn''t.¡± He stopped rubbing Laura''s arm and ran his hand through his hair. A puff of white smoke popped up over his head and his dark hair stood on end. He looked, to Mike, like an adult, human version of a Muppet. The one who cooked with the Swedish chef.


    ¡°Oh, my God, you look like Beaker! From the Muppets!¡± Laura squealed, patting his head as the hair sprang back up. ¡°Myork! Myork! Myork!¡± she shouted, jumping up and down, her sweater climbing up and giving Mike a splendid view of her ass in what looked to be well-loved jeans. He could love them, too.


    Being patted on the head didn''t seem to suit Dylan; he looked like a dog being poked in the eye by a toddler, begging his master to rescue him, knowing he couldn''t bite back. Tough shit, Buddy, Mike thought. You get to be Beaker for now.


    Dylan rescued himself, his fingers clasping Laura''s wrist the third time she tried to flatten his hair. He led her into the kitchen and handed her a colander. ¡°Unlike the Swedish chef dude, I don''t set meals on fire, so let''s get this pasta going.¡±


    ¡°You do so set things on fire,¡± Mike objected, ready to tell Laura plenty of stories about his roommates kitchen screw-ups.


    ¡°Not since I became a firefighter.¡±


    ¡°Touch¨¦. You did nearly destroy a dorm kitchen single-handedly with a toaster and a frosted Pop-Tart, though.¡±


    ¡°Not my fault. Do you have any idea how many fire safety seminars there are about Pop-Tart glaze? It''s breathtaking.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Makes me gasp.¡± Mike poured a few inches of wine in his and Laura''s glasses as she shot him a surprised look. Sarcasm didn''t suit him, he knew. It oozed out when he was anxious.


    Anxious? Still? Things seemed settled. Ish.


    Ding! The kitchen timer went off. Dylan leaped and ran, leaving a small cloud of white flour in his wake. ¡°The meatballs!¡± he shouted. Mike and Laura followed, curious.


    ¡°Oh, what is that amazing scent?¡± Laura asked, pretending to swoon. Maybe she really was. Mike was half delirious himself from the smell of whatever Dylan was making. Taking a chance, Mike slid his arm around Laura''s shoulders. She relaxed into him, keeping her eyes on Dylan. The press of her body into his felt so comfortable he needed to pause and blink, arm resting against the nape of her neck, across her shoulders, the casual comfort of the gesture so...right.


    This was what he missed most. The normalcy of a night of cooking, of hanging out, watching movies and just relaxing. Being. Living. As Dylan pulled a meatball out and put parts of it on forks for everyone to taste, something in Mike released. Exhaled.


    It felt damn good. Better than sex right now.


    Laura snuggled in closer, her arm reaching for the fork, taking it from Dylan, lips closing over the morsel, her ribs expanding against Mike as she sighed. Eyeing the contact between the two, Dylan just smiled. Cool. Everyone was finally starting to chill.


    His grandma''s magic meatballs cured everything.


    If not everything, at least they brought them all a little culinary bliss. He tasted a bite. Perfection. A blend of beef, a little veal, some pork, and oregano, basil, pepper, a touch of sugar and some grated parmesan with a tiny bit of mozzarella. Loads of garlic, of course! Juicy and coated in homemade tomato sauce (was there any other kind? If it came in a jar it wasn''t real food), each bite was like stepping into an Italian restaurant in the North End in Boston, red velvet booths and low light and white-shirted waiters shouting in Italian.


    ¡°All that''s left is the salad. Give me a few minutes and I''ll have everything out.¡± He surveyed the countertop. Destroyed. Red sauce everywhere (really? How''d it get on the kitchen ceiling fan blades?), the backsplash a buffet of splotches, every large pot dirty and stacked crooked in the sink, and zero counter space. None.


    ¡°I''ll help,¡± Laura offered, peeling off Mike, who looked disappointed. Good.


    ¡°Great!¡± He handed her a decanter of olive oil and a cheese grinder. ¡°Can you put the parm on the pasta and if it needs more oil, add some?¡±


    ¡°What about me?¡± Mike asked. ¡°Need anything?¡±


    ¡°Set the table?¡± Mike nodded and made quick work of it, grabbing plates and shuttling to and fro between dining room and kitchen. It all felt so...domestic.


    Until Mike put a dent in it. ¡°Hey, Dyl!¡± he hissed, nodding to the hallway. Laura was tossing pasta and rotating the cheese grinder handle, sprinkles of parmesan snowing on the bowl of noodles.


    ¡°What''s up?¡± he asked, drying his hands on a towel.


    ¡°That whole no lying thing. Should we tell her about the ¨C you know...¡± Mike made a reluctant face.


    ¡°The you know what?¡±


    ¡°The billionaire thing. She doesn''t want lies, and she considers not telling her something major to be a lie.¡±


    Fuck. He hadn''t thought of that. If they kept this from her, eventually it would come out. Would she be angry they didn''t confide in her? Or would she understand why they wanted a little more time? It wasn''t about worrying that she''d become greedy, or view them as sugar daddies, or any of the normal reasons guys with money would hesitate to let a woman know.


    They had so much money there wasn''t anything a woman could do to drain it anyhow, short of buying an island or a private jet, and even then ¨C he shuddered, overwhelmed by the realization ¨C it would just put a temporary dent in their cash flow. Jesus Christ. They really were filthy, stinking rich.


    Next time, he was buying filet for dinner. Why had he made boring old pasta with meatballs? Sheesh.


    ¡°No way, man. Not tonight. It''ll scare her off,¡± he told Mike. Hell, he hadn''t even wanted poor Laura to have to get into talking about what he and Mike had done before. Anything that reminded her of negative feelings about them was off limits tonight. This dinner was about moving forward, not lingering in the past.


    He wiggled his toes, feeling flour. Brushing his hand through his hair, he was shocked by the not inconsiderable amount that rained down on his shoulders and chest. Then he took a good look at the counter. Man, he was a slob.


    But a slob who cooked some damn fine food.


    ¡°You don''t think we should take the opportunity?¡±


    ¡°I do ¨C just not this opportunity.¡± Dylan blinked, struggling to explain himself. Finally, he just let arrogance take him where he needed to go. ¡°Look, Mike. She''s vulnerable and unknowing right now. What women want at times like this is certainty. She doesn''t need truth. Oh ¨C eventually, sure,¡± he said as Mike opened his mouth to protest. ¡°Not now, though. What we all need is a quiet, comfortable, fun night where we get to know each other and ¨C ¡± He winked.


    ¡°Uh uh. No ¨C ¡± Mike winked back, exaggeratedly.


    ¡°OK, fine.¡± He sighed heavily. ¡°I was on the fence anyhow. Not that I don''t want to, but more that ¨C ¡±


    ¡°That she needs time.¡±


    ¡°I think she needs us.¡±


    ¡°And time.¡±


    ¡°Not too much time, I hope.¡±


    ¡°We''re fucking lucky she''s here, Dylan,¡± Mike whispered. No anger. No frustration. Just a matter-of-fact statement.


    ¡°Not lucky,¡± he argued.


    ¡°Then what?¡±


    Pink. Soft swells. Blonde hair. ¡°Hey, guys?¡± Laura asked, head peering around the corner. ¡°Ready to eat? I''m starving.¡± She raised her eyebrows, the skin pulling her nose up a tad and making her lips fuller. A cheerleader''s face. No ¨C a smart cheerleader''s face.


    ¡°Yep ¨C ready!¡± Dylan nearly shouted, almost jumping out of his skin when she appeared.


    ¡°What''re you guys talking about?¡±


    ¡°You.¡± Mike! So blunt.


    The three walked into the dining room. Mike had even lit candles. How romantic. How unnecessary, given the cockblocking.


    ¡°Me?¡± she asked.


    ¡°How great you are,¡± Dylan jumped in, eager hands slipping around her waist, his lips reaching out to press a kiss against her temple. The way she melted into him gave him more information than 1,000 words uttered from her lips.


    Mike frowned at him. She pulled back from Dylan and said breathlessly, ¡°Well, this is one amazing dinner.¡± Pulling out her own chair, she settled into what would normally be Mike''s seat. Dylan grabbed Jill''s old place and Mike settled into what they called the ¡°guest¡± spot. No need for formalities, right? Tradition and habit were thrown out the window now anyhow. Everything they knew, from domestic life to finances to dating had gone out the window over the past two years.

 Page 8

    Live a little, he thought. Shake it up. Sit somewhere new.


    Ah, Dylan, you wild and crazy guy.Advertisement


    Homemade pasta, meatballs, salad and garlic bread was probably the most stereotypical Italian meal he could have cooked, but it seemed to hit the spot for everyone. Laura ate with great gusto and Dylan admired that. So many women he dated ate like they were competing in American Idol: Anorexia Edition.


    She couldn''t possibly eat more than Mike, though, who managed to eat the share of a seventeen-year-old football player going through a growth spurt. With a tapeworm. And a hollow leg.


    Three plates later, Thor pushed himself back from the table and finished off his wine. ¡°Amazing, Dylan. Really.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡± Dylan''s stomach stretched just enough to make him want to unbutton his jeans. And he would have, if Laura weren''t here.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Laura groaned, setting down her fork. ¡°I give up.¡± She turned to Dylan and put her elbow on the table, chin resting in her palm. ¡°That was the best dinner anyone has ever cooked for me.¡±


    ¡°Ready for dessert?¡± he asked. They both groaned and put up their hands in protest.


    ¡°How about a movie, first?¡± Mike asked.


    ¡°Which one?¡± Mike liked some really weird shit, like those Christopher Guest movies. Not ¡°The Princess Bride,¡± which was a classic even Dylan liked, but the ones where people talked to each other like they were on some pretentious stage doing improv designed by a philosophy professor at a dog show as filmed by the Farrelly brothers.


    ¡°Let''s let Laura pick.¡± Mike bowed slightly, in deference to her. Mike always knew what to say. It made Dylan feel like an idiot sometimes. So, in retaliation, he totally hogged the spot next to Laura on the couch, grabbed the remote, and turned on the television, flipping to an on demand service.


    ¡°Comedy?¡± Dylan suggested. Laura looked between the two men, reading them. Her cheeks were a bit flushed from the wine and she seemed to have let down her guard a bit, relaxing into the sofa with a patterned throw pillow in her lap. He loved seeing her like this. Just being. And there went his body, tingling and rising to the occasion.


    The occasion Mike had squashed. Squash this, he thought, wiggling just enough to take the edge off his discomfort. Mike nudged past their knees and took his place on the other side of Laura. She looked to the left and to the right and seemed bemused.


    Grabbing the remote from him, Laura''s soft touch made him close his eyes and exhale. Garlic. Elephant amounts of garlic on his breath. Mammoth levels of garlic.


    Leaning in toward her, he smelled it on her breath, too. Mike probably reeked, too, which made him relax. OK. It was all good. If everyone smelled like an Italian restaurant, then there was no need for breath mints.


    Laura settled on a comedy he and Mike happened to have watched a few weeks ago. They exchanged a wordless glance of understanding; don''t question it. The film was funny enough to enjoy again, and she seemed to be a bit nervous suddenly. Whatever it took to keep everyone happy was what they needed right now.


    Even if it meant laughing all over at a movie they''d thought was just OK. Besides, right now, his attention wasn''t exactly focused on the television screen, with Laura''s warm body next to his, the rise and fall of her chest in his peripheral vision, her fingers worrying the wine glass stem. She wriggled and settled in place, crossing and uncrossing her legs, finally gulping the last of her wine and leaning forward to place her empty glass on a coaster.


    Heat from her body disappeared and left him feeling colder than he''d expected, and then Mike burst into laughter, followed by Laura''s surprised giggle. Something funny in the movie. He could only give it half his attention because the entire room came into sharp focus suddenly, as if he were watching them from above. A quiet night, capped with a decent, funny movie about some modern woman who was insecure, some man who''d hurt her accidentally, some big misunderstanding that needed to be unraveled, supported by each person''s best friend as plot devices.


    Add a second man and you had, well, them. All three.


    Here they sat, laughing at it on the big screen.


    Mike''s legs were stretched out on the coffee table, ankles crossed. Laura leaned back in and slouched a little, head cocked to the left. Dylan clutched a pillow and let the glow of the TV wash over them all. They were just three friends hanging out, watching a movie after a great meal.


    The tiramisu he''d soon spring on them was soaking in flavor.


    He was soaking in all of this.


    Self-assured, he stretched his arm behind Laura and rested one hand on his shoulder. A little smile played on her lips as she pretended to be completely absorbed by a movie that really only needed five of your brain cells to compute.


    Mike caught his eye. Looked at his hand. Nodded.


    Life was good.


    Chapter Three


    Knock knock. ¡°Wha?¡± Laura sat up. Who in the hell knocks at 6:11 a.m.?


    Bang bang bang. ¡°Laura?¡±


    Josie does. ¡°Lost my key!¡± she whispered.


    I never gave you a new one, Laura thought, shuffling to the door. Daylight was a glaring bitch this morning, sunlight aggressively spilling through her apartment.


    ¡°You know, they have these places,¡± Laura said sharply as Josie walked past her, into the kitchen, and grabbed the coffee sack. ¡°They''re called coffee shops. Professional coffee people make it for you and you give them these green pieces of paper and you get to drink it.¡±


    ¡°Green pieces of paper?¡±


    ¡°Or silver coins.¡± She yawned. ¡°Or plastic cards.¡±


    ¡°But they don''t have stories about threesomes like you do.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I''m sure if you ask around enough someone will.¡± She scooped the coffee with a slightly shaking hand. Could you have a tiramisu hangover? Jesus, Dylan had used a lot of rum in that delightfully scrumptious dessert. Pressing a few buttons, she got the coffee going and plopped down in a kitchen chair.


    ¡°You''re here to interrogate me, aren''t you?¡± she said, resigned.


    ¡°So whassup?¡± Josie stretched the word out in an annoying mimic of an old beer commercial''s frog actors. ¡°You a little sore today? That Dylan might be short but I''ll bet he has a dick the size of a coke can.¡±


    ¡°Ewwww!¡± Close, she thought. But she''d never tell Josie that!


    ¡°I just crossed over my own line.¡± Josie held out her palms in a surrender gesture. ¡°Sorry. TMI. I blame caffeine deficiency.¡±


    ¡°Blame your genetics. Your mom''s way worse. Remember how she announced to everyone in the marching band our freshman year that you needed to use non-chlorinated tampons because you couldn''t bear to experience another rash ¨C and then had pictures to warn other girls away from ¨C ¡±


    Josie shuddered and interrupted loudly. ¡°No, yo mama.¡±


    ¡°No, yo mama!¡± Were they really back in seventh grade? Yeesh.


    ¡°I don''t have a mama. She died that day.¡±


    Laura chuckled. ¡°You wish she''d died that day, because three years later when we graduated, there she was at commencement, under the bleachers, banging the band director.¡±


    ¡°She likes a little pomp with her circumstance.¡±


    ¡°She made it clear to the whole auditorium how much she liked his wand.¡±


    ¡°Topic change!¡± Josie shouted, leaping for the coffee maker.


    ¡°Her crescendo, too, was ¨C ¡±


    ¡°Oh, my God, stop!¡±


    ¡°Oh, dear. Am I going too far?¡± Laura said facetiously, playing it up. ¡°Have I crossed a decency boundary? Have I made you uncomfortable talking about sex?¡±


    ¡°My mother''s sex ¨C ¡±


    ¡°I wouldn''t want to force you to talk about anything so prurient. That would be being a bad friend, now, wouldn''t it?¡± Josie finally got the hint.


    "Was it weird? Being with two guys like that? I mean, and not sleeping with them?"


    Laura rubbed her eyes. Why was Josie getting on her last nerve lately? She was still angry with her for pouring everything out to Mike and Dylan. Why not make her walk around naked with a sign that said "Ask Me Anything"? If your best friend couldn''t keep your secrets, who could? That night at Jeddy''s had been one of the most stressful and surreal in her entire life, warlock balls and all. When she''d learned, later, what Josie had told the guys, after Dylan blurted it all out in a tiramisu-induced haze, she''d come home and nearly killed Josie.


    The morning coffee routine was getting old. What wasn''t getting old, though, was this developing relationship between her and the guys. The guys. Even that was surreal and weird. Ah, hell ¨C nothing about this threesome wasn''t bizarre, so she was getting tired of labeling it all as outside the mainstream. It just was. No getting around that. An internal argument deep within her raged on, one part telling her this was madness and a stronger, more settled part humming along nicely, ignoring the part that screamed "freak!"


    Speaking of freaks, Josie was saying something through sips of java. "If you kiss one of them, do you have to kiss the other?"


    "Huh?" Laura poured herself a cup. Might as well benefit from the fruits of her labor. That, and she needed the jolt. Yet another uncomfortable conversation with Josie, though she had to admit that the girl definitely helped sometimes, making her think about things she hadn''t considered. Like this?


    "Does it have to be 50/50? If you sleep with one, do you have to sleep with the other? Or is it always a threesome? Is there always double, well ¨C you know?"


    Freak! "You actually sit around contemplating these things, Josie? Seriously?"


    She had the decency to pinken a bit. "Who doesn''t?"


    "Most of the rest of the world." Sip. If she didn''t fill her mouth with something it would soon be full of words she''d regret saying. Please. This was devolving quickly into voyeurism. Laura was surprised by how annoyed she was becoming. Josie was always inquisitive. It was just who she was, and as aggravating as she could be at times, it had never troubled Laura this much.


    Josie shot her a wary look. "I just...no, I don''t sit around dredging up embarrassing questions to ask you, Laura." Her tone of voice conveyed hurt feelings. "But it''s natural, I think, to wonder. Most threesomes are one-night-stand kind of deals. What you have is so out of the realm of normal that it makes me think. Philosophize and stuff, about what it means for the long haul."


    Aha. And that was it. That was why this bothered Laura so much.


    Because, damn it, Josie was right.


    "What you''re doing, Laura, is fascinating to watch from the outside. Plus, yeah, I am demented. So sometimes my mind just...goes there. And I found myself wondering what it felt like, eating dinner with two guys, snuggling on the couch with two guys, wanting affection ¨C but not sex ¨C and having to, what? Pick? Kiss both? Cuddle in a sandwich?"


    That made Laura laugh. "I thought it would be weird, too. It kind of was, at first. Mike made a big spectacle of making sure I knew they didn''t expect sex. I knew what he was doing. He really was just trying to be nice and to help me relax." She let out a puff of air. "And it was good and kind and all that, but it pissed me off. I still don''t know what they were thinking, hiding the truth about their relationship from me."


    "They''re not gay." Josie started to unpeel a banana from Laura''s fruit bowl.

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    Laura did a double-take. "Did anyone ever think they were?"


    Through a mouthful of banana, Josie sputtered, "Ah, c''mon, Laura. Two guys with one girl? Gay, gay, gay."Advertisement


    "Not gay!" Holy smokes, not even close to gay. Laura knew gay. Gay men, that is. Her high school boyfriend her senior year had turned out to be gay. He''d come out when they were juniors in college, home at Thanksgiving and hanging out in a piano bar with a group of friends. Ding! A million little questions had been answered with one big answer. What other hot-blooded seventeen-year-old teenager wanted to cuddle and kiss all the time instead of banging wherever they could get a shred of privacy? Or knew all the words to the disco songs? Or liked to go clothes shopping with her?


    And eyed the same guys Laura surreptitiously checked out as they had wandered the mall?


    Her gaydar wasn''t pinging with Mike and Dylan. No way. it was just...complicated. That''s all.


    Why was it always complicated?


    Josie swallowed hard, trying to clear her mouth. "I know that. I asked."


    "You asked?" Laura''s turn to sputter.


    "They closed right up. That Dylan is one scary dude when he''s being cold. Mike, too ¨C but Dylan was worse. I felt like the ice king had just cast a spell over the booth."


    "You asked them that at Jeddy''s? Jesus, Josie. You have some ¨C "


    "Balls. Yeah. I know. I had to ask, though. If you''re just some bed toy for them, then I''m not letting anyone do that to my best friend, because that is some fucked up mental shit right there. If two gay guys are just out trawling for a chick they can bang to get off their jollies, it won''t be you."


    Laura started peeling a clementine. "I''m touched." She frowned. "I guess. In your own extremely convoluted way, you mean well."


    "And, by the way, no foursomes. Dylan shut that one down." The orange wedge in Laura''s mouth went flying across the room, landing in the sink as she did a spit take.


    "You asked about a foursome?"


    Josie winked. "I was just testing them."


    "Oh, my God." No wonder Dylan had made a funny face when Josie''s name had come up last night. Mike''s arched eyebrows without a smile had made her wonder as well. What in the ever-loving hell did they think of her best friend? And how did this reflect on how they viewed her? The night had been nice. Just nice. And just nice was exactly what she''d needed after far too many nights of surprise, shock, passion and boundary pushes. Breaks. Annihilations.


    Having a few boundaries in place where affection, banter, food and fun were all that were expected of the night had been refreshing.


    And now Josie...


    She wagged a finger in Josie''s face. "No more foursome tests. Or jokes. Or ¨C ewww." She shuddered. "And no more going behind my back to tell them how I feel."


    "Someone has to."


    "Has to what?"


    "Tell them how you feel. And frankly, if you won''t do it, I will."


    Laura plunked her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. "Why? Who appointed you the keeper of my feelings?"


    "Ryan."


    Jolt. "You don''t see me sabotaging your relationships!"


    "I''m not sabotaging anything, Laura! I''m saving your relationship. S. relationships. Well, it''s one, but with two guys. Where is Miss Manners'' Plural Guide to Threesomes?"


    This was getting out of hand. "To answer your original question, no. I don''t have to kiss one and then the other. I asked."


    "You asked!" Josie clapped her hands gleefully. "Did they hand you a neatly printed manual on how to have a perma-threesome?"


    Glare. "I wish you came with a user''s manual so I could find your off switch."


    Smirk. "You''re not the first person to say that to me."


    Sigh. "And I won''t be the last."


    Josie reached for her hand, the gesture one of caring. "Laura. Seize this. Accept it. Yes, it''s crazy. No, no one has words to describe it. And yes, I did go behind your back and tell them about you ¨C because someone needed to. They''re really great guys. You know that. Don''t blow this." She released her hand and stood.


    "Are you really jealous?" Laura squeaked out, surprised by Josie''s tenderness.


    "Jealous? Hell, yes. I don''t want to take it away from you, of course." She grabbed an apple and headed toward the door. "I just wouldn''t mind finding two guys like that for myself."


    The door shut on her words. Sip. The coffee tasted better than normal. Calming and soothing yet putting her on alert to start the day. Stretching, her arms reached high and her shirt rode up a bit, exposing a thin expanse of belly flesh. Not wearing a bra, her breasts rubbed against the thin cloth of her cotton jersey, her pajamas loose and comfortable. The day was about to start and work loomed large.


    Last night she''d left their apartment after watching a stupid comedy she''d picked simply because she''d already seen it the previous week, with Josie. Picking something she''d seen made sense, giving her the mental space to go through an hour and a half squished between Mike and Dylan, trying to figure out how to just be as, well ¨C three.


    Those ninety minutes, followed by gorging themselves on an amazing tiramisu Dylan had hand crafted, were like living in parallel. Half of her just enjoyed every minute, the domestic normalcy easier to sink into than she''d imagined.


    The other half was the problem: judging. Questioning. Analyzing. Poking.


    Doubting.


    If she could just quell that half of her then this could work. Really work.


    Where was her off switch? Her user''s manual? All she needed was the good half. The half that believed, that turned toward healing and tenderness and love in whatever form it took.


    Meanwhile, both halves needed a shower. She had another threesome in mind right now: her, Mr. Showerhead, and Bob, her battery-operated boyfriend. That was a threesome both halves of her could get behind.


    And now she didn''t have to fantasize about faceless lovers with their hands and mouths all over her. She had a very real memory to draw on.


    And a very real promise of so much more. Hers for the taking, in fact, if she just reached out.


    She reached out, alright. Turned on the shower, grabbed Bob, and slipped out of her jammies as the water heated up. The first spray of water hit her, tickling her shoulder with little wet pin pricks, and soon her head was under the water, her hair soaking fast as the water wended its way down her body. Ah, how different her hands felt against her own skin today. No sex last night; they''d ended the evening with warm hugs and tentative kisses, each man waiting his turn for a moment with her. It had been sweet. Mellow.


    Just right.


    As a smile played across her lips and she reached for the shower head, she marveled that something so simple ¨C dinner, a movie at home, a homemade dessert, two kisses ¨C could compete her so readily. She inhaled deeply as the spray tickled her clit, the shower head doing its magic as she balanced it in her right hand, left reaching for good old Bob. This Bob (ah, she had a drawer full of electronic boyfriends...) was purple and shiny and sleek. No need for a clit attachment when she had a shower head. And now, she no longer held Bob and the spray nozzle, but instead that was Dylan''s mouth.


    Mike''s hands roamed her back, soaping her as his torso slid along her rib cage, hard muscle hot and wet, the spray bouncing off skin the color of sun-kissed honey, his face wet and eyes intense, mouth reaching down for hers as his fingers slipped between her legs and began to stroke her.


    Now Dylan''s mouth was on her, kissing her hips, her ass, desire pooling and expanding deep inside, eager to clamp down on him as he thrust inside her, little sighs and groans in need of a reason to be made. Ah, those abs, wet and slick and rubbing against her breasts, lips on hers, tongue exploring as Mike''s hands did their magic on her clit, tracing lazy circles that took her breath away again. Again. And again, hitching higher as he built an orgasm from scratch, like a fine artisan plying his trade, infusing the final work with a delicacy and craftsmanship only one, lone man could spin. A lone man with eyes that cut through her flesh like a hot knife in butter, hands melting her skin to a core of need that pulsed, red and eager for more of him. Of them. Of all three as one.


    Bending slightly, Mike used his muscled thighs to pick her up, water making their skin slick, the friction adding to her craving as he pulled her pussy to his erection, lifting her enough that she could wrap her legs about him as Dylan''s mouth made its way down her collarbone, over her pink rose petal nipples, down to her abdomen and around to play with her back. Completely taken by surprise, the pressure of Mike''s eager rod nudging her clit was what she expected but instead he slipped fully within her passage, her body stretching to take him in as she was weightless, arms wrapped about his neck and face pressed against his wet pecs, gasping for time and air and a split second she desired to accommodate the new ¨C


    Thrust. She arched her back, consumed by this, her eyes catching Dylan''s hands on Mike''s shoulders. Nodding, Mike slipped out of her as she moaned, "No!" Dylan''s warm mouth took hers as they turned her about, Mike''s slippery front to her back, Dylan dropping to his knees, mouth descending on her womanhood as if it were the source of oxygen and all life. His tongue flicked up boldly as Mike''s pulsing rod entered her from behind, the twin sensations making her nearly slip and fall in the water''s embrace.


    Tickling her labia, Dylan used his hands to roam her ass, her legs, her knees and feet as Mike pounded her from behind, his hands on either side of her, pushing into the shower wall, she jolted up, slightly, with each thrust, the press against her cervix maddening and layered, building a climax she knew would make her gush. Her body expanded, limbs combining and morphing into one big pleasure center, the division between her body and Mike''s and Dylan''s becoming less distinct with every tongue touch, every impaling, every caress. As Dylan zeroed in on her clit with tight, quick laps and Mike''s legs grew thicker with exertion she felt an implosion beginning, her hands raking Dylan''s hair as she began to scream.


    "Oh, God, just right there. Like that. Oh! Oh! Oh!" Mike lifted one leg onto the side of the bathtub and shifted her hips just so, the new focus making her entire body seize up and then explode with a scream she had never heard, a rush of water from her pussy the gush she knew would come, her squirting erratic and a sign of intensity. Mike groaned, too, then jerked, his body pouring its seed into her, though he pulled out abruptly as she flailed and moaned, too caught up in a climax that was now out of her control.


    Dylan slipped in her, filling the hole Mike left, his cock sure and enormous, angled differently and touching on a spot that ¨C


    "Ah!" she cried out, amazed there was more. "More?" she rasped, Dylan''s thighs holding her up, her face kissing him as his arms snaked around her, Mike slumped against the wall, his orgasm finishing as Dylan took her now, the two sharing her and ¨C


    Bob shot across the bathtub and skittered to the drain. She threw her head back as the massive orgasm wracked her body, her legs no longer trustworthy, her arm grabbing the safety bar just in time as her neck tightened with the force of wave after wave of orgasm, anus clenching and opening as her pussy pushed against it, the deep muscles exorcising her pent-up desires. She imagined the three of them, spent, all sitting under the spray and twitching as the leftover neurological impulses wiggled their way out of their bodies, this drawing of three giving life to fantasies most people could only nurture, well ¨C

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    like this. The shower head hung on its hose now, the spray aimlessly pointing here and there, Bob resting on its side, half dead, buzzing uselessly against a metal drain circle it could never make come.


    She slouched down and pulled her knees against her bare, wet breasts. Hands combing her long, wet hair, she sighed.Advertisement


    When she really could have both Mike and Dylan right here, right now, like this, what on earth was she doing with such pale imitations? Was that part of Josie''s point? Reality was scary. Far safer to whack off in the shower and imagine it all.


    Reality, though, had given her this ¨C the most intense shower experience of her life. Drawing on what she knew was real, was possible, was achievable had made her ¨C well, it had made her want the real thing.


    God damn it.


    She hated when Josie was right.


    The phone rang. His phone never actually rang these days; just texts. The ring tone was so unfamiliar he ignored it the first three times, then realized what it was. A comedic moment of bumbling to fish the phone out of his pocket, then he answered.


    "Hello?"


    "Mike?" Laura. Ah, Laura''s voice. It had been a week and they were trying to find a time they could all get together. Fall was approaching and ski prep was in the first slow, languid stages. Ad campaigns and supply orders and a host of issues he''d never dealt with as just an employee were keeping him busy on the mountain. Man, did her voice sound nice.


    "Hey, there," he answered, voice going low and sultry. Lots of parts of him felt sultry suddenly. Good thing he''d already run a quick six miles today.


    "How''re you guys doing?"


    "Dylan''s working out right now. Lifting. I don''t know much about his schedule beyond that."


    "Where''s he lift?"


    "At the Y in Cambridge."


    "That''s not far from my apartment." He''d never seen her apartment, he suddenly realized. His admin brought him a spreadsheet with a bunch of numbers and pointed to a place for him to initial. Tucking the smart phone between his shoulder and cheek, he listened while he scribbled.


    "Yeah? Maybe you can go catch him and outlift him." Laughter greeted that one.


    "I''m pretty fair at it, but no way I can match him."


    "Can you bench your weight?" Few women could.


    "Nope. Close, but nope." She hesitated. He could feel some sort of change in the conversation''s tone, from light-hearted and just touching base to something more guarded. Was it something he said? Weightlifting didn''t seem to be emotional minefield territory, so he doubted it was that. Why did everything these days have to be so rife with issues? Breathe, Mike. Breathe. Just wait her out.


    His silence provoked her. "I can bench about fifteen pounds less." Again, that weird hesitation. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and pointed a delivery guy with boxes on a dolly to his destination. This sort of split attention drove him nuts. Focusing on one thing at a time was key to feeling more grounded, and right now he needed to be centered. Whatever was going on in some subtext he didn''t understand with Laura, he needed to be on his game.


    "I used to bench double my weight," he added, then stopped short. Weight! That was it. They weren''t talking about abstract numbers here. She thought he expected her to say how much she could bench? Which would clue him in to her weight? Women really were that sensitive some times. Diffuse it, Mike. Diffuse it.


    "Dylan can bench about a thousand pounds," he said, grinning.


    "What?"


    "Yep. Carrying that ego around..." She laughed. Score.


    "It''s almost a fourth partner," she joked back. Warmth spread through him, unexpected and welcome, his throat thick with emotion. If she was going to make threesome jokes, this was deepening nicely. Jill had told him a long time ago that she began to really accept their relationship when she could wisecrack about it.


    "Hey, Mike? The wax guys are on the line ¨C they said there''s a problem with the order," his admin, Shelly, interrupted. Full-figured, energetic, and highly opinionated, she was only nineteen but had been in the back office for three years, practically running the show. Now she tapped her foot and managed somehow to convey urgency and ignore him all at once as she worked on her smart phone. "Seriously," she added. "They won''t talk to me. Only you."


    He held up one finger in Shelly''s direction. "Shit," he muttered. "Sorry, Laura ¨C I''ve got a work problem here."


    "A work problem? As in, you have no snow and can''t work?"


    "No, a supplier needs some attention."


    "I didn''t know you were so heavy into the business side of things."


    You have no idea. "Oh, I help out with inventory sometimes," he explained. Shelly shot him a "what the fuck" look and he started to feel unmoored. This was veering into dangerous territory, fast. He wasn''t ready to tell Laura about the money. Soon, but not just yet.


    Torn, he paused, wishing he could just take a thirty-mile run and think. Think it all through. Telling her was the obvious, right choice, so why not just say it? What was holding him back? A part of him feared, deeply, that he would regret this one day. That she would find out the truth and hate him.


    That these secrets were eating away at his soul.


    "I''ll hurry then ¨C I just need a few seconds more. Can you and Dylan come over to my place for dinner tomorrow night?"


    The warmth returned. "Of course," he gasped, surprised by the offer.


    "I''m not as good a cook as Dylan," she added. Shelly twisted her wrist in repeating circles, pushing Mike to get off the phone. Hell of a time for this!


    "Whatever you make, we''ll savor," he said. "What time?"


    "Seven?"


    "We''re there. See you tomorrow." As he said the words, Shelly reached up and plucked the phone from him, slamming the red button to end the call.


    "Hey!" he shouted, pulling himself up to his full height. Who did she think she was?


    Shelly didn''t even bother looking at him. "Yeah. Right. Like that''ll intimidate me." Her snort followed him as he marched away to talk to the wax dudes. Madge''s granddaughter was a chip off the old ¨C well, the old.


    What caught Dylan off guard most was how pink her apartment was. He hadn''t pegged Laura as one of those pink girls, but the apartment practically glowed. Not in a sickly-sweet Barbie dream house kind of way, but more like IKEA had decided pink was the color of the season and Laura had happened to decide to decorate her entire place that year. Even the bathroom had some shade of pink that dominated.


    It wasn''t a show stopper. Chuckling as he dried his hands on a pinkish bath towel with blue and lime highlights, he paused to stare at himself in the mirror. This was really happening. Mike had been wrong. Mr. Doubt Everything had come back this morning from one of his killer runs and declared that the situation with Laura was tenuous at best, and that they needed to pour their hearts out tonight at her place and just tell her about the billions.


    "You''re nuts," Dylan had told him flatly. He was off for the day and ironing work shirts while deciding what to wear that night. The ratty Rush t-shirt or the ratty Dead shirt? Hard to decide.


    "Not nuts," Mike retorted. "Sane. Rational, Reasonable. We''re skating on thin ice here by not telling her. And if it comes out before we''re the ones to sit down and talk about it with her, all hell will break loose."


    "How will it come out, Mike? She doesn''t know anyone we know."


    "The workers at the ski resort figured it out."


    "That''s because there are financial people there who had to know who owns the place, and they sniffed the money trail back to you. But they don''t know about the trust fund, right?" Mike''s uncomfortable silence had sent a chill down Dylan''s back. "Right?" he said sharply.


    Mike had looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. "Someone there knows. They had to. I couldn''t buy the entire resort outright and I needed to give financial statements proving the steady income. I''ll finish paying it off next year, but there was no way to do this without disclosing it."


    "Shit." Dylan hadn''t known that.


    "So we need to tell her."


    Dylan argued back. "Not yet. We need one night to just...be. Last week was perfect. Tonight can be more perfect."


    Mike''s skeptical look had nearly broken him. Truth be told, he just wasn''t ready to look into Laura''s sweet face and declare he was a billionaire. That Mike was, too. Oh, yeah, we lied about this one little thing...we make more money than most major movie stars do in a career. Only we make it per year. You''ll never have to worry about money again with us.


    And ¨C smack. He imagined the slap. Because it felt like one, in his gut. If roles were reversed he''d feel betrayed and pissed and all the things he imagined she had felt until last week. The roller coaster of their relationship was making everyone queasy, and taking a break was helping to settle everyone into a comfortable place where they could just proceed. That''s what he wanted more of. Not secrets and reveals and heart-felt explanations and angst-filled pleas.


    And sex. He wanted sex. Letting that be secondary had been hard. Hell, he was hard. All the time now. And lavender-scented hand lotion wasn''t the best girlfriend these days, no matter how nice it smelled. It couldn''t sigh, or groan his name, or dig its fingers into his shoulders at the just perfect moment when ¨C


    Damn tight pants. That helped with one clothing decision for the evening ¨C looser jeans.


    Mike had accepted that they should wait, though his reluctance was clear. And now here they were, in her homey, pink apartment, ready to take things to the next step. The second he and Mike had entered her apartment the air had crackled with anticipation, the atmosphere a 180 degree difference from dinner at their place the week before. Laura had shifted a bit, wearing something loose and diaphanous, a little more sultry and open than last week.


    They were all ready for more.


    But not Mike''s level of more. Not yet. Having luscious sex with her and Mike in the next hour, spread out and spread eagle and licking and laving and loving and touching and thrusting? Sure.


    Bare his soul and reveal the money and experience the unsettling feelings he still didn''t know how to cope with?


    No way.


    "Mmmm, what is that incredible aroma?" he nearly shouted as he came into her tiny kitchen. White tile floor, white formica counters, a cheap kitchen table and vinyl-covered chairs. Red and pink, of course. It looked like any kitchen in any apartment you''d expect a twenty-something corporate worker to live in, especially someone likely still paying off student loans.


    You could fix that, a voice whispered. He quashed it.


    "I''m no Italian cook," she joked, pretending to be humble, "so I made chicken satay and pad Thai."


    "From scratch?" he and Mike said simultaneously, both with an incredulous tone.


    She shrugged. "Sure. Just have to follow a recipe."


    Could they have found anyone better? She was already the whole package but add in the fact that she made her own Thai food and ¨C wow.


    "I, uh ¨C you do like Thai food?" An alarmed look crept over her features.


    "We love it," they said.


    Dylan looked at Mike. "Jinx!"


    Everyone laughed. The pink shrimp Laura was throwing into the noodle dish matched, exactly, one of the stripes of pink on the dish towels. This was getting to be a bit much. He looked at her and realized she was staring at him, eyebrow cocked.

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    "What?"


    "You keep peering around my apartment as if you were in a museum, surveying it." Her eyes narrowed. "What''s going on?"Advertisement


    Shit. Caught. "It''s nice!" he said, a bit too cheery for everyone''s tastes. Mike grabbed a bottle of red wine he''d brought and began to uncork it, pretending not to pay attention to the interaction between the other two.


    "Nice." Uh, oh. There was no way to come out of this one on top, was there? He had to fess up.


    "It''s really...pink."


    "Too pink?"


    "Just right pink."


    Mike interrupted. "Laura, where are your wine glasses?"


    She pointed to an upper cupboard. "Up there. The not pink ones," she added dryly. Now he knew this was just a game. Two could play...


    So could three. "Next time I''ll bring a ros¨¦," Mike muttered.


    Dylan and Laura both did double takes. All three burst into laughter. "It is quite pink. Josie helped me decorate," Laura explained, her smile so deep it made her cheeks look like apples, dimples forming and her eyes lighting up. Dylan loved that smile. Wanted to make her have it every waking moment.


    And in her dreams, too.


    As the guys set the table, Laura put the finishing touches on the meal, and the three dug in. "No dessert," she announced.


    You can be our sweet ending, he almost said. The rice noodles were perfect, flavored with the right touch of fish sauce and something spicy, red flakes mingling with crushed peanuts, chicken and shrimp. It was pad Thai like he''d never had ¨C fresh and flavorful, without that bogged-down, MSG feeling. He ate three plates full, giving Mike a run for his money.


    "Hungry?" Laura asked, agog at his appetite.


    "It''s so good!" he groaned.


    Mike nodded, working a bit slower through his food. "It could use a nice white, though," he pointed out, referring to his wine glass. "I''ll bring some next time."


    She grinned. "Ros¨¦ would be fine. I have a feeling you''ll learn to enjoy my pink."


    Whoosh. Dylan felt his eyes go wide. Mike bit his lips. Laura seemed to realize her double entendre and everyone avoided eye contact for a few seconds until Mike let out a little snicker. He poured the last of the wine into their glasses, giving each a few final ounces, before peals of laughter and an uncontrollable folding made Laura slip to the ground in a crouch, her body shaking with mirth and giggles.


    Now that was the kind of pink he could get behind. Er...now he lost it, too, until all three huddled on the ground in a cluster of jovial hilarity. Laura wiped her eyes and resumed her gigglefest whenever she looked at either of them. Mike dragged himself to standing and tried to shake it off. Long ago, Dylan had given in, abs aching from laughing so hard.


    It was nervous laughter, but from a place of truth. And now, now was the test as he slid his hand up her back to her neck, the touch decidedly sensual and a complete change in tone from where they all were, ensconced in chuckles that belied the underlying tone of sex and hope and desire in her innocent joke. Dylan would be the one to reveal it, because Dylan was the only one in this breath who could cut through the worries and the hesitancy and the what-ifs and get to the heart of what they all really wanted.


    The only sound they heard was Mike''s deep breath as he watched, enraptured, his eyes on Dylan''s hand as Laura arched her neck just so, responding to the intensity of this searching caress. Would she? Would she not? Hers to answer, the question hung in the air like a fourth partner, needing to be included and welcomed, answered and accepted.


    Like Laura.


    Like all of them, really, for this was what spoke to the center of their beings, the need to find someone else who understood, who cared, who could navigate the slippery emotional landscape of want and love and need that was so fraught with confusion. In this space, though, as his hand lingered on her neck, now sliding up to feel her cheek, his torso twisting to face her, open and ready, the negative side of it all washed away, and they were just three people in an apartment, alone, forging their own reality stroke by stroke, caress by caress, look by look and breath by breath.


    That the word love was beginning to seep into his subconscious mind when he thought of Laura, when he considered the three of them, made his heart soar. In a few short weeks he had found her, courted her, lost her and won her back ¨C they both had, he and Mike working as the partners they always had been and always would be. Love wasn''t a word they used lightly, and he wasn''t ready, consciously, to use it just yet. Instead, it hovered, watching and observing, taking in their new dance, their interactions and hopes and dreams, and he hoped that soon love would join them and help them, too, to create something new and wondrous, as delicious as her hand on his now, on her open face, searching and warm, asking him questions with her eyes that he and Mike could only answer with their hands, their mouths, and other parts that yearned to be used and included.


    Laura had to take the lead now, though ¨C and when she reached over and her lips brushed his, it unleashed a wellspring of, oh, everything that had been pent up these weeks, of wondering and hoping and assuming and thriving. Her lips were soft and eager, testing and nipping, tongue slipping between his lips and prying more out of him. She didn''t need to ask twice; he used his mouth to take more of her, hands embedding themselves in her hair, stroking the soft waves roaming over her shoulders and down her back, palms filling with hot flesh he needed to squeeze to own.


    She pulled back, breathless, eyes dark and serious, and stood, walking over to Mike. A tentative smile from her, a contemplative piercing from him, his hands reaching out to make the first move, hips leaning toward her as he embraced Laura, their waists touching first, hands almost an afterthought. Dylan halted himself, sensing he shouldn''t walk near them just yet, that this was Laura''s sequence, her lips and mouth and hands and body needing to pursue, to test both men separately before meshing with them as one.


    Just when he thought he would burst in an explosion of craven, overwhelming need, Laura broke away from Mike, reached for both of their hands, and gently led them to her bedroom.


    This was it. It was time. She''d been thinking about their hands on her all day, her body making little sighs, imagining the flutter of eyelashes against her belly, thinking of Mike''s blonde hair and Dylan''s thick arms. Before, when they''d surprised her at Mike''s cabin, she''d said yes to a pre-ordained situation, one that caught her by surprise and tapped into so many fantasies ¨C dreams she''d never imagined possible but, when suddenly offered to her, she felt compelled to accept.


    Right now was different. Right now she was in control, making decisions long before they were pre-destined, assembling her own ideas and thoughts about how the night would go. Before she''d even started cooking she had let her mind wander to where it needed to go, and she''d known that she would invite them into her bed. It was inevitable, but more than that ¨C it was her choice.


    Her choice.


    Time for them to enjoy her pink.


    When did my bed get so small? she thought, staring at the queen-sized mattress. When Mike and Dylan are both on it, her mind answered as Dylan reclined, lazy and expectant, patting the bed beside him. His smile was impish and open. He was ready for anything. Anything.


    And she was about to get anything as she slid on the bed, still clothed, and Mike laid down next to her. Captured perfectly between the two, she paused, enjoying this ¨C the few seconds before anyone would touch her, before they would start what would end in release, before her brain shut down and nerve endings went into autonomous control. This frozen speck in time was still pregnant with possibility and as she ¨C


    Oh. Dylan''s hands were so warm as he slipped them under her thin cotton jacket and tank top, the fabric pooling nicely on the bed, like little islands of cloth. Her legs twitched as Mike''s hands rested, warm and soft, on her ankles, both riding up her calves, over her knees to the soft, supple flesh of her thighs, her tender clit beginning to pulse already, so wantonly throbbing for them both. She moistened, her wet womanhood ready for what came next.


    All three of them.


    Four hands slipped her clothes off, her own hands practically useless, the two men knowing what to do and Laura being catered to with an intensity and focus that she found amusingly seductive. They were a well-oiled (and well-hung) machine, these two, serving her right now. As the chill of the air hit her back, her ribcage, her breasts, her nipples pebbled and she reached for the waistband of Mike''s pants, unbuttoning the pants and reaching behind him, hands slipping under to grab fistfulls of ass, his fingers quickly unclasping her bra and making her shudder with the thrill of it all.


    By the time she remembered to look at Dylan he had dispensed with his own clothes, his nude body a welcome and delectable sight. She chuckled and her brow furrowed. "Something wrong?" Mike''s hands slid up and teased her labia, giving her just a hint of what she could come to expect and making her swell and blossom.


    "Everything''s perfect," she murmured, Dylan''s mouth descending on hers again as he pressed the length of his body against hers, abs to belly, breasts to chest, rigid rod to pliant pussy. A quick flash of shower memory, her spray and Bob mimicking what Mike and Dylan were now doing in the flesh, in her bed, very real and warm and wanting. How could she have denied herself this? The scent and taste of Dylan filled her as Mike made sounds of disrobing, the bed shifting as he stood, threw off his clothes, then knelt back on the bed, the smattering of hair on his chest tickling her back, his fingers tantalizing with promise. He sighed into her neck and his hot breath made her belly clench, the tightening leading up to her throat, the body readying for both of them, for all of them, for explosion and release and love.


    So much flesh. Her own, ample curves, which the moonlight streaming through the window, between the parted pink curtains, illuminated in a muted relief, the same lush handfuls she''d once found embarrassing now something her men luxuriated in, touching and grasping and caressing and marking with their pinches, their strokes, their licks.


    Her men.


    And they were, as Mike''s finger slipped up to tease her clitoris, giving it a "hello" and then retreating, his mouth dotting her back with small kisses and sighs, his cock pushing against the cleft of her ass as he journeyed across her flesh. Dylan, now, stretched before her, leaning her onto her back and carefully positioning a pillow under her hips, the two men exchanging a glance as Mike moved up the bed to Laura''s side. Dylan moved down and then went down, his tongue catching her not so much by surprise but by relief, swollen desire clustered so neatly in these nerve endings made real by vulnerable, pink flesh, her clit screaming out for him, for Mike, for any attention.


    Mike kissed her, then, his hands on both sides of her jaw, his mouth both brutal and pleasant somehow at the same time, her own tongue rising to a threshold of near violence as she tried to take in as much of his mouth, his lips, his tongue as she could without hurting them. Yes, yes, yes, their mouths screamed, her hips lifting as Dylan slipped two fingers inside her aching emptiness, her wet warmth closing around him as he hooked one finger up to find a pitch-perfect place to call home, tongue zeroing in on her nub and making her tighten, ass clamping down, pussy folding in to a pinprick of pleasure as he slid in and out, finger and tongue fucking her with Mike consuming her mouth, the multitude of sensations making her forget about climax, forget about orgasm, damn near lose all sense of purpose here as she just was ¨C flesh, rolls, curves, tongue, pussy and ¨C ahhhhhhhh.

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    Mike''s fingers rolled one nipple with just a tad too much force, the nip enough to make her throat bleat with pain, which he took as encouragement, pinching a bit harder. She couldn''t say no ¨C between Dylan''s lapping at her clit and fingers thrusting in and out, the pain took her mind to a new place, and soon she gasped, unable quite to breathe enough, her hips out of control. Reaching for him, she grasped Mike''s cock at the base and he inhaled sharply, the sound whistling through the night and joining her own rasping throat sounds.


    He took her hand as an invitation, moving so he straddled her face and she welcomed it, giving her something to do as Dylan''s tongue gave her such devoted attention. He was languid and attentive, giving her body the time to warm up, letting her feel the pleasure and live in the layers that covered each other, each bit of arousal building on the next, a warm, wet blanket of pending orgasm. Her mouth took Mike in all the way to the base, tongue flicking the tip and hardening to give him a concentrated point of muscled focus. Shifting his hips, he started to rotate and move in and out of her mouth slowly. Perfectly pinned to the bed, between Mike on top of her and Dylan below, she couldn''t move.Advertisement


    Even if she wanted to.


    She was trapped, and the thrill of the realization clouded her mind, because what if she wanted to get up? Get away from the sensuality of Dylan''s cunnilingus? Move herself from Mike''s blow job? She couldn''t. And, for whatever reason, that fact aroused her even more. She had to give and had to receive right now, knowing there was so much more coming. Whatever Dylan did he did to give her more, and now she could take without guilt, could give without fear, could exchange these acts of love and lust and carnal knowledge on equal ground and know that it was mind-blowingly amazing and hers.


    All hers to take and give.


    Tall, long, lean Mike seemed to stretch up to the sky as she took her hands and moved up his ass to the small of his back, then maneuvered to get one finger on his taint, pushing up hard on the spot between anus and scrotum. He threw his head back and groaned, the vibration so intense she could feel it in her teeth, which were currently around the base of his cock, a light pressure but held back by tongue and lips that buffered. Slowly, he changed position and slid out of her, her hands fondling his balls now and his hands scooping her breasts as Dylan closed the deal.


    And the Mike changed places with him. The sudden shift of men made her lose the rhythm, the near-orgasm retreating now and hiding a bit, though the different technique Mike used quickly coaxed it back into play. Dylan stood by the bed and watched Mike and Laura, one hand lazily stroking himself, waiting for what she knew would be next, the thought sending a shiver down her spine. Mike''s mouth was so different from Dylan''s, faster and more demanding, a personality change. He was aggressive and intense and her body rose to it, Dylan sauntering over to mouth her nipples, biting suddenly as Mike''s tongue pinpointed and began to apply hard, friction-filled strokes just as her entire body clamped and flushed.


    Her hands grabbed fistfuls of pink satin bedsheets, flailing and stretching out like a woman impaled by a tongue. "Oh, oh, oh!" she cried out, words long gone, her hips now thrusting up and down, seeking Mike''s face and tongue, a sudden balloon feeling making her inhibited but too late ¨C


    She exploded. Gushed. Squirted, the stream flying through the air as Mike followed her gyrations, seeking to keep a steady pace on her clit as she bucked and groaned and thrashed and turned all animal. Basic instinct was it ¨C that was all she could be right now as she was the climax, was the orgasm, was the fluid that poured out of her, evidence of the drama of what these men had wrung from her.


    And this was just the appetizer. "Oh, yeah, Laura. Let it all go," Dylan cheered quietly, his hand no longer on himself but his turgid member at attention and ready for orders. She gently pushed Mike''s head away, the climax still in progress but the touch now almost painful, that post-clit orgasm sensitivity that made her grit her teeth in a not-good way.


    He sensed it and pulled back; ah, good, she thought. He knew enough to do that. Learning about new lovers'' bodies was always a game of does he/doesn''t he/will he/won''t he that was new each time, and never reliably easy to guess. Lying on her back, hips still elevated, she felt an enormous wet spot under the cleft of her ass and just panted little breaths, letting her arms go liquid, her legs splay out, her body in some yoga position of complete contentment.


    Yet still she wanted more. Needed them both in her. Rolling over, she chuckled at the sight of the wet spot, bigger than her ass, knowing she''d gushed and not at all shy about it. It had happened once or twice before, typically when she was so blindingly aroused and not looking for it. Squirting found her when it wanted to, and on its terms, and damn if Dylan and Mike hadn''t summoned it.


    "Well, that''s new," Mike laughed, staring at the spot.


    "Really?" Dylan puffed up a bit. "Never seen that before?" Clearly, Dylan had, and viewed it with his typical assertive self as something he had manifested. Proud of it, even. And damn if he shouldn''t be, with that magic tongue. Mike''s, too.


    Their talk amused her. "I have, you know, in videos," Mike sputtered, his body stretched out. They seemed to know to wait, to give this a few minutes. Laura pulled back the wet sheet and crawled under, cuddling a pillow.


    "G''night, boys," she whispered, then pretended to snore. "Thanks for that."


    Her passage almost cried out in agony, needing to be filled by something other than two wholly inadequate fingers, fingers that had been fine when they were touching her and teasing out the climax but that needed to be replaced by Dylan¡¯s cock, or Mike¡¯s or ¨C


    Both.


    Both in her, the double penetration right there, moments away, the thought of it sending her into pussy spasms that nearly brought her to orgasm from the mere thought. Dylan climbed on top of her and pulled the sheet back, his cock settling into the cleft of her ass, micro-movements from his hips making him ride her.


    ¡°Sure you don¡¯t want more, Laura?¡± he murmured in her ear from behind. The groan that escaped her mouth came from another layer of self that was ready, teemed with intent right now, her thick throat the only sign of struggle in her, some part knowing all too well that she would be completely drained of all passion and sex by the time they were done with her.


    Which was her form of nirvana, really.


    No one bothered to make a pretense that they would do anything but double, so Laura rolled herself into a sitting position, completely uninhibited, as if it were routinely part of life to be naked in her own bed, wet spot testifying to an eroticism a few minutes ago she''d never thought possible, while her eyes feasted on the long, lean Mike and the shorter, muscled Dylan, both watching her with expectation and very, very obvious signs that they were eager for her.


    Signs pointing up.


    It was Dylan who gently nudged her to the side and slid under her, positioning her hips over him, guiding her to straddle. Her breasts, pendulous and full, brushed against his chest as she laughed, her hair falling over her shoulder and tickling his chin. His tip touched her clit, an agony she inhaled her way through, the feelings so raw and exquisite she wanted to plunge herself with him.


    So she did. Angling her hips just so, she rode him effortlessly, his rod filling her slick walls and making her cry out to Mike. ¡°You, too!¡± she gasped, ready for the forbidden once more, but this time completely at her call, at her request, as she opened herself up to them on equal footing. No lies, no secrets, no omissions.


    The bed seemed to tilt slightly to the left, then right, as she felt Mike climb behind her, his hands on her ass and then his voice. ¡°Hey.¡± Hot breath on her neck, a kiss. ¡°Do you have any lube?¡±


    ¡°There.¡± She pointed to the drawer next to her bed. She''d bought a new tube ¨C and cleared out her electronic boyfriends ¨C for tonight. Somehow, he managed to keep his knees in place, firmly planted on either side of Dylan''s legs and her ass, and pulled the bottle from the drawer. In seconds she felt the delicious, wet, slippery warmth of fluid on her ass, her walls clenching with greed for all of him in her.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Dylan sighed as she tightened. And then Mike''s finger sent an electric jolt through her as Dylan sat up and took her left nipple in his mouth, the combined sensations making her buck against Dylan and start to really fuck him.


    ¡°Tsk, tsk, tsk!¡± he teased, his words mumbled through a mouthful of her bosom. Coupled with Mike''s finger''s making slow, snail trails along the edge of her puckered ass, she felt swollen and captivated by the anticipation of what was about to happen, to have Mike in her, both holes full, all three joined by her flesh. Mike''s finger slipped past her over-snug hole, the feeling so thrashingly hot she almost came, though Dylan held her still, anchoring her to the bed as Mike prepared to enter her. His oiled-up hands roamed her ass and hips, a playful slap making her gasp finally break.


    ¡°God, Mike, just fill me. Please,¡± she begged, Dylan reaching up with his lips and fingers to bite and twist her nipples just as Mike centered the tip of his cock over her ass. Tapping at the gates, the feel of him perched on the precipice between in and not-in made her push back a bit, needing him to do this, wanting to be complete with them both.


    Burning, Stretching, Fire. Then ¨C ahhhh...


    Like pouring something warm and enormous in her, she felt her body seize then relent, seize and relent, the dance almost too much, her throat yielding hitched gasps as she worked to hold both men. Mike''s belly pushed against her lower back and ass, his hands on either side of her and Dylan, his balance perfect. It needed to be; one misstep and what was now a tortured pleasure would just be torture.


    Taking Dylan''s mouth with hers, she moved so carefully, Mike following her lead, until she felt them all tighten viscerally, as if nerves and pores and skin and need all pinpointed to the perfect climax. It was just standing there, as if summoned, and Mike pressed his stubbled cheek into her backbone and groaned.


    ¡°Ready?¡± Dylan said. It really wasn''t a question, his face grimaced with excitement and the barely-held-back release he so obviously wanted. Her body utterly impaled by both men, thoroughly full and ready for explosion, they slowly moved, awkward at first and then finding their rhythm, the power of three bringing them all quickly to the edge, friction and sweat and slick and mouths and everything.


    Her ass burned and hummed, buzzed and clenched as Dylan''s thick rod worked in tandem with Mike''s hands and his mouth on her breasts and hips and then she felt it ¨C that imperceptible roar that came from nowhere and told her she''d soon burst blood vessels around her eyes, scream until her throat ached, and shoot neurons from parts of her that weren''t supposed to have them.


    Dylan''s chest hair was matted with sweat, hers and his and Mike''s dripping into a thin sheen as she caught his eyes in the moonlight, his face dark and ready. ¡°God, Laura, I''m ¨C ¡±


    Tip. She just...tipped, her ass and pussy and body tightening, fingers digging into Dylan''s shoulders then releasing as she drew long, deep scratches, etching some part of her pleasured agony into him, then releasing and grabbing the sheets, ripping them from the corners of the mattress as she howled. Howled. The sound was like a rutting animal and then she realized it wasn''t just her, Mike''s long form pushing against her haunches as she thrust harder, splitting her in two and finding a sweet spot deep inside that made her feel like a dwarf star, imploded and eviscerated, a climax of every muscle and of no unturned sensation.

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    Hot cream poured into her; she could feel the spurt, the rush, the bubbling overflow as her too-tight passages strained to accept what Mike and Dylan''s bodies spat out. No one moved too fast or too hard, afraid to cause too much pain, in fear of ruining this sweet, primal moment as they just...howled. Laura''s panting came first, her body going limp like a rag doll, collapsing on Dylan as Mike seemed to finish with one thrust and reactivated her clit, gently pushing it against Dylan''s groin and giving her a shiver of an orgasm that was like a tiny, ice-cold breeze in a heat wave, perfect for a few seconds but never quite enough.


    Mike hissed out his own climax, his hands kneading her back and then tensing, the feel of him deep in her wet and viscous. He, too, rested as if turned to putty, and soon Laura really was in a sandwich. The thought made her chuckle, which pushed Dylan out of her as her laughter engaged her abs.Advertisement


    Dylan joined her, and soon all three were amusing themselves with chuckles of comfort, of coming home, of satisfaction and of satiety. This was what Laura had dreamed of all these years. This bliss.


    And nothing more.


    Chapter Four


    Dylan couldn''t wipe the smile off his face. The past few weeks with Laura and Mike couldn''t have been scripted to this kind of perfect. Maybe he was a bit biased, but he felt like he had really aligned the planets or pleased the gods or found the secret to the cosmos that day he''d read her profile, her sweet smile and creamy skin almost climbing out of the computer screen and saying, "You found me, Dylan. You found me."


    As he sauntered into the fire station and unlocked his locker, he shot Joe, the chief, a look that must have been pretty wild, because Joe frowned and said, "You been hit by the dumb love stick, Stanwyck? Why you smiling like a lovesick dumbass?"


    "Because I am a lovesick dumbass?" Dylan stripped off his Howard Jones t-shirt (man, his brother must have had a lapse in judgment in 1989) and slipped his arms into his freshly-pressed uniform shirt.


    Joe smirked back. "That explains it. The lovestruck part. You''ve always been a dumbass, and no woman will change that." A couple of guys nearby chuckled and Dylan just rolled his eyes. The banter was part of the job. Joe motioned for him to follow into the chief''s office.


    The station looked like the set of Barney Miller, frozen in 1977 with the exception of Internet service and the computers. Scratched metal desks with cheap, fake-wood tops, battered filing and storage cabinets that were Army green and probably army-issued in the 1940s, or castoffs from the war. The floor was Army-green tile streaked with an off-white marble-like pattern that fooled no one; it was linoleum, cheap, and the second the custodians finished the annual stripping and waxing it was scuffed all over again, making Dylan wonder why on earth they bothered.


    The place was clean as a whistle, though. When there was nothing to do the paramedics and fire fighters all had chore rotation, and Joe kept a tight ship. A veteran of Vietnam and the first Gulf War, he ran the place like a military officer and it showed. Response time was lightning fast, employee retention was nearly 100 percent, and they hadn''t had a new hire in four years. The waiting list to work there was dozens deep.


    Joe closed the door, but didn''t sit down. He pulled out a manilla envelope and said quietly, "Murphy just found out his wife has breast cancer."


    Cold descended over him. "Oh, shit." His heart rate shot up. No man should have to go through this. He and Mike had, though, and he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, imagining what Murphy was going through.


    "You know how hard it is, Stanwyck. And Murphy''s dad has Alzheimer''s. His wife''s been taking care of him. They need to hire some kind of caregiver to help with his dad now, and they have the kids... If she gets the right treatment they think they caught it nice and early. We''re taking up a collection, though." He handed Dylan the envelope and reached for the doorknob. "It''s none of my business what you put in ¨C just give what you can manage. No amount''s too small."


    You have no idea. "Of course."


    "Put the envelope in my top drawer when you''re done." He slipped out, face impassive. Dylan stared at the envelope in his hand, full of 5s and 10s. He''d just been to the money machine that morning and had taken out $300. Reaching into his back pocket he pulled out his wallet and threw it all in there, mixing it in with the 5s and 10s to reduce suspicion. Not that it would help; it was pretty obvious.


    He wondered if there was a way to ask the trust guy to send a bunch of money anonymously to Murphy''s family. How many other guys like Murphy were out there, though? He had fifty million a year coming in, and the station was trying to get a few hundred to help with parking, meals, and babysitting for this poor family struggling with cancer and so much more. The weight of the money rested heavily on his shoulders, a new burden to carry. How could he help people with it?


    Eh. $300 was a good start. He slipped the envelope in Joe''s desk and walked out. What a great place to work. At least Murphy wouldn''t have to worry about health insurance; their coverage was solid. Thank goodness; one less burden for the family.


    It was the perfect job, really. Yet Dylan was thinking about quitting lately. He''d hung on for months after getting the first payment from the trust, not wanting to let go of his life. His old life. That''s what it was rapidly becoming, when he was honest with himself. Unfolding before him was a new life, one filled with more money than he could spend in 200 years, two amazing partners, and a sense of hope and renewal that made him think long and hard about how he wanted to spend his time. Coming to work now had become an exercise in habit, following his schedule and hanging out, working rescues and just doing what he''d done for most of his adult life because, well, that''s what he had done.


    Had. Had done.


    He stopped picking up extra shifts ¨C didn''t need the money. Some of the other guys were thrilled to pick up the extra, making Dylan strongly doubt why he was there. Was he hogging a job someone else could really use? Desperately needed? In this economy, it was no small matter to find decent pay, good work hours, great benefits and a well-oiled machine like the station run by Joe. Another guy (or woman, he reminded himself) who really wanted the job and who needed to earn a living would appreciate what Dylan now considered tossing aside.


    He didn''t need it any more. What had once seemed so valuable was now only important because of the social and emotional ties he had to his fellow coworkers. But even there, he was changing. Never before had he realized how much conversation revolved around money. Specifically, the lack of it. People seemed to bond over it, complaining about high prices (especially gas!), student loans, hard-to-get mortgages, spouses and girlfriends who wanted to spend more, and how expensive kids were to raise. He''d once easily joined them, shouldering a crazy-high car payment and his own credit card bills that testified to his spending stupidity.


    All debt was washed away a few months ago with a check bigger than his ego. Ah, Jill. Only Jill could orchestrate something like that.


    Jill. As his eyes scanned the assignment chart and found his name, he realized he hadn''t thought much about Jill these past few weeks. He wondered what the smile that elicited looked like, for it twisted his cheeks and lips into something unhappily nostalgic, not really pleased but marginally amused. Wistful.


    He wasn''t the wistful type.


    His finger drew a line to what he needed to do. Cook! Ah, nice. That he could manage. A mess of meatballs and pasta and the guys would be full and appreciative. He made the same damn meal every time and no one ever complained. And that was part of the reason he couldn''t leave just yet. When he knew exactly how to act, how others would react, and exactly what to do, it was so easy to check his feelings at the door and just deliver on life''s fixed expectations.


    What he and Mike and Laura had, though? Totally uncharted territory. You couldn''t blame a guy for hanging on to the familiar when so much was uncertain, no matter how wonderful it promised to be.


    He heard the television droning on, some morning show with two female and one male co-host creating reasons to open their mouths. He needed to get started for lunch. Whatever he made needed to be dropped on the spot if an alarm went off and he needed to go on a call, so he reached for the crock pot and started a routine he could almost do in his sleep.


    The bustle of the other guys working the same shift coming in, the outgoing shift leaving, the flash of freshly-showered guys toweling their hair dry as they came out of the locker room, hungry for bagels and cream cheese and whatever they could find ¨C he knew it well. Ten years here and he knew it all.


    Until silence descended, like someone shook a blanket and settled it across the room, smothering the sound and turning it into a muffle. "Hey, Stanwyck! You''re on TV again!" someone shouted. He turned, puzzled. On TV?


    The morning show co-hosts were showing a clip of his appearance in a charity bachelor auction a couple of years ago, shirtless and wearing a fireman''s uniform, a red bow tie around his neck. The guys hooted. "Did you oil your pecs? Holy shit!" someone crowed. Ah, geez. What now? he wondered. Wiping his hands, he abandoned the cooking and walked over to the television to join the curious crowd.


    The clip ended and the camera focused on one of the women, a blonde in her 40s with a perfect, sharp bob and a symmetrical face that looked like a surgeon had crafted it. "Boston''s most eligible bachelor just got a whole lot more eligible! 1.1 billion times more eligible, in fact."


    The guys laughed and shot him looks. His legs went numb. Oh, fuck. He tried to turn away and walk but he couldn''t, rooted by horror. Mike had been right. Oh, how Mike had been right and oh holy fuck how he wished Mike had been wrong.


    Laura.


    "Records show that Dylan Stanwyck, firefighter extraordinaire, former model, and one of Boston''s hottest bachelors, is the heir to shipping tycoon Richard Matthews'' daughter''s estate. Matthews'' daughter, Jillian, died in 2010 and left Stanwyck, her longtime lover, a trust fund of $1.1 billion, with an annual income of more than $50 million."


    If the room could have turned into a black hole it would have saved him the agony of living millisecond by millisecond through this. Half the guys were fixated on the television, but the guys he knew best stared openly at him, their faces morphing slowly from shock to disbelief and, unfortunately, to anger in some.


    "Sources confirm that her $2.2 billion estate was split between Stanwyck and Mike Pine, a local ski instructor who recently used his inheritance to purchase the struggling Cedar Mountain Ski Resort. Here''s to the lucky lady who finds her way to either man as the billionaire bachelors become the hottest dates in town and Stanwyck can buy himself many times over now in whatever charity auction he pleases."


    Someone cut the power to the television, everyone turning and gawking openly. Murphy''s eyebrows were in his hairline and he shook his head, muttered something under his breath, and left the room.


    Finally, the chief took two steps toward him, inhaled slowly, then planted his hands on his hips, shifting his weight to one leg. His jaw flexing with tension, he said, "Stanwyck, you got something you wanna tell us?"


    "I thought you''d been promoted. Not that you''re the new owner!" Shelly stormed into Mike''s office with spit and vinegar, looking like a younger version of Madge. It was unnerving. Being yelled at by a teenager wasn''t on his list of expected experiences this morning, so his response was stunned silence.

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    "Hello? Going to say something?"


    "What are you talking about?" Shit. Had someone in the CFO''s office finally leaked the truth? He reached for his travel mug and took a long sip of coffee, buying time.Advertisement


    "The television show. All about you and some hot firefighter bachelor auction dude being billionaires. It''s all over the morning talk shows and even on the radio."


    Spew. He shot drops of coffee all over his desk, choking, the coughs racking his chest as he set down the mug. Oh, my God. Oh, my fucking God. Dylan had been so wrong. Why hadn''t they told Laura? She was going to kill them.


    No. Worse.


    She was going to leave them.


    He jumped up, tipping the travel mug on its side, a pool of tan coffee inching its way to contaminate the papers, the stapler, the tape dispenser. Shelly grabbed the mug and uprighted it, plucking tissues from a box on the desk to mop up the mess. He was out the door as she shouted, "Where are you going?"


    Getting to Laura before she heard the news was his only rational thought. If she heard before they told her...Sprinting to his jeep, he frantically searched his pants pockets for his keys before he realized he''d left them back in the office. By the time he got back there, Shelly was finishing her cleanup of his desk. The words "thank you" were about to exit his mouth as he searched for his keys, eyes methodically cataloging the desk''s surface when she tipped her face up with a dismissive expression.


    "Looking for these?" The keys dangled from her finger. No words. He grabbed the ring and left as she screamed, "You''re welcome!" to his disappearing back.


    Unlock car. Climb in. Insert key. Turn. Reverse. Gas. Thank God for autonomous responses, because he was working on muscle memory right now, the jeep racing down the mountain to go to the city, to find Laura, to ¨C


    To what? He had no plan. Punching the steering wheel, he flipped the radio to the channel most likely to be chattering about him and Dylan, a stupid DJ show known for caustic comics and nasty, biting commentary on local sports and characters.


    Traffic report. Great. Now he knew everything was backed up before exit eighteen eastbound because a tractor-trailer jackknifed. How critical. And now the sports report. Another football player with CTE. Yet another arrested for abusing his wife. And now someone accused of doping. The miles passed as he balanced speeding with getting caught.


    Ding! His phone notified him he had a text. He was guessing it was Dylan. Ignoring it, he just...drove. Wasn''t sure where. Just needed to get closer to Laura.


    Ring, ring! If Dylan was using the phone then he must know. Mike reached into his shirt pocket and answered. "Hello?"


    "Shit, Mike. Have you watched the morning news shows yet?" He sounded as panicked and sick as Mike felt.


    "No, but Shelly just told me everything. Fuck of a day to be there super-early for inventory."


    "We need to get to Laura."


    "Where is she?" The clock read 8:12 a.m. "At work by now?"


    "That''s what I''m guessing, too." The radio DJs started saying something about firefighter billionaires. Mike''s brain couldn''t process driving, talking with Dylan, and their banter. Situation fucked up, though, if this was all over the morning commute. Fuck, fuck, fuck.


    "I told you we should ¨C "


    "You can chew me out later, dude. Let''s work on fixing this." Steel edged his words, filling in the spaces where panic receded. Don''t fuck with me right now, Mike, he seemed to say. I don''t have it in me.


    "Fair enough." Silence.


    "She works at the Stohlman building downtown. Thirty-second floor. Meet me at the reception desk. How far are you?"


    Mike ran a quick mental calculation. "Twenty minutes?"


    "I''m a little closer. Probably beat you by five."


    "Just get there and try to explain it before she sees it plastered all over the fucking television or hears some disc jockey cackling about it." Click. He pressed "end" and found himself practically throwing the phone out the window. His ears perked and zeroed in on the DJs'' conversation.


    "So this guy is just some muscled firefighter who oils up for these bachelor charity auctions and gives some rich cougar a nice night while underprivileged kids or AIDS patients or earthquake victims get an extra grand to spend on help. And now it turns out his girlfriend dies and leaves him a billion? Where can I find some rich, young woman to leave me a billion?" Mike''s knuckles turned white against the tan steering wheel as he gritted his teeth and sped up.


    Different voice, higher and more derisive. "OK, sure, I can see that. It''s like 50 Shades of Fire, right? But why''d she leave another billion to the other dude, the ski resort guy."


    Pause. A woman''s voice. "Maybe she was livin'' the dream?"


    Derisive DJ: "The dream?"


    Woman DJ: "You know. Two guys."


    First DJ: "That''s our dream!"


    Derisive DJ: "Your dream is two guys?" The radio spilled over with giggles and full-throated guffaws.


    First DJ: "Haha, no ¨C two women! Two chicks for one dick, man. For a billion bucks, though, I might do two guys. (Laughter). Girls don''t fantasize about threesomes with two guys ¨C "


    Woman DJ: "In what universe? Of course we ¨C "


    Mike cut the radio off with a sharp flick of the wrist. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Laura was about to be completely devastated. She had openly asked them to tell her their secrets, and Dylan had told him they should wait. Dylan. God damn it! He''d listened to Dylan and this ¨C this was the end result.


    How had anyone found out about the trust? And of course the news station would use the whole firefighter bachelor angle. What a great lead. He knew the brouhaha would die down within days, and soon people wouldn''t talk about it, but that didn''t help him to get through this minute, the next hour, the next day ¨C and he couldn''t predict Laura''s reaction here. She may already be lost. But he had to try.


    The highway was packed with the tail end of the morning commute, the pike thick but moving at about forty mph. Better than nothing. What had they been thinking, keeping the whole billionaire thing from her? That night in their apartment, dinner and a movie, everyone coming clean and her open, honest request that they not keep secrets ¨C why had they, then? Her openness had been so damn appealing and they''d flung it in her face (behind her back), still hiding like creeps with a secret that, now that it was out, really wasn''t that bad. How many women wouldn''t like to date someone who could buy their hometown? Who could make it so they never had to work again? What was so shameful about the money that he and Dylan had pretended to be working class saps while cashing trust fund checks?


    Their stupid fear. That''s what it all boiled down to. Dylan would never in a million years call it fear, but that was the word for it. He could posture and preen and flex and be Mr. Macho all he wanted and claim he was waiting for the right moment, wanted Laura to get comfortable, wanted the three to bond more before dumping such big news on her, but in the end he was just a big old pussy who didn''t want to confront the emotional landmine the money created.


    And it exploded in their faces.


    Construction held up traffic near downtown, making him change the channel to AM radio to hear the news report about alternate routes. Ten more minutes of inching through a mile of traffic and he was free. He hadn''t been downtown that often and was unsure; Boston wasn''t exactly laid out in a grid like his hometown in Indiana, but he was able eventually, with two different circlings of Laura''s financial-district building, to find a parking garage and park.


    $35 for a few hours? Doesn''t matter, stupid, his conscience hissed. Oh. Yeah. All his old ideas about life and money didn''t apply any more. Ski Instructor Mike had pinched pennies to buy time and freedom. Billionaire Mike needed to pinch himself and wake up from his stupor of denial. He and Dylan had fucked up so badly by not telling her the truth. And she wasn''t going to handle this well. It''s the lying. Not the actual truth itself.


    And Jill never bothered to tell you guys, either.


    Taking the stairs two at a time, he raced to the skyscraper''s main lobby, then searched for the right set of elevators to take him to the thirty-second floor. If Dylan had beaten him, he was upstairs already, hopefully with Laura.


    Time was their biggest enemy right now.


    No, he thought. We are our biggest enemy.


    The murmurs coming from down the hallway were loud enough for Laura to come out of her office and poke around. She only shut her door when she needed to make calls or just had to tune out the drone of corporate life to get some actual work done on reports or code. Her half-open beige door allowed sound to travel easily from the reception area, and she heard Debbie, the receptionist, gasp and say, ¡°Oh, that''s Laura''s delivery guy!¡±


    Huh? She fast-walked down the hall to see what on earth the ruckus was about. Her delivery guy? What delivery guy? Then her face flushed hot. Dylan? Did Debbie mean Dylan? He''d posed as a flower delivery dude that day when he''d come to her office and they''d ¨C


    She flushed even more. Then her nether regions swelled with heat. Oh, my. Just thinking about hot monkey office sex was getting her ¨C


    Laura came to a screeching halt at the sight before her in the reception area, where ten or so coworkers were crowded around the lobby television. Normally set to news, this time was no different, the morning chat show that masqueraded as ¡°news¡± barking out into the open area.


    Except this time, Dylan was the feature of a video clip, dressed in ¨C my, my!


    Shirtless Dylan, with an oiled chest and red bow tie, wearing the bottom half of a fireman''s uniform and carrying an ax? While strolling down a runway at a charity bachelor auction. She laughed; she''d seen the same clip on YouTube. But why was he being featured on a morning news show?


    ¡°Laura, that''s him, right? The guy who delivered flowers to you a few weeks ago.¡± Debbie nudged a woman standing next to her. ¡°I could never forget that, uh...face. Yeah,¡± she said with a low whistle. ¡°That face.¡±


    ¡°With a chest and abs like that, who needs to look at his face?¡± someone said, her voice older and smoky. The women in the group laughed. The video ended and the scene cut to the co-hosts on comfy couches, two women and a man doing that chat thing that was designed to keep people watching.


    "Records show that Dylan Stanwyck, firefighter extraordinaire, former model, and one of Boston''s hottest bachelors, is the heir to shipping tycoon Richard Matthews'' daughter''s estate. Matthews'' daughter, Jillian, died in 2010 and left Stanwyck, her longtime lover, a trust fund of $1.1 billion, with an annual income of more than $50 million."


    Laura''s stomach turned to acid. Debbie''s eyes were as wide as saucers as her head bounced between gawking at Laura and staring at the television. One of the men in the room walked away quietly.


    ¡°Holy shit,¡± someone muttered. ¡°A billionaire?¡±


    ¡°What''s he doing delivering flowers?¡± Debbie squeaked.


    "Sources confirm that her $2.2 billion estate was split between Stanwyck and Mike Pine, a local ski instructor who recently used his inheritance to purchase the struggling Cedar Mountain Ski Resort. Here''s to the lucky lady who finds her way to either man as the billionaire bachelors become the hottest dates in town and Stanwyck can buy himself many times over now in whatever charity auction he pleases."

 Page 15

    Ohmigod ohmigod ohmigod, her mind screamed. Rooted in place, she couldn''t move. Couldn''t inhale. Couldn''t feel her fingertips or her tips or her eyelids. Dylan and Mike? Jill? Billions? Money? Why hadn''t they ¨C ? What were they doing ¨C ? Wha?


    Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Like a robot, she reached in and mechanically looked. Five texts.Advertisement


    Dylan: ¡°Laura, please call me now.¡±


    Mike: ¡°Laura? Call me.¡±


    Dylan: ¡°I''m coming to see you at work.¡±


    Mike: ¡°On my way to see you.¡±


    and Josie: ¡°Those assholes. I am so sorry. Come to my apartment to hide.¡±


    ¡°Laura!¡± Debbie squealed, pulling on her arm. ¡°He wasn''t just a delivery guy, was he?¡± Her expression showed she was very proud of herself to connecting the (obvious) dots. ¡°Oh, my God, you were dating him! Are you still dating him? Holy shit, you landed the most eligible billionaire bachelor in Boston? You''re, like, Anastasia Steele!¡± The room broke out into a mixture of nervous laughter and derisive murmurs. Debbie''s long, perfect, chocolate-brown hair shimmered down her shoulders and her creamy skin made Laura want to claw her.


    ¡°If I had a billionaire boyfriend I sure would quit in a heartbeat!¡± Debbie couldn''t ¨C wouldn''t ¨C shut up, and Laura was quickly growing faint, her heart rate through the roof and brain spinning out of control. Air. She needed air.


    ¡°Do you know the Mike guy? Does he have a girlfriend?¡± Shut up, Debbie! Her mind screamed. She opened her mouth to say the words when her boss touched Debbie''s elbow lightly and pointed to the phone, which was lit up like a Christmas tree with waiting callers. Mercifully, Debbie sat down and plucked her way through call after call as her boss mouthed the words ¡°go home¡± and made a shooing gesture.


    She needed to escape the Red Lobby of Pain right.this.minute and a flood of gratitude overwhelmed her. ¡°Thank you,¡± she mouthed back. Shaking Debbie off, she fast-walked back to her office, grabbed her purse, and fled down the back staircase. Thirty-two flights of stairs in a spiral pattern of nausea would take her mind off whatever was coming, right?


    Those bastards. Step, click. Step, click. She''d forgotten how hard navigating stairs could be in heels. Tears pooling in her eyes didn''t help, the grey, institution cinderblock walls floating as she descended carefully. Step, click. Step, click.


    Billionaires? Billionaires? Really? Seriously? Could they have kept something bigger from her? It had been bad enough that they''d never told her they knew each other, that they were in a committed threesome before meeting her, that they wanted her ¨C and had set up that night in the cabin as some sort of test. She was still raw from that ¨C and had just started to heal from it, allowing herself to trust them slowly, giving herself permission to believe deeply that this was going to work, and that they could overcome convention and find their own, unique path to happiness.


    Just. Just barely. She needed more time, more experiences, more of everything to understand how to function as one woman with two men, to be so wanted and craved that she could satisfy them both.


    The tears flowed freely now, her nose filling, and she fumbled for a tissue. Step, click. Step, click. She stopped, searching her purse. No luck. Ah, fuck it. Her skirt felt too tight, restricting her calves as she worked the stairs, and finally, in a fit of desperation, she slipped off her heels and walked in her stocking feet, the hose snagging within half a flight and making her foot cling slightly to each step. Nothing was going right today.


    She snorted, snot pouring out of her nose, and using the back of her hand she wiped the bubbles as best she could. Who cared what she looked like now? The billionaires? What a spike to the heart that thought was as she reached the twenty-seventh floor. She remembered how Dylan had casually grabbed the check, how she''d wondered how a firefighter could afford such a fancy place. Hah! Joke was on her! He was a fucking billionaire, made stupendously rich by Jill.


    Jill. Of course she was a wildly rich heiress. Of course. It wasn''t enough to look like she was chiseled by people making a model of beach volleyball players. And it also wasn''t enough that she was this dead, perfect girlfriend Laura could never measure up to.


    She was also ridiculously wealthy and had made Dylan and Mike filthy, stinking rich, too?


    Sharp, bitter laughter echoed up and down the stairs as Laura cackled, mad with overwhelm. She just couldn''t win, could she?


    ¡°I give, Jill! I surrender!¡± she shouted, her voice carrying like crazy through the stairwell. ¡°You win! Uncle! Uncle! I can never be you. Dylan and Mike can''t even tell me that you left them more money than God. You are perfect from the grave! You even made the balls on the warlock waitress at Jeddy''s! You''re a fucking legend!¡± Laura''s arms outstretched as she screamed the word ¡°legend,¡± her shoes flying out of her hand and tumbling down the metal railings, plink, plunk, plonk as they rattled and rolled, landing who knows where.


    As she rounded the twenty-fifth floor, retrieving her shoes, a security guard poked his head through the door, then entered the staircase. The older gentleman reminded her of her grandfather, a beer gut and kind eyes crashing through her overwrought sensibilities. ¡°Excuse me, Miss?¡±


    She didn''t stop her slow trek. ¡°Yes?¡± she called back.


    ¡°Are you OK? We''re hearing reports of someone yelling in the stairwell.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I''m fine. Just getting some exercise.¡± Her voice had that shaky hitch to it she got when she was upset, but she tried to cover it up by acting winded. ¡°And boy, do I need it.¡±


    He followed her, and as she passed him on the spiral one floor down, she saw him pat his stomach. ¡°I''m with you there,¡± he chuckled. ¡°I''ll walk down behind you if you don''t mind. Just making sure it''s safe here and that there aren''t any troublemakers.¡±


    Great. Just fucking great. She couldn''t even vent without having it ruined. Fuck you, Dylan. Fuck you, Mike. Why would you lie? She thumped and skipped her way down, moving faster now that she had an audience, hoping she could get to the bottom without making herself dizzy. She''d been a tad lightheaded these past couple days and didn''t need the added dose of unreality from spinning around and around as she descended thirty-two floors.


    She was somewhere around floor eight when the old man gave up. ¡°See you!¡± he shouted, waving from five or six flights up. Waving back, she sped up, eager for sunshine and a flat walking surface. The balls of her feet were scraped up from the no-skid surface at the edge of each stair, and her hamstrings and IT bands were screaming. Tomorrow, she''d pay for this.


    Today she just needed to get to Josie. If she fixated on that, she''d be OK. Falling apart at Josie''s apartment would be the best possible solution here. Fear that Mike or Dylan ¨C or Mike and Dylan ¨C would get to her first drove her. Dylan was likely on his way to her office to explain. Explain, explain, explain. She huffed as she hurried around floor five. Of course he had an explanation. She could just guess.


    ¡°Um, well, it''s complicated.¡± His tone of voice, the little sidelong look with a half-smile, Mr. Charm turning it on to cozy up and sweet-talk his way out of discomfort.


    Well, Dylan, have fun snuggling up to those complications, because that''s what you''ll be fucking. Not me.


    And you, too, Mike.


    Anger seeped in, like an old friend who was a lousy house guest, but you forget every time he leaves how much you wish him gone, and welcome him heartily when he reappears. Anger was so much easier than hurt, or heartache, or regret, so anger it was. Welcome my old friend.


    Bursting through the street-level door, the morning greeted her with hot, sultry air and a brightness that made her squint and cringe. She balanced herself on one foot to put on one shoe, then the other, and took a moment to rebalance herself. Ouch. Her feet felt like raw ground beef right now, but that was fine. Anger would keep her going, dull the pain, make it alllll better until she could collapse at Josie''s.


    Hailing a cab was easier than usual; maybe she looked as pissed off as she felt. She knew it would be a quick, cheap ride, and as the cabbie raced to deliver her she massaged her feet and ignored the increasingly-active smart phone in her purse. If she looked she knew she''d find a ton of messages.


    Ring! Ring! A quick peek showed Dylan calling. Nope. She turned off the phone; five minutes from Josie''s meant she didn''t need to worry about missing a call from her. The cab was stinky but clean, carrying the residue of countless cigarettes, the stale odor of nicotine and coconut air freshener giving her something to gag on. Something other than sheer anxiety and panic. A quick nudge of the window button and she gave herself an inch of fresh air. The cabby shot her a look and turned up the air conditioner, then looked again. Sorry, Bud. Whatever he saw in her return look made him shift his eyes down and keep his mouth shut.


    Within minutes he screeched to the front of Josie''s building, a triple-decker that she''d lived in for years, a dingy grey that melted into the neighborhood, a gentrifying section of Cambridge that was always on the verge of ¡°up and coming¡± but, thankfully, stayed under the radar and kept reasonable rents. They''d toyed with rooming together and renting a big place, but neither could give up their neighborhoods, Laura enjoying Somerville more than she really ought to.


    She threw some cash at the cabbie and ran to Josie''s first floor apartment. Her friend was already on the porch, a look of crumpled compassion on her face, and she embraced Laura without words, holding her and stroking her hair as the tears returned.


    Pulling back, Josie put her arm around Laura''s waist and guided her into the sunny apartment. ¡°Let me make coffee for you this time,¡± she said, sighing hard. ¡°It''s the least I can do.¡±


    If Laura''s apartment looked like a Scandinavian designer with a pink fetish had decorated it, Josie''s was pure ''60s hippie Buddhist funk. It looked like Carole King and the Dalai Lama shared the place. Decorated in thrift shop finds and Tibetan boutique splurges, the perpetual scent of sandalwood and lavender was comforting, though it generally covered up other odors that were finally legal in Massachusetts, as long as one kept it under an ounce and in the privacy of home.


    Laura slumped down on an overstuffed monk-red recliner covered in a funky silk throw, vibrant mustard yellow and rich steel blue competing with little reflector things. She could see Josie in the kitchen, the apartment a converted single-family home. Doorways were random and seemed to have no meaning, just plunked here and there. Aside from the bedroom and bath, it was open concept but with walls and thresholds, making the fairly-large place seem smaller.


    Josie used a Keurig, and shouted, ¡°Glazed donut or Breakfast blend?¡±


    ¡°Scotch!¡±


    ¡°I have Bailey''s.¡± Her voice said she didn''t have scotch, though.


    ¡°Good enough! Breakfast blend and Bailey''s!¡± It wasn''t even nine yet. Who cared? It''s not like she was really into following social conventions lately, anyhow. If a girl couldn''t get drunk the day one of her threesome boyfriends was outed as a secret billionaire on local television, when could she?


    ¡°How did you hear about them?¡± she called out to Josie. A hiss and gurgle told her the first cup was brewing.


    ¡°That stupid morning TV Show. I had it on and heard Dylan''s name and, well ¨C I texted you right away. I''m guessing they did, too?¡±

 Page 16

    Bzzz. Her phone hummed in her pocket and she pulled it out. Squinting, she read the screen. ¡°Jesus.¡± Low whistle. Josie wandered into the room and handed her a steaming cup of coffee, tinted tan by the Bailey''s.


    ¡°Let me guess. Dylan''s texted you seventy-six times?¡±Advertisement


    ¡°And Mike''s a close second.¡± Sip. The alcohol hit her taste buds like a tsunami of flavor. It felt weird to drink this early. Weird was becoming her default waaaay too fast for comfort, but if that was her reality, she''d embrace it. Especially if it tasted like Irish cr¨¨me.


    ¡°Fuck ''em. I can''t believe they ¨C man, Laura. Billionaires? I mean, they aren''t gorgeous enough, but they have to be secret billionaires, too? Your life is like a cross between General Hospital and Desperate Housewives with a touch of Fifty Shades.¡±


    She knew it was funny. She should laugh, right? Instead, though, she swallowed too much scalding liquid too fast, making her nearly scream from the burning pain. If she coughed, she''d scald her throat and mouth even more. The alcohol tasted weird, anyhow ¨C a little too...something. As she gagged and choked, poor Josie ran between the living room and the kitchen, shouting, ¡°Are you OK?¡±


    ¡°Ice,¡± Laura hissed. Josie returned with ice water, which Laura eagerly sucked into her mouth, keeping her lips closed and pooching out her cheeks to retain the cold balm against her torn, raw mouth. Great. Just great. She couldn''t even manage to drink a fucking cup of coffee without something going wrong. Don''t try to walk and chew gum at the same time. Might break a leg.


    Finally, she swallowed, refilling her mouth with the ice water and feeling the sting abate somewhat, little ridges on the roof of her mouth throbbing horribly. That raw, scratchy feeling that comes from a good scalding started to sink in, and she knew she was in for a good two to three days of this. The universe could stop shitting on her. Seriously. Cut it out, God, she thought. My middle name isn''t Job.


    ¡°...well, now, he can bring his fire hose to my garage any time...¡± a voice said, wafting into the living room.


    ¡°Fuck!¡± Josie shouted, sprinting for her bedroom. The sound cut out fast. Laura''s eyes filled, less from mouth pain and more from life pain. This hurt. This was going to hurt for a good, long time. And the hurt was like Ryan times a thousand.


    No.


    Times two billion.


    Laura nursed her ice water, Josie drank her coffee, and the two said nothing, comfortable the way old friends could be, knowing that friendship meant that silence was sometimes the best form of support. She needed someone there, someone to witness her pain but not to comment on it, or judge it. A few years ago she would have needed Josie to join her in spewing rage about her being betrayed and lied to, but that wasn''t what she needed today. Instead, Josie''s calm, steady presence gave her the room to let reality fill in the cracks of her heart and to come to her own ready place for processing it all.


    One of Josie''s cats, an old calico named Dotty she''d adopted from a local rescue shelter a few years back, settled on the couch next to Laura. Her own cats weren''t nearly as social, hiding away and largely independent, three puffs of fur who had come to her the same way, two of them Persians that had been owned by an elderly woman who had to go into a nursing home. No one had wanted cats the ages of teenagers, so Laura had taken in Miss Daisy and Frumpy. Snuggles had come to her from an abused animals rescue network, her ears clipped in jagged wrecks and part of her tail mangled. Snuggles liked patches of sunshine and to be left alone. Somehow, Miss Daisy and Frumpy respected that, and all three coexisted nicely.


    Too bad other threesomes couldn''t be so smooth.


    ¡°How''s Snuggles doing lately?¡± Josie asked. ¡°I never see her when I come over.¡±


    Laura laughed, petting Dotty, who tipped her chin up as if granting permission. ¡°I never see her, either. I only know she''s real because I see a tail under the bed and she eats her food.¡±


    Josie nodded and finished off her mug. ¡°Like a teenage boy. Needs sleep and food.¡± The joke fell flat. Laura was done talking.


    ¡°More coffee?¡±


    ¡°God, no.¡±


    Josie winced. ¡°Sorry. More ice water?¡±


    ¡°Yes, please.¡± She was starting to sound like Mike. Two word sentences weren''t her style but right now, it was all she could manage. Maybe this ¡°woman of few words¡± schtick was something she should try on, see how the other half lives in a world of low verbal output. Was there something to not spilling every thought out of your mouth? Could Mike be on to something, being the quiet but steady type who was a deep presence without contributing to the non-stop flow of words that filled modern life?


    Why was she even thinking about this? Her open mouth called out to her hands to fan cool air inside her, her tongue drying out quickly. She couldn''t even drink a cup of coffee correctly. Why mull over esoteric ideas?


    Because it was easier than facing the fact that they had destroyed this burgeoning relationship yet again. And, most likely, once and for all.


    ¡°So,¡± she and Josie said in unison. Startled, both laughed at the other, the nervous tension that filled the room making Laura''s stomach turn again. She''d been queasy all day, her stomach bearing the brunt of the stress.


    ¡°You first,¡± Josie deferred.


    ¡°So, it looks like I managed not only to find two amazingly hot, wonderful guys who happen to be in a secret, complicated ¨C ¡± Josie snorted as Laura emphasized that word ¡° ¨C relationship and we turned it into a great threesome. Oh. Yeah. And they happen to be billionaires and never bothered to tell me because ¨C because ¨C ¡± She faltered there. Why in the hell hadn''t they told her about their money?


    Josie seemed to have the same thought, scrunching her face in a weird expression. ¡°Huh. What a supremely odd thing to hide from you. I mean, their whole knowing each other and double-teaming you secret was strange, but I can at least understand it. It''s really out there, and they didn''t know how to approach it, and in typical clueless man style they butchered it.¡±


    Laura''s turn to snort.


    ¡°But this? I mean, wouldn''t most guys consider being a fucking billionaire something to gloat about?¡±


    Laura swallowed. Hard. ¡°Maybe they''re embarrassed?¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because it''s Jill''s money?¡±


    Josie considered that, tipping her head from one side to the other. ¡°Mmmmm, maybe.¡± Skepticism filled her voice. ¡°You think they were ashamed of coming into the money because she died and left it to them?¡±


    Laura shrugged. ¡°I''m as stumped as you are.¡± As she shifted, Dotty sniffed the air, stood, and transferred her loyalties and attentions to Josie, who absent-mindedly stroked her multi-colored head.


    Josie sighed. ¡°Wouldn''t you share that kind of thing pretty soon in a relationship? I''ve never had that kind of money ¨C any guy who dates me gets Taco Bell, not trips to private islands in Mexico ¨C but I''d think it would be something you throw out there to clear the air right away.¡±


    The two sat in silence for a minute, thinking this through. Laura''s rage was suddenly tempered by thoughtfulness and pensive considerations on the money issue. Dylan and Mike weren''t flashy about it ¨C though this explained Mike''s amazing cabin. They both drove new cars, but they still shared a sleek apartment. It wasn''t a billionaire''s life, but any means. Dylan even kept his old job. He must wipe his ass with his paychecks.


    Exchanging confused glances with Josie, the puzzle became more intriguing as she thought about it. If the news channels were covering this, it meant it was all recent. So perhaps it was too recent ¨C they just didn''t know how to explain it?


    Too much benefit of the doubt. She yelled at herself mentally. They still should have told you! Of course they should have, and they damn well knew it. She''d given them every opportunity over the past few weeks, and she was most hurt not that they were billionaires ¨C which she actually found to be pretty damn awesome ¨C but that they hid it from her.


    Why?


    Josie stood, dumping Dotty unceremoniously from her lap, the cat landing gracefully on the small, shag carpet and surveying the room, eyeing her options. Laura, a throw pillow, the carpet. She chose to leave, clearly displeased with her sudden displacement.


    ¡°This calls for some breakfast. You hungry?¡± Without waiting for the answer, Josie went into the kitchen and started the Keurig up again. The sounds of rummaging floated toward Laura, and in two minutes Josie returned with a box of frozen donut holes and her new cup of coffee.


    ¡°Martha Stewart,¡± Laura sighed, hand over her heart.


    ¡°I''m more a trashy version of Rachel Ray. But these are yummy pumpkin donuts.¡±


    ¡°Already? Isn''t that a fall flavor?¡±


    ¡°It''s August.¡±


    ¡°August isn''t fall.¡±


    ¡°In retail it is.¡± Josie threw up her hands and grabbed one of the dough balls, carefully biting into it. Laura did the same, surprised by how hard and soft the donut hole was. It was a cakey consistency and dense. The half she managed to bite was absolutely delicious. Without being asked, Josie grabbed Laura''s glass and returned with it full. A girl could get used to this. She was the one who tended to cater to Josie; it felt nice to be taken care of like this, even in the smallest of ways.


    Dotty returned to the room at the entrance of the donut holes, sniffing the box until Josie shoved her off. Offended, she strutted into Josie''s room and out of Laura''s sight. Although the pastry tasted great, her stomach just didn''t want anything.


    Why? Why hadn''t they told her?


    ¡°Maybe they''re just assholes,¡± Josie said slowly, answering Laura''s internal question. ¡°Maybe they thought you were a gold digger.¡±


    ¡°How could I be a gold digger if I didn''t know they had so much money?¡± Her phone buzzed again. Turning it off completely seemed like a perfect solution, her finger holding down the off button with so much force it left a red imprint in her fingertip. Too bad you couldn''t slam a phone down in the cradle like you could when she was a kid. That satisfaction was one area where smart phones just didn''t measure up.


    ¡°They keep calling?¡±


    ¡°They keep something-ing. Calls. Texts. Hell, they may have resorted to email.¡±


    ¡°Not email! Only our parents use email.¡± An old joke between them.


    ¡°I expect Dylan will find a passenger pigeon''s corpse and resurrect it.¡±


    ¡°Or worse ¨C use MySpace.¡±


    Bzzzz. Confused, Laura looked at her phone. It was definitely off. ¡°That''s me,¡± Josie explained. Leaping across the room, she foraged in her giant purse and found her phone. Slide, tap, tap. Her face! The look on her face made Laura want to administer oxygen and call 911.


    ¡°Josie?¡±


    ¡°Dylan!¡± She shouted his name like she was screaming the word ¡°fuck!¡± Flailing her phone to and fro, she added, ¡°How in the hell did he get my number?¡±


    ¡°I never gave it to him or Mike. I swear!¡± Laura answered. He was this desperate? Really?


    ¡°At Laura''s work. She''s not here. Is she with you? Is she safe? We''ll keep searching.¡± Josie laughed, a barking horsey sound that registered extraordinary disgust. ¡°Is that a promise or a threat?¡±


    Sigh. ¡°He''s persistent.¡±

 Page 17

    ¡°He''s a whackadoo.¡±


    ¡°Well...¡± That he would somehow track down Josie''s cell phone number meant he was serious about finding her. She had zero desire to see either of them right now. Zero. They really had shredded her life, and what she wanted most was to turn the earth backwards, like in that old Superman movie, and make all of this go away.Advertisement


    No. What she really wanted was two men who could be honest and open and tell the truth about themselves so they could all live happily ever after. Was that too much to ask? Jill had died and turned out to have gobs of money that she passed on to the guys. They hid that information from her because ¨C


    Her blood ran cold, stomach twisting.


    Because they didn''t trust her.


    ¡°Oh, God,¡± she muttered. ¡°Josie.¡± Her friend sensed the shift in her voice and came closer, curling her legs under herself on a small, faded, orange velvet chair.


    ¡°Yeah? What is it.¡±


    ¡°They ¨C they,¡± she stammered, her chin quivering now, eyes filling with hot tears and throat salty and thick. ¡°They never trusted me. They wanted the money and a woman but couldn''t tell me because they didn''t trust me. They just ¨C I don''t know!¡± she wailed, her volume increasing as her pulse raced and her mind raced even faster.


    ¡°Oh, Honey,¡± Josie replied, reaching for Laura''s hand. ¡°You are so trustworthy and so not into money.¡±


    ¡°I know, right?¡± Laura screeched. ¡°It''s laughable.¡± Maniacal laugh. ¡°They couldn''t have picked a worse thing to be worried about, right? I''m the girl who shops as much as possible at vintage and thrift shops to save money. I drive an older car and I put money in my stupid 401K every paycheck and I pay my student loans on time and I follow all the rules.¡± Her voice rose. ¡°All the fucking rules, right? I do everything right. Everything! And this is how the universe repays me? Seriously. I feel like I got a galactic shit dumped on my head this morning.¡±


    ¡°You did.¡±


    ¡°A billion dollar shit!¡± Her voice was like a gospel preacher, the intonation more revival than revulsion.


    ¡°Yes, ma''am!¡±


    ¡°And if those two fuckers thought they could have the best sex ever with me but couldn''t bother to tell me the truth about something this big, then they don''t deserve me!¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡± Josie sat back down and leaned forward. ¡°Billionaire bastards.¡± Laura shot her a harsh look, wondering if she was poking fun, but she wasn''t. The words mattered, and they were true. Both men were such steaming assholes she couldn''t believe it, the urge to start hyperventilating competing with the desire to punch them both in the face, even if she''d need a stool to reach Mike.


    ¡°I can''t believe Dylan tracked you down like that,¡± Laura chuckled.


    ¡°Should I reply?¡±


    Blinking, Laura came to a screeching halt in her mind, the question jarring. Should Josie reply? What would she say? What should she say? No etiquette manual was designed for this. Dan Savage needed to write one. How should your best friend reply when one of your threesome boyfriends turns out to be a billionaire and stalks you to try to make up?


    That would be popular.


    Laura smoothed her sweater over her belly, which pooched out enough to send some sort of a cat invitation to Dotty. She plopped down on Laura''s lap and turned into a furnace, which was great in January but horribly warm in August. Get used to it, Laura, her mind said. It''s the only touch you''re getting for a long time that doesn''t involve plastic and batteries.


    For some reason, that made her finally break down and sob. Not the sheer humiliation in the work lobby. Not the rage that claimed her so easily on the staircase, her feet still aching from that howlingly stupid move. And not the thought that once again, as with Ryan, as with so many guys in high school and college, as with Dylan and Mike the first time they made love, she felt tiny and cheated and shamed and grotesque because nothing had turned out as planned, and her own blind naivete meant that here she was sobbing and racked with grief, her best friend stroking her shoulder and nothing had changed.


    She was the same Laura this happened to, time in and time out, a decade and more of falling for guys who cared less for her than she cared for them, respected her in a way that made her queasy with doubt, and who managed to give her just enough hope such that when it all came crashing down what hurt most was that they ever gave her any.


    It would have been easier to become a cat lady who never bothered, and she was about to do just that. As soon as it was safe to go home. If Dylan was hunting down Josie''s number and texting her, then she damn sure couldn''t go home right now. Weak and addled, her mind might play a game of sabotage on her, believing whatever smooth line he came up with to try to convince her that she should get up once more, strip naked before them, and let them ridicule her pure, loving heart.


    Nope.


    Done.


    ¡°Josie,¡± she announced, her voice sounding like a drill sergeant''s. Wiping the tears with the bottom hem of her sweater, careful not to get cat hair in her eyes, she sniffed and demanded, ¡°you are going to text that motherfucker back.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Ma''am!¡± Holding her phone, Josie looked expectantly at Laura. Hmmm. Now what? What could she possibly say to Dylan that would make him stay away? That would make him just evaporate, with Mike, and let her go on and live a life that didn''t have so much pain and wonder in it? Were there magic words she could fit in a text that would do that?


    She had to try. ¡°OK, so type, ''If you say it''s complicated I''ll cut your balls off and put them on the warlock waitress.''¡±


    Josie choked and clapped. ¡°Fucking brilliant!¡± Tap, tap, tap ¨C


    ¡°No! Don''t do it. Changed my mind.¡±


    Pout from Josie, then a quick change to a neutral face. ¡°Sure.¡± Tap, tap, tap as she erased it.


    In her heart, what she wanted was an apology from them both. A long, drawn-out pleading and self-flagellation filled with regret and recriminations and sorries and kisses and flowers and all that crap. More words than things, though, more affection than promises, and more attention than empty phrases. At the center of it all was a ball of pain that now lived in her stomach, hot lead and napalm and poison that leaked and festered in her, planted there by Mike and Dylan because this?


    This was a bitter pill to swallow. And swallow it she had, whole and dry and without any awareness of what it meant.


    That was all fantasy. Her dream world was about her, about people caring what she felt, what she thought, what she needed and wanted. Fantasy.


    The real world involved self-centered men who didn''t trust her enough to tell her their second-biggest (or first!) secret and who let her learn about it from a fluff-chick morning chat show cougar who had the self-awareness of a bottle of nail polish remover. If that wasn''t a big sign that their respect for her was in the crapper, nothing else was.


    Add in the little detail that they clearly didn''t trust her to be anything but a money grubber and she was, well, she was still struggling to sum all that up into one pithy text.


    ¡°Try this,¡± she ordered. Josie''s finger hovered over the glass keyboard. ¡°Don''t chase me. Give me that one shred of respect. Why? Because it''s complicated.¡± Josie typed it in and looked at her, eyebrows raised with a question.


    Laura nodded and Josie tapped ¡°Send.¡± Laura took a deep breath through her nose and let it out through her mouth, making a weird vibrating sound with her lips.


    Bzzzz. ¡°Man, he''s fast,¡± Josie muttered. Dotty made a hissing sound and arched her back. ¡°It''s just a phone. Not a predator,¡± Josie chided the cat. ¡°She does this all the time,¡± she explained, squinting at the screen.


    ¡°He replied, didn''t he?¡±


    ¡°Yep. Wanna hear it?¡±


    No. Yes. No. Yes. No. Ye ¨C ¡°Yes.¡±


    Josie made a disgusted sound, complete with a slow shake of the head that Laura interpreted as not good. ¡°He says, and I quote: ''It''s always complicated.'' With a little smiley face.¡±


    A slap across the face would have shocked her less. Laura felt a rising numbness take over, blinking furiously with a neutral face, completely unable to comprehend what on earth had possessed Dylan to think that that ¨C that? ¨C trite and flippant response would somehow be perceived as funny. Or endearing. Or clever.


    If the intended effect were to charm her, he''d failed miserably. If his goal was to piss her off and harden her resolve never to see him ¨C or Mike ¨C again, then he had succeeded wildly.


    Yay, Dylan.


    ¡°Am I crazy for thinking he''s a fucking asshole for sending that piece of shit text?'' Laura railed.


    ¡°Not crazy.¡± Josie seemed to be keeping her face as still as possible, watching Laura with a wary eye. ¡°It''s insulting, really.¡±


    ¡°Thank you. Thank you! Because it is, isn''t it?¡±


    Bzzzz.


    ¡°Don''t you answer that! He had his chance. One. I gave him one. And that''s more than he and Mike deserve.¡±


    ¡°OK. Whatever you want.¡± Thank God for Josie, because right now she was rising to the occasion in a way Laura had never thought possible. Of course, they''d been there for each other over the years, through heart breaks and break ups, through angry, gritted-teeth conversations where they''d tried to convince each other to DTMFA, as Dan Savage would say. Dumping the motherfucker already, though, was easier said than done in most cases, and this was another one of those, ahem, complicated situations.


    Not really, she argued with herself. Its simple. DTMFA. Both of them. Because the lack of respect they''d shown her told her everything she needed to know, even if that feeling of ¡°fuck you¡± went against everything her heart was crying out right now, its words pleading with her to give them at least a quick meeting to hear why they hid this from her.


    Why she had to learn about it at work, in a lobby, on a cheap television while two women who knew more about anal bleaching than world affairs got to prattle on and drool over Dylan and make comments that made her feel tiny and small and ¨C


    Ashamed. God, that really was a huge part of this, wasn''t it? It had taken so much effort to overcome her feeling of discomfort at owning her own desire for both men, and here she was tentatively growing and accepting who she was and what her authentic self really needed and wanted. And it was Dylan and Mike, together as a trio that would make everyone so happy.


    Her shame, now, was overflowing. Shame at thinking she could really have it all. Shame at wanting something so unconventional. Shame that they couldn''t trust her.


    Shame that she had trusted them.


    And, worst of all, shame that she had something inside her that made her feel so much shame! She couldn''t win.


    She just couldn''t win.


    ¡°You''ve got Netflix, right?¡± she asked Josie.


    ¡°Yup.¡± Josie''s face changed, shifted to something softer. ¡°Ooo, I know what you want to watch.¡±


    Laura sighed. ¡°Let''s do it.¡±


    ¡°Oh, my God! It''s the billionaire bachelor!¡± the receptionist screeched as the elevator doors parted and Dylan stepped out onto Laura''s floor. The lobby at Laura''s work was more crowded than it had been when he''d delivered flowers to her last month and heads turned. Then more heads.


    Then every.single.head.


    Oh, geez. The last thing he needed. ¡°You remember me, right?¡± the receptionist crooned, walking over and extending her hand. ¡°Debbie. I was here the day you delivered flowers to Laura.¡± Wink.

 Page 18

    The absolutely last thing he needed. He didn''t shake her hand. ¡°Where is Laura?¡± he asked, not caring that he was being blunt, pointedly ignoring all the eyes on him.


    ¡°She went home sick.¡± A deep male voice answered, to Dylan''s left. The man was middle-aged, greying temples, a bit of a paunch. Nice suit. Her boss? He nodded to Debbie, who skittered over to her station and began answering phone calls, eyes glued on the two men.Advertisement


    ¡°Oh. Is she OK?¡± He frowned, concerned.


    ¡°I won''t comment on that, but after she watched the news report featuring you, she clearly wasn''t doing well.¡± Ah. This guy was a straight shooter. A little angry on Laura''s behalf. Dylan could understand that.


    And respect it. Even if it pained him deeply to have caused her pain.


    ¡°Thanks. I''ll try to catch her at home.¡± Debbie''s eyes widened and she reached for a smart phone, texting furiously. Gossip. Great. Poor Laura.


    Poor Laura? He was the cause of what made her poor Laura. Holy fuck. He''d never considered that the fallout could do this to her.


    A hand on his arm. Firm. Unyielding. His hackles went up and a thin thread of fight grew in him. The boss''s eyes were cold steel, pointed directly at Dylan like a weapon. ¡°I wouldn''t do that if I were you. If she wants to see you, she can contact you.¡± This wasn''t advice.


    This was a veiled threat. Or, at least, that''s how it sounded to Dylan''s hypersensitive ears. Who was this tool to tell him how to handle Laura? He shook the man''s hand off him roughly and got right in his face.


    ¡°I''ll talk to her if I want to.¡± His face was inches from the boss, who stood up and matched Dylan on height. This guy was twenty years older and probably out of shape, but he was a fierce dude who wasn''t backing down, even in the presence of a very muscled fire fighter.


    ¡°If she wants to talk to you. Otherwise, you''re just an angry stalker.¡±


    There was that word again. Stalker. ¡°You don''t know anything about ¨C ¡±


    Ding! The elevator behind Dylan slid open and he heard two heavy steps, then Mike''s breathless voice. ¡°Is she still here?¡±


    Debbie just about had a heart attack, her jaw dropping so low her mouth could have been a dustpan. ¡°Thor,¡± she whispered. Dylan nearly barked out a laugh, the comment shaking him from his stand off with Laura''s boss.


    ¡°No. She''s gone,¡± the boss said, then looked at Dylan. Hard.


    A new hand on his arm, this time Mike''s. ¡°Let''s try her apartment.¡± He jabbed the ¡°down¡± button for the elevator as Debbie removed her telephone headset and stood, smoothing her tight skirt, then sauntering over.


    Mercifully, the doors opened before she got to them, Mike practically dragging Dylan in. With a pneumatic hiss his last view of Laura''s work floor was Debbie''s disappointed voice and the back of the boss''s head.


    Good riddance to both.


    Mike stared up at the ceiling and blew out a huge breath of air. ¡°Has she answered your texts or voice mails?¡±


    ¡°Nope. You try?¡±


    ¡°Once, for each. No luck.¡±


    ¡°Where were you when that stupid television report came on?¡±


    ¡°At work.¡± A low whistle from Mike, whose eyebrows shot up, made Dylan wince. He took in Dylan''s uniform and cringed. ¡°Yeah. It was bad. Let''s just say I am no longer gainfully employed.¡±


    ¡°Joe fired you?¡±


    ¡°No. I resigned peacefully.¡±


    ¡°Peacefully?¡± Mike smirked. Damn it, he knew him too well.


    ¡°It''s complicated.¡±


    ¡°It''s always complicated,¡± Mike said bitterly.


    ¡°I''m getting really tired of hearing that.¡±


    ¡°I think you started it.¡±


    ¡°Do we really need to go there right now?¡±


    ¡°No. We need to go to Laura''s place right now. But tell me what happened with the chief.¡± Mike didn''t seem to care on an emotional level; he was just asking out of voyeuristic curiosity. The difference in tone and demeanor was starting to freak Dylan out.


    Dylan laughed, a cold, harsh sound that hurt his own ears. ¡°He said there was a waiting list out the door for the jobs, that if I was a billionaire I sure didn''t need the pay, and that I was welcome to join the volunteer force.¡±


    ¡°Ouch.¡±


    The volunteer guys were welcomed by the regular staff, but often considered weaker contenders when it came to running calls. There was more to the conversation he wasn''t going to tell Mike right now, how the chief had looked in the envelope and found all the cash Dylan had stuffed in there, how Dylan asked about sending a much larger amount directly to Murphy, and how within the course of a painful fifteen minute talk he''d managed to lose his only career but gain some insight into how his future could unfold, using Jill''s money for good.


    ¡°Yeah. So I guess I''m free now.¡±


    ¡°Free.¡± Mike snorted. ¡°If this is freedom, I think I prefer...ah, I don''t know what I''m saying any more.¡± Definitely not the time to tell Mike anything.


    Ding! The elevator reached the main lobby and they walked out of the building, the August heat hitting them like a wall of soup. ¡°You drive here?¡± Mike asked.


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Good ¨C I''m over here,¡± he nodded, ¡°so let''s get to Laura''s. You remember her address?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. In Somerville, over near Tufts.¡± They walked down the cold, concrete staircase, descending two levels to the underground spot where Mike''s Jeep sat, patient and still. In silence now, they were perfunctory. Get in car. Turn on car. Screech tires on painted concrete to exit. Pay. Leave. Dylan hoped like hell she was at home. It''s not like there were many more ¨C


    ¡°Wait. What about Josie?¡± he asked as Mike made a tough left turn.


    ¡°What about her?¡±


    ¡°Maybe she''ll know where Laura is. Or maybe Laura''s with her.¡±


    ¡°Let''s get to Laura''s and see what''s going on. Josie''s kind of...¡± Mike made an inscrutable face.


    ¡°Batshit crazy?¡± He didn''t relish seeing her under these circumstances. Getting whacked with the plastic balls at Jeddy''s had been bad enough. Now that they had fucked up even worse, what would she use to arm herself? Eek.


    ¡°Not what I was going to say. My words would have been ''fiercely loyal''.¡± He paused, then added, ¡°I don''t think she''s truly crazy. Just a little unbalanced.¡±


    ¡°She whacked my real balls with the fake ones and teabagged them in the restaurant while you were talking to Laura.¡±


    ¡°Says the man who actually fucked a blow up doll.¡± Mike''s droll delivery didn''t surprise him. The words did, causing his to choke with shock.


    ¡°How did you know that?¡±


    ¡°Who actually names a blow up doll? You were so bizarre that first year of college.¡±


    Dylan laughed. ¡°That''s true.¡±


    ¡°Besides, I didn''t know you fucked it. You just confirmed it, though.¡± Smirk.


    Shit! ¡°Oh, please. It was a dare and we were drunk and I was stupid enough to want to be in the fraternity and they...just. Ugh. Let''s drop this.¡±


    By his judgment they were five minutes or so from Laura''s place. Parking would be a problem, until Mike pulled into a ¡°Permit Only¡± spot and turned the car off.


    ¡°What are you doing? We''ll get a ticket.¡±


    The look on Mike''s face was so out of character as he said, ¡°We''re billionaires, Dylan. Who gives a fuck about a $25 parking ticket? That''s like losing a penny now.¡± The same wolfish look, a deeply-engrained expression of cold, brutal action, that he''d seen only once before on Mike''s face, when...when...


    When he''d told Mike about Laura.


    Bounding up the steps to Laura''s landing, Mike poked the buzzer over and over, like a little kid calling on a friend for a play date. No answer.


    Dylan reached over and rang the bell, too. ¡°Right. Like it didn''t work the twelve times I just pushed it,¡± Mike practically growled.


    What the fuck? ¡°So sue me,¡± Dylan scoffed, rapidly getting pissed. He grabbed his phone and tapped rapidly. Search, search, search ¨C there! Her last name was Mendham, he remembered that much, and she said she lived in Cambridge, and ¨C


    Score! Josie Mendham''s phone number. Some charity thing she organized in Allston for old people, the number and email were posted on a web page. He furiously tapped out a text and hit ¡°Send.¡±


    ¡°I just texted Josie.¡±


    Mike pushed the buzzer again. Like it would magically work now? Laura clearly wasn''t home. Gone from work. Not at home. She must be with Josie. He tapped on his phone.


    The look on Mike''s face made Dylan freeze, a preternatural instinct putting him on hyper alert. ¡°You what?¡±


    ¡°I found her phone number on a web page and I just texted her. Let''s see what happens. Maybe Laura''s with her and we can figure this all out. And if not, I''m searching now for her address.¡±


    Tapping his foot, Mike leaned against the metal railing on Laura''s stoop. ¡°So you can stalk the fuck out of women and find eleven billion ways to try to contact them, but we can''t have an open, mature conversation with Laura about the money? You''re such an asshole, Dylan.¡±


    Bzzz. Someone, hopefully Josie, texted him. The word ¡°asshole¡± hovered in the air between them, like a drone seeking a target. And it had found one. He was the asshole here? He''s the one who found Laura in the first place. Mike''s the one who had lied to him! And who did ¨C


    Wait. Read the fucking message. More important. He squinted and read aloud: ¡°Laura says to tell you Don''t chase me. Give me that one shred of respect. Why? Because it''s complicated.¡±


    The sound that came out of Mike was like an animal that had just been hit and wounded by a well-placed, though not fatal, arrow. ¡°Jesus Fucking Christ,¡± he groaned, hand over his heart as if pierced there.


    A huge lump formed in Dylan''s throat. They''d really blown it, hadn''t they? No, you did, he thought. You, Dylan.


    Without thinking, he typed back: ¡°It''s always complicated. :)¡± and hit ¡°Send.¡± Mike didn''t seem to notice, his back turned to Dylan as his arms flexed, gripping and releasing the metal railing, shoulders hunched over and tight with grief and fury.


    ¡°Josie lives nearby. In Cambridge. I found her address.¡±


    Mike inhaled deeply, his shoulders spreading like a cobra rising up to strike, then descending as he exhaled. Five long, deep breaths later he turned to Dylan, blinking rapidly, his blonde hair a complete, wavy mess and his eyes shadowed and cold.


    ¡°Let''s go before this gets any more complicated.¡±


    Too late, thought Dylan, but he wasn''t going to argue. He''d done enough damage as the leader. Time to let Mike take over.


    All those years Mike had spent sitting meditation, going to retreats, reading books by Jack Kornfield and Pema Chodron and the Dalai Lama, all the time he''d invested in breathing techniques and the miles pounded out on his feet, in skis, swimming and biking in triathlons to maintain a sense of inner centeredness was a waste.


    As complete, fucking waste. Because the rage that rose up in him, like a megamonster coming up from the sea in some cheesy B film, was very real, rapidly growing, and so quick to activate that he wondered how he had fooled himself all these years into thinking he had tamed it.


    Control? Hah. Control was an illusion. Awareness? Fuck that.


    The ache that grew its own voice and began keening within him was what hurt most. Why had he listened to Dylan? Why hadn''t he blurted out the truth to Laura when he''d been ready? Trusting Dylan had been such an enormous mistake. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he berated himself as he drove the quick hop from Laura''s place to Josie''s, her triple decker near a baseball field and a large playground, the typical setting for dogs off leash and an impossible parking situation.

 Page 19

    Rules? Who cared. They''d broken most of them already. Why not add a ticket? When Dylan objected to the parking job he''d shut him down fast. It felt good. Whatever made Dylan go silent, Mike needed more of that.


    As for anger, there was an unlimited well inside him, as if he''d struck the rage vein, uncharted territory as he became a fireball of pure instinct, driven by the need to fix this, to go back in time, to have been honest and open with Laura and to ¨CAdvertisement


    To have Jill tell the truth.


    That thought came out of nowhere, whispered in his mind like a snake hissing secrets. He stopped as they walked toward the three-story house Dylan said was Josie''s, as if struck in the face by a falling acorn or a random stone. What? What about Jill? Why would ¨C


    ¡°Hey. You ready?¡± Dylan''s voice was clipped and nervous as he worried a button on his work shirt. Work? Joe fired him? He wanted to know more about what had happened, but didn''t have the bandwidth right now to listen. Without warning, his hands began to shake, the feeling deep and visceral, his chest bones rattling. Completely out of his control, his body seemed to be releasing emotions he didn''t know he possessed.


    ¡°Uh, uh, um,¡± he stammered, feeling like an eleven year old asking for a first kiss, giving a first speech, talking to his new stepmother and realizing she couldn''t stand him. ¡°Sure,¡± he chirped out, the sound pushed between his teeth by an ever-expanding tongue, his body feeling like it was swelling and shriveling all at once.


    The bell on Josie''s door made a buzzing sound. He heard an ¡°Eep!¡± and then an old calico cat appeared in the bay window right next to them. A flurry of curtain movement, then a face that was unmistakably Josie''s.


    ¡°Shit,¡± Mike heard, her voice muted but discernible. Then whispers. He and Dylan exchanged looks of rolled eyes.


    ¡°Hah!¡± Dylan hissed, then pumped his fist. Don''t crow too much, Mike thought. We are still so screwed.


    Ding dong! Dylan pressed the buzzer again and stepped back on the concrete steps, which were fairly shallow. He almost fell backwards. A flurry of scuttling sounds and whispers, and then Josie''s voice through the door.


    ¡°Go away.¡± She hollered. That woman could project. Who knew such a tiny body could hold such a mammoth voice?


    ¡°Please,¡± Mike said loudly. ¡°We want to talk to Laura and explain.¡± Please say yes. A massive wave of d¨¦j¨¤ vu hit him. How ridiculous this all was becoming. Inheriting this money wasn''t his idea. All it had brought was problems.


    ¡°Dylan already said everything. He was quite clear.¡± Josie''s voice was caustic, like battery acid in voice form. Mike just blinked, over and over, trying not to react to everything, and as he turned his head toward Dylan all he could think was, Don''t kill him. Don''t kill him. Don''t kill him.


    ¡°What did you text back to Josie, Dylan?¡± He could feel the threat in his voice, like lead and cyanide, and knew his poisoned tongue would morph into pounding fists soon.


    ¡°I just texted back ''It''s always complicated'' and a little smiley face.¡±


    Holy shit! ¡°And you thought she wouldn''t take that the wrong way?¡±He enunciated, every word spat out through gritted teeth, his jaw aching with tension and his mind reeling. Stay calm.


    Deadly calm.


    Clearly shaken, Dylan flinched. ¡°Well, yeah. I was being light-hearted.¡±


    ¡°You have the instincts of a drunken frat boy when it comes to anything emotionally delicate.¡±


    ¡°Is that supposed to be an insult?¡±


    Instead of beating Dylan by ripping out his ego and dropping it on his head, thus flattening him to a pancake from the sheer mass of it, Mike stepped forward and pounded on the door. ¡°Please, Laura, we just want to talk.¡±


    ¡°Go away,¡± Josie warned, even louder. The woman could do a decent imitation of a foghorn.


    ¡°Only when we hear it from Laura,¡± Dylan shouted back. ¡°Otherwise, we''re going to keep trying until somehow you let us in.¡±


    ¡°Ah, God, Dylan, don''t say that,¡± Mike groaned. Two dog owners at the park across the field turned and looked at them, their animals playing on the baseball field. It was a hot August day and already his shirt clung to him. The dogs frolicked and the owners were talking to each other and pointing at them.


    ¡°Don''t say what? I mean it.¡± Dylan plucked his work shirt away from his body. He was sweating profusely now, running one hand through his hair. The sweat made it look slicked back with gel, the sun shining off the blue-black highlights in his thick hair.


    ¡°You don''t have any power here right now, you dipshit.¡± Dylan bristled. Good! The truth hurt.


    ¡°Quit calling me names.¡±


    ¡°I''m not calling you names.¡± Mike leaned in, pulling himself up to his full height. ¡°I''m calling you out.¡±


    The door opened and Laura appeared, eyes red-rimmed and puffy, hair askew, her skirt wrinkled around her belly and covered with white cat fur. Her shoulders were set and one hand clung to the doorway, the other on the doorknob, body language aggressive and dismissive all at once.


    Mike''s heart exploded with need and fear. ¡°Laura, I ¨C ¡±


    ¡°Go.Away.¡± Her voice got louder on the second word, cracking a bit, as her eyes narrowed and bored into him and Dylan, her chest heaving and throat choking out her words. ¡°I texted you,¡± she said, accusation infiltrating every word, anger focused on Dylan, ¡°and asked for one fucking thing. One! Respect. You couldn''t even manage that.¡±


    ¡°But I ¨C ¡± Dylan''s smile warmed and softened as he tried the charm thing. Mike could tell it wouldn''t work. Hell, it pissed him off to see it. He could only imagine what it triggered in Laura.


    ¡°You smug son-of-a-bitch,¡± she said in a cold voice, chin tipped down and eyes tipped up, the look nearly evil in its perfect composure and composition. Dylan''s neck craned back and he took a step away, which rattled Mike. No holding back, she was showing them everything right now, and he loved her for it. Raw and broken, she was peeling back to show her true self and he was torn inside, knowing he''d done this to her ¨C they had done this to her ¨C because they had been too afraid to reveal their own true selves to her.


    So had Jill.


    ¡°All I asked of you ¨C both of you ¨C ¡± her eyes burning through them, making Mike''s body go cold as she alighted on him ¡° ¨C was honesty and respect. You gave me neither. No ¨C worse! ¨C you withheld both from me. I guess you didn''t trust me? Thought I was some kind of gold digger?¡±


    Huh? ¡°Why would we think you were all about the money when we were the ones who found you?¡± he asked gently. She relaxed visibly, suddenly, as if he''d said what she''d been thinking. As she closed her eyes and screwed her face into an expression of pain, he wanted to take every action, every touch, every word, every breath where he''d hurt her and make it all dissolve and disappear.


    Nothing would make their betrayal go away, no matter how much Dylan wished it away with his charm and sweet talking, no matter how much Mike''s earnest tries came from a place of authenticity.


    They had betrayed her to the core.


    ¡°You tell me!¡± she shouted. ¡°Oh. No. You can''t.¡± Her voice went sarcastic. ¡°You can''t ever tell me anything. Anywhere.¡± She made a strange, dismissive sound. ¡°Except in bed. Right, boys?¡± The smirk that formed after that was Mike''s personal embodiment of despair. He was dying inside, and just wanted to pull her into his arms, wanted her arms around him, wanted to lose himself in her lushness, her soft, warm self.


    That was gone. Long gone.


    He and Dylan had driven it away.


    ¡°You''re right,¡± he said, his voice shaky. ¡°I can''t tell you.¡± Not the answer she expected; her face fell. ¡°I can''t tell you because I don''t even know. If I knew, I''d pour it out. Whatever explanation I could give you, other than blaming Dylan for saying it wasn''t time yet, would be so weak you''d just get angrier.¡±


    She just stared at him with contempt, cheeks red and eyes bloodshot. How had they come to this moment? How could all three of them be standing within feet of each other and be so blindingly miserable?


    ¡°You can''t tell me?¡± Indignant laughter seemed to strengthen her.


    ¡°But please, Laura,¡± Dylan crooned, ¡°invite us in and we can talk. Out here,¡± he gestured at the staring dog owners, ¡°we have an audience.¡±


    Thirteen different emotions shifted in her face in rapid succession, most of them negative. She slowly stepped back and shut the door, saying, ¡°No. Just go away¡± as Mike''s view of her narrowed and then disappeared in a line of metal and wood.


    ¡°Laura, I want to come in and talk!¡± Dylan begged.


    ¡°You want to come in?¡± she screamed through the door, her seething so clear it was like a high-pitched tone that crippled, a dog whistle of heartbreak. ¡°Then buy the fucking building, Dylan, and walk in like you own the place.¡± Mike saw Josie appear in the window, shaking her head slowly.


    ¡°I told you,¡± she mouthed, and whatever shred of function that remained in him snapped.


    ¡°You can afford it!¡± Laura screamed.


    And with that, Mike threw the Jeep keys at Dylan and began to run home. It was a good ten miles.


    A good start to pound out the pain.


    The sight of Mike''s back as he began to run away was unbelievable. Dylan stared, mouth open, the keys loose in his palm. The guy was running home? It was at least ten miles, which was nothing for Mike, but he was dressed in jeans, a polo shirt, and Merill shoes ¨C not exactly runner''s clothing in August in Boston. He''d turn into a puddle of goo by the time he crossed the Charles River.


    Maybe that was the point.


    Right now, though, he really didn''t have a spare ounce of caring in him for anyone but Laura. How could he have been so callous? Man, he had totally misjudged how she perceived him and his every move. The ¡°It''s always complicated¡± joke not only fell flat, it seemed to have been the nail in the coffin of any chance they may have had to rewind their botched attempt at waiting for the right moment to tell her about their money. Ego be damned; he could admit when he was wrong. He was man enough. And boy, oh boy, was he wrong.


    Mike didn''t even want to be in the same car with him, Laura had just told him, in so many words, to go fuck himself, and now Josie stood in the window shaking her head, mouthing words in an exaggerated way, as if he should be able to lip read.


    ¡°She''s done¡± was all he could read, and then Josie pulled back the curtain, replaced by the old calico.


    Done.


    He didn''t want to give up, didn''t want to get in the Jeep and head back to the apartment because there? There he''d have to face Mike. Eventually. Once Mike got home from his run, which ¨C knowing Mike''s speed ¨C would be in less than an hour, they''d have it out. Not part of their relationship. They didn''t do fighting. No one had ever put them in this position.


    Wait. They had put them in this position. He had to be fair to Laura. Hope died a quiet, soulful death as no one moved, he heard no hushed whispers, and the cat began licking its privates.


    Time to go home.


    Standing on her front stoop, withering in the heat, the object of ridicule from the two hipster pet owners who now held little grocery bags of poop off their thumbs, Dylan made his way slowly down the steps to get in the jeep and just go home.

 Page 20

    Home? Where, exactly, was home anymore? Laura was home, where he felt comfortable and important and where the three of them, together, could do or be anything.


    Including a billionaire.Advertisement


    Driving Mike''s Jeep made him appreciate his Audi, the Jeep too high, the steering imprecise. He managed it, driving without thinking while on autopilot, not even bothering to turn on music. The route he chose took him past Jeddy''s, ironically, where he and Mike had inadvertently been successful in getting Laura to look past their clumsy error and to give them another chance.


    If only he could have an another accidental meeting with her. Maybe if she weren''t on her guard he could talk to her openly, apologize profusely, and at least tell her how much he loved her.


    Good thing he was at a red light and at a full stop, because the words loved her made his brain smack against his skull. Love? Where did that word come from? He didn''t throw it around lightly. Being a charity auction bachelor and a bit of a cad meant he had his share of women, and he liked it that way ¨C having his share. His slice. His percentage. Love? Love was something he''d saved for Mike and Jill.


    And now, apparently, for Laura.


    The woman he''d just driven away.


    The rest of the drive was a blur until he parked the Jeep in Mike''s spot, then made his reluctant way to the apartment. When he walked in, he found the last thing he ever expected to see.


    Mike. Beet red, veins bulging, shirt completely soaked and arms flexing, neck expanded as if he''d just been doing deep squats with twice his weight on the bar. Huffing from exertion, Mike wouldn''t look him in the eye. Pacing, he walked back and forth down the entrance hallway, a hulking mass of nervous energy.


    ¡°How did you beat me home?¡± he asked, puzzled. At best, he was twenty minutes ahead of Mike''s top marathon speed.


    ¡°Cab.¡±


    ¡°Why''d you take a cab? I thought you were running it out.¡±


    Silence. This Dylan could handle; he knew what to expect when Mike withdrew. But walking into the living room gave him a scene he was wholly unprepared to encounter.


    Glass. Shattered glass everywhere. On second thought, it wasn''t nervous energy Mike emanated.


    That was rage.


    The smoked-glass coffee table was a heap of shards and broken footings. A fifty-pound dumbbell lay cock-eyed in the middle, books piled on it from the collapse.


    ¡°Mike, what the fuck ¨C ¡± Sheer terror consumed him as he turned to find Mike holding the other fifty above his head, not pointed at Dylan but rather at a small end table next to the leather couch. The crash was splinteringly deafening, the sound of Mike''s grunt as he exuded enough effort to pitch the dumbbell in a perfect, parabolic arc combining with the breaking glass to create a noise that made Dylan''s teeth rattle.


    Jumping back, he avoided getting hit by shrapnel. His mind raced. Was he in true danger from Mike? Mike? His partner for more than ten years, the gentle man he''d admired and respected, who was always so compassionate and ¨C


    Mike stormed out of the room and started throwing objects in his bedroom, the sound of drawers opening and closing, loud thumps and thick cracking sounds making Dylan follow him, wary and ready to protect himself if needed. Entering Mike''s bedroom, which has always been minimalist and sparse, the sight before him was jarring. Everything he owned was everywhere ¨C clothes spilling out of drawers, his closet ransacked, candles rolling in jars on the floor and pictures face down. Mike was standing near his bed, wildly shoving items into a hockey duffel bag, head down and muttering to himself.


    ¡°What happened? Were we robbed?¡±


    Mike snorted but didn''t look up, robotically grabbing a blue sweatshirt, then a pair of torn jeans, then flip flops, all going in the bag by rote movement. ¡°Yeah, Dylan. I was robbed. Of Laura. By you and your stupid, fucked up ideas.¡±


    ¡°Hey, man, you can''t pin this entirely on me.¡± His own rage swelled inside, ready to match Mike''s molecule for molecule. ¡°You''re the one who primed her not to trust us in the first place.¡±


    The look Mike shot him was pure evil. His heart sank as his ire rose. That wasn''t a look you give to someone you care about. That was a look you get when someone you love turns cold. Turns off. Views you as no one.


    It was worse than indifference. And it was a look he had only received once before, from an old girlfriend, and it had made his balls crawl into his throat, his soul shrivel into a shrunken mess, and he had resolved never, ever to let anyone in who could do that to him.


    So far he hadn''t.


    Until now.


    ¡°I fucked up,¡± Mike huffed. ¡°I own it. But dammit,¡± he shouted, smacking his dresser top for emphasis, his wallet and change cup falling off the right edge. ¡°We fixed that! She took us back in! And you ¨C you! You wanted to waste all that because you''re so fucking afraid that taking Jill''s money means you accept her death or that you loved her less of whatever fucked up emotional process you have buried deep in your ego. I can''t even look at you,¡± he added.


    Stunned, Dylan couldn''t form a coherent thought to respond. Who was this man? He looked like Mike but might as well have been some psycho twin, come up from the dead to steal Mike''s spirit and destroy their relationship. Mike was never mean. He could be firm, and he could be sarcastic (though rarely), and he knew how to take a stand and hold firm, but he was never, ever an asshole. Had losing Laura really driven him to some sort of psychotic break?


    Or was Dylan just way, way off in estimating how much he had hurt Mike by wanting to wait to tell Laura about the trust fund? Was this more about him than he realized ¨C and not in some self-centered way, but more in an ¡°Oh, shit, this is all my fault¡± kind of way?


    Mike strode angrily to the front door, then stopped cold. ¡°Where are my keys?¡±


    ¡°Here.¡± Dylan tossed them in an arc, Mike''s hand reaching up to catch them. Palm facing Dylan, the movement precise and clipped, like an athlete who had done it hundreds of thousands of times to reach perfection.


    Grabbing the doorknob, Mike was halfway out the door when Dylan called out. ¡°Where are you going?¡±


    ¡°My cabin.¡±


    ¡°What about this?¡± Dylan shouted, sweeping his arm out, indicating the mess.


    ¡°Hire someone to clean it up and replace everything. Bill me. I can afford it,¡± he scoffed, then slammed the door. A muffled shout: ¡°I''m a fucking billionaire!¡± and then the fading sound of footsteps.


    Chapter Five


    ¡°Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead!¡± Josie shouted, yanking open the curtains in Laura''s bedroom, the pink cloth swaying in a pattern that made Laura''s stomach queasy. Ugh. Bad enough she was exhausted; did Josie really need to make her nauseated, too? The coarse sun blinded her with too much, the glare off the world striking her as so harsh, too unyielding. Give her a nice, grey day with white cloud coverage so she could dip herself back into life.


    Let her suckle her depression, for it gave her so much comfort. Being a victim meant never having to think through your own actions, not reflecting on regret, and it definitely gave her ample excuse for eating entire pints of ice cream and wallowing in ¡°It''s Always Sunny in Philadelphia¡± marathons.


    It had been a month since the guys...well, there wasn''t an easy word for what they''d done to her. The Big Reveal? The Big Not-So-Reveal? Laura''s Public Humiliation? Whatever you called it, a month had passed and somehow she''d survived, each day an exercise in how not to fall apart.


    Grabbing as many sick and vacation days as her boss would allow had given Laura the time she needed to just sit with everything that had happened with Dylan and Mike and process it all. She hated how confusion and hurt made her bitter, had made her scream like that at the very end.


    Regret wasn''t quite the word for what she felt now. The never-ending depression seemed appropriate, her days filled with a dragging, a constant loop of sadness in her thoughts, and with no appetite. Not enjoying food troubled her; her stomach seemed to hold all her tension now, a shift she''d never experienced. Reading novels over the years, she''d always been jealous when a character lost her appetite, wishing that were a by-product of her many heartbreaks.


    Now she understood. It really wasn''t all she''d thought it would be. The grinding nausea that worsened with any stressor ¨C and who didn''t have stress? ¨C made her curl up in bed and sleep when she could.


    ¡°What are you on? The all-orange diet?¡± Josie had found the remnants of Laura''s dinner, all she could manage these days. Baby carrots, cheese enchiladas and oranges.


    Depression really wasn''t the word for what she had been feeling for more than a month, but she didn''t have a better phrase that conveyed how deeply sad their actions had made her. All of the support at work certainly helped, with her boss providing her with plenty of leeway, and friends coming in at times for pep talks. More than anything, she appreciated their steady guidance, with various women running interference with Debbie, who kept finding new ways to ask her to help her hook up with "the other one. You know, the one who looks like Thor."


    Sigh.


    "Look, Laura, you can''t keep doing this." Josie was giving her the hairy eye. "I know you have the day off, but staying in bed and doing the sick thing isn''t helping. And the orange diet is just disgusting. What''s next? Circus peanuts and Cheetos?"


    Her stomach decided to swivel a hula hoop around it. "Oh, God, don''t," she begged, holding her hand over her mouth.


    The hairy eyeball got hairier. "You never get sick like this."


    "Sure I did. in college. Hangovers."


    "Yeah, but you didn''t get drunk last night."


    "Maybe it''s the flu." Laura really didn''t have it in her to argue. The sunshine felt like little daggers scraping against her eyeballs, and her brain was dulled down. Lately, she couldn''t watch real television, her brain only capable of reality TV shows. If she watched another season of The Biggest Loser she was going to start dreaming about Extra Chocolate Mint Ice Cream gum and Subway.


    "A month-long flu?"


    Laura sat up, propping herself with pillows and holding her breath, wincing as a wave of nausea made her feel like she was puffy and drained at the same time, the sensation so damning she wanted to die. "It can happen."


    "Not ¨C well, no." Josie went into Laura''s kitchen and she heard her rummaging through the fridge. Please don''t bring me food, she thought. A quick glance at the leftovers from her dinner made bile rise up in her throat. Scooching back down, she reclined again, flipping her pillow to let the cool side touch her sickened face.


    Carrying a tall glass of water with bubbles, Josie reappeared. "Drink this." Laura didn''t want to obey, but she did anyhow. There was a tone in Josie''s voice, the professional nurse giving medical aid and taking no shit. Do this because it''s good for you.


    Because I said so.


    With crossed arms, Josie watched guard over her, as if Laura''s not drinking the sparkling water would constitute a personal affront. The first sip was almost painful, then the next easier. About halfway through the glass she felt an enormous bubble fill her throat, the resulting belch so unladylike she might have roused a standing ovation from a group of truck drivers in a roadhouse bar.


    Josie''s polite golf clap didn''t quite cut it. "Feel better?"


    To her surprise, Laura said, "Yes." And she did. The nausea wasn''t gone, the exhaustion was still so all-pervasive she could feel it in her bones, like poured, wet concrete seeking a low point. But the cloud of doom and sickeningly sour stomach was alleviated, even if fleetingly.

 Page 21

    The look on Josie''s face gave Laura pause. Her friend looked ten years younger, more like when they''d met, hair pulled back and face scrubbed of make-up, though her long fingernails remained, this time designed to look like hot dogs.


    "Hot dogs?" she said, pointing to Josie''s hands. Even saying the name of the food made her stomach lurch.Advertisement


    "I saw the Oscar Mayer Weinermobile and got inspired."


    "Is that a nickname for the guy you''re dating?"


    Smirk. "She feels better!" Josie announced to Snuggles, who poked his head out from under the bed and popped it right back, terrified.


    Sip. Deep breath. Squint. "Yeah. Just barely."


    "Some flat ginger ale and saltines might help, too." Wary and watching, the words poured out of Josie''s mouth like a string of curses, the words foreign and unreal.


    "You think I''m ¨C what? ¨C you''re crazy ¨C no way!" Nausea returned in a giant tidal wave, her body twisting to the side to retch into a strategically-placed bowl on the ground. Orange. Everything that came up was orange. It made her vomit more, blood vessels bursting on her face, the rolling contempt of the muscles needed to empty her stomach making this all-the-more difficult.


    "How long have you been doing that?" Josie asked dispassionately, stepping closer to pull Laura''s hair back as she blew chunks. A box of tissues nearby were within reach; Laura grabbed one and furiously dabbed her lips.


    "On and off for the past week. I swear, Josie. Flu."


    "You have a fever?"


    "No."


    "Muscle and joint pain?"


    "No."


    "When was your last period?"


    "I am not your patient!" Fear and dread crept through her, giving her chills. She hadn''t let herself go there. It''s not that the idea hadn''t occurred to her ¨C it most certainly had, especially when the nausea became so middle-grade and pervasive, lifting only late at night. She was on the pill, though, and while she''d stupidly gone bare, not asking the guys to wear condoms, she''d never worried about this. She was on the pill, right?


    But there was that one day, Laura, a voice whispered, low and mean. One day.


    No! It hadn''t even been twenty-four hours! She''d just forgotten. That wasn''t enough, right?


    "No. You''re not. You''re my best friend in a shitty situation with those two assholes and now it looks like it''s taken a turn no one expected." Kind and restrained, Josie''s voice was simultaneously soothing and frightening. The implications of what she was suggesting were appalling. If she were ¨C if this was ¨C should she actually be ¨C then this was like combining a Jerry Springer show with a Maury Povich paternity episode, all written by Dr. Drew and Judd Apatow.


    In other words, a clusterfuck of unimaginable proportions. Because who was the father?


    "It''s not what you think," was all Laura could croak out. Josie handed her the sparkling water and each sip seemed to renew her. "Can we talk about anything else?"


    "Oh, like the royal baby?"


    "Shut up. Where''s Nice Josie? I''d like her back."


    "Nice Josie is about five seconds away from running to CVS for a few pregnancy tests."


    "NO!" Her harsh tone shocked them both. "NO! I said it''s not that."


    Nice Josie made an appearance, sitting on the bed and taking Laura''s hand in hers, kind eyes measuring her. "OK, OK, I''ll respect whatever you want. But maybe I''ll just appear and make you pee on a stick."


    "You can''t make me," Laura laughed. The feeling was foreign. It felt good.


    Josie arched one eyebrow. "I am a nurse. Vee haf vays ov maykeen you ooorinate."


    Laura laughed again. "I''ll bet you do, you kinky bitch." Josie pretended to be offended, playfully hitting Laura''s feet with a pillow. Laura kicked back and growled. A cat hissed and sprinted across the room, out into the hallway.


    Closing her eyes, Laura leaned back against the pillow. Sip. Exhaustion seeped in again, the room spinning slightly, her eyelids now full of lead weights.


    "Go ahead and nap," Josie crooned. "I''ll be back later."


    "Mmmmkay." Laura was almost asleep and barely heard her door click as Josie left. Snuggles nosed his way up onto the bed and settled next to her hip, his quiet purr singing her to sleep.


    Three seconds later, Josie woke her up. The sun was different ¨C not so stabby ¨C and she heard music in the background. Indigo Girls? No. Adele. How could she get the two confused? Dry mouth made her taste cotton and Snuggles practically fell off the bed as she stretched.


    "Josie?"


    "Yep." Gurgle. Ah ¨C making coffee. Just the thought of having to smell it made her inside turn. It was like vomit in the form of an odor these days.


    "You making coffee?"


    "Yep ¨C want some?"


    "God, no!"


    "OK," she answered, her voice a sing song. "I''ll drink it out here while you shower."


    Shower? Laura pulled her pajama top out and sniffed her skin between her breasts. Eh. A bit oily. Sniffed a pit. Whoa! She was ripe. That cotton taste wouldn''t leave, so she finished off the flat sparkling water on her bedside table. Wait. How could she have dozed off for a few seconds if the water was flat?


    "How long''ve I been out?" she hollered.


    "Three hours."


    Three hours? Damn. She padded into the kitchen and stopped, the wall of java in the air stabbing her sinuses. "How do you drink that shit?" she accused, closing off her nose and breathing through her dried-out mouth.


    "This?" Josie said innocently, pointing to her coffee.


    "Ugh." Laura turned away and shouted back, "Just get rid of it by the time I''m out." Years ago, her grandma had told her she knew she was pregnant when she woke up in the morning and didn''t want coffee or cigarettes. Maybe it ran in the family?


    No. Don''t think that way. Just...don''t. Turning on the shower took so much effort. Moving her arm to take off her shirt felt like a Sisyphean task. Sliding out of her pajamas made her feel like she''d run a marathon. A small cup of water stayed down. Damn flu.


    The shower''s spray washed away a fair amount of fear and a not inconsiderable amount of nausea, thank God. Wash, wash, wash everything away, all the pain, the exhaustion, the confusion, and the grief. Grief for what she''d wanted with Mike and Dylan, for what they could be doing right now, for losing Mike''s shy smile, Dylan''s jaunty one, for missing out on the New England fall with them, for what could be.


    Tentative, she let her hands move the soap where it needed to go, her hand grazing her belly below her navel. Could she ¨C really? She and Ryan had just started to talk about having a baby when she''d discovered he was a fraud. Both had been pleased to find the other willing. A few more years, they''d agreed. It wasn''t time. He had asserted that they needed to bond as husband and wife, first, before bringing in a third.


    She snorted. Funny how there already was a third.


    The lie mattered, but what also mattered was that she had been ready to think about kids, to imagine pregnancy and birth and babies and toddlers and all the roly-poly love that came with them. If she was pregnant ¨C she allowed herself to think in hypotheticals, her hands mechanically shampooing her greasy hair, the feeling of rinsing like a baptism, washing away the past month of dysfunction ¨C then it would be OK.


    Everything would be OK. To be more precise, it would all work out in the end because she absolutely, positively, undeniably was not pregnant. And couldn''t be. It just wasn''t true, and as long as she willed it to not be true, she didn''t have to face any of the long term consequences of having a billionaire baby daddy.


    Or two.


    A quick rinse was all she could manage as her legs and arms felt like jelly, her body shivering no matter how much she turned the shower faucet for more hot water. Time to get out. A quick toweling and new pajamas, plus a robe, helped with warmth. By the time she wandered out, combing her hair, she still felt the underlying tiredness and a smaller blanket of nausea, less intense but more pervasive, like a layer of fascia within her body, ever lurking but not always obviously felt.


    Greeting her in the kitchen were Josie, a freshly-washed coffee pot, and three boxes on the kitchen table. Pink, white, and purple.


    Ah, fuck.


    "Josie!" she wailed.


    "You''re really glowing," Josie replied in a tone of flattery. Snuggles was in Josie''s lap (how had she managed that?) and the cat turned and gave Laura the stare of doom. You''re pregnant! its eyes said. And I don''t care.


    "That''s anger, you idiot." The boxes stood there, judging her. Who came up with the names for these things? Early Pregnancy Test was fine, but First Response? What was she, a 911 call? Little cardboard soldiers of doom, ready to deliver a message from the front lines that she had lost, and it was time to surrender to the truth.


    Never surrender!


    And now she was quoting cheesy 80s songs in her mind. This was how far she had fallen.


    "Water?" Josie poured more sparkling water from the green bottle and handed it to her.


    "You just want to make me pee."


    A sweet smile. "I just want to make sure you''re hydrated. It reduces nausea."


    "And makes me need to pee."


    "Does it?" Josie asked, overly innocent and disingenuous. "How convenient."


    Resentment kicked in with a healthy side of sour stomach. "Why are you so determined to prove I''m pregnant?"


    Josie leaned in, blinking rapidly, her face serious and relaxed, the look jarring to Laura. She hadn''t seen her friend this still and composed since...well, never. "Because if you are pregnant, ignoring it can only hurt you and the baby. I''m a nurse, Laura. I know how important prenatal care is. I''ve worked labor and delivery and I''ve worked the post-partum wing. I just want to make sure you don''t do anything you might regret."


    "Like what?" A shadow of something sinister crept into the room. What did Josie mean?


    "Like ignore the reality of being pregnant and not get early care. Once you know the truth, you can do the right thing."


    "The right thing?" She peered at Josie, wondering if she was implying what Laura thought she was implying.


    "I mean get the care you need. Whichever way you choose. Early treatment is best no matter what."


    Whoosh. Laura sighed deeply. Whew. "For a minute there, I thought you were saying I should get an abortion."


    "Not my decision to make, or to influence." Josie shook her head, her vehemence a little unsettling. What if Laura needed to bounce ideas off her bestie? Isn''t that what BFFs were for? Another round of nausea made her close her eyes and breathe slowly, deeply, as if she were getting through a contraction.


    Staying perfectly still, Laura took in Josie''s response, her body a bit more grounded after the breaths. No judgment. "Right," was all she could think to say.


    Josie''s face was neutral as she picked up the pink box and began opening it. "This one doesn''t need first-morning urine, so you could do it right now, if you want."


    Oh, God. A cold wave of everything washed over her. This was real. Her entire fate was in the hands of a thin stream of pee and a little plastic stick with chemicals on it that would measure her future in the form of one, or two, pink lines. The floor seemed really close, the walls closing in on her. Josie''s face went from the look of a professionally neutral nurse to that of a concerned friend.

 Page 22

    ¡°Breathe. Just breathe.¡±


    ¡°Easy for you to say,¡± Laura gasped, hands white-knuckling the back of a chair, her kitchen screamingly pink. Now she understood Dylan''s reaction to all the color ¨C it really was dramatic, wasn''t it? Viewing her life through an outside lens had become the new norm.Advertisement


    And now through the lens of baby.


    Laura reached for her water and took a sip. ¡°OK. But you have to be the one to read it and tell me what it says.¡±


    ¡°No problem.¡± The concern that had crept into Josie''s eyes freaked Laura out. This was, most likely, the most mature conversation they had ever had in their entire friendship. Somber. Deliberate.


    Bring back flaky Josie, please.


    ¡°Here. Just fill the cup and I''ll handle the dipstick.¡±


    ¡°That''s what she said,¡± Laura joked. Josie cracked a toothy smile. She looked at the little cup. Seriously? Her entire life rested in what the pee told them? Josie was now the Pee Whisperer?


    Dissembling. ¡°Laura?¡± Josie asked, nudging her gently to the bathroom.


    Memorable pees came to mind. Straddling a Big Gulp as she raced down the Pike to make it on time to a concert. Peeing on a Bush in 2000 on election night (her mom''s idea). Peeing in a trough at the outdoor amphitheater while visiting cousins in Ohio.


    Peeing for a stick that would determine her fate? This was #1 on that list now.


    What an honor.


    Filling the cup was easy, some of the stream missing and hitting her wrist, warm and cloying, Her own urine never bothered her but right now, everything bothered her, stomach a barometer of stress and hormones. Hormones that could be detected by the reactions the chemicals in the little cloth-line end of the pregnancy test''s stick. Urine-filled cup in hand, she emerged and shoved the warm container in Josie''s hand.


    ¡°Thanks.¡± Josie made a flowery production of dipping the stick, waiting the appropriate amount of time, then setting it on the table.


    ¡°Do, do, do, do,¡± she hummed. The music to Jeopardy, the little ditty they play while the contestants wager as much as possible to win final jeopardy ¨C where some people bet everything and fail, and others bet everything and succeed in ways that exceed their wildest dreams.


    No final jeopardy for Laura, though. The only way out was through.


    Through pee.


    ¡°How long does this take?¡±


    ¡°Three minutes.¡± Josie stared at the stick as if it were a chess opponent in check. Laura forced herself to go and wash her face, then brush and floss. That should kill three minutes, right? She wandered back into the kitchen to find Josie frozen in place, face serious and scowling. She looked like a chihuahua doing an impression of Grumpy Cat.


    ¡°How much more?¡±


    ¡°Fifty seconds.¡±


    Laura let herself remember Mike''s hands, those gentle, enormous fingers that laced so effortlessly, so eagerly, with hers when they walked together. Dylan''s eyelashes. The scent of both when they ¨C


    "How much longer?" Laura asked, her foot bouncing a mile a minute as she sat down at the kitchen table, legs crossed, her fingers drumming on the top.


    "Thirty seconds," Josie answered. "Twenty less than the last time you asked."


    "Shut up." To her surprise, the smart ass went quiet. Damn well she better. This was no time for jokes. Josie''s fingernails caught Laura''s eye. Each was a rotation of a positive and negative pregnancy test. She inhaled sharply.


    ¡°Jesus, Josie, your fingernails! Have some compassion!¡± Did she seriously go out and have the hot dogs changed to this?


    ¡°I thought they were cute.¡± Josie shot Laura a sideways glance and rolled her eyes. ¡°Someone''s lost her sense of humor completely. Besides, the hot dogs made you puke, so I just changed them.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, I must have puked up my sense of humor along with my lunch. If it means so much to you, go find it in the toilet.¡±


    Ding! The oven timer beeped and Josie met her eyes, both of them scared shitless, Laura moreso. It was her life in the balance, after all, and while her best friend could be the most empathic person on the planet, she couldn''t give birth for her.


    Laura covered her eyes. "You look. I can''t."


    "Okay." Silence.


    "Josie?" Laura could feel the sandpaper in her voice, could hear her unacknowledged truth, knew exactly what Josie was about to say but needed her to say it. To make it real. Her stomach roiled and that full-body flush ¨C not the good kind ¨C flooded her senses again. She willed herself to take deep breaths. Three of them, to be exact, before Josie finally said:


    "It''s positive."


    ¡°It ¨C what?¡± She snatched the stick away from Josie and forced herself to look. Pregnant. Belly swelling, hands growing, her face and skin felt like a sheet of someone else''s cells. Something was growing in her. And it wasn''t an infection or a crush or an idea or anything else she''d fostered or cultured or spawned.


    It was spawn.


    She knew that was one of the options. Hell, there were only two. Either she was pregnant, or she wasn''t. No third choice here. No threesome to deal with. This was binary, baby.


    And, apparently, it was baby all the way.


    ¡°Oh, holy mother of god fucking shit damn whodathunkit?¡± Sprinting for the bathroom, she hit the toilet at just the right moment, projectile vomiting straight in the bowl, the water splashing up in ricochet as if to slap her out of her panic.


    ¡°I''ll make some peppermint tea,¡± she heard Josie shout, her voice weak and uncertain. ¡°No ¨C ginger. Ginger is good for morning sickness.¡±


    Ah, God. This was real.


    She was pregnant. Pregnant! Her best friend was talking about morning sickness strategies. That meant this would happen again! Being sick day in and day out for weeks meant that this wasn''t going away. Wasn''t transient.


    Some might even say it was kind of permanent.


    Heaving into the bowl, the contents of her stomach scrambled to evacuate, to flee the situation, to get as far away from Knocked Up Girl as possible.


    If she could, she would, too. Except she couldn''t.


    Because she was the mommy.


    Puke. Hurl. Blargh.


    Pregnant. She was pregnant. Mommy. Someone would call her Mommy soon. At twenty-nine, she felt old enough. Inside, she felt seventeen sometimes, though. Could she really do this? How would the whole single mother thing work? Planner-brain kicked in. Look over maternity leave plan. Learn about onsite child care center. Call home and let them know she was ¨C


    Pregnant by two men? Oh, that would go over soooo well with her devout Catholic mom. And if Dad were still alive, he''d have loved to have played with his grandchild. So many details, and she ¨C


    Blargh.


    Hot and sweaty, her face inches from discolored toilet water, her stomach wouldn''t settle down.


    Tap tap tap. ¡°Laura? You need anything?¡±


    ¡°A time machine,¡± she answered weakly. ¡°I have something to undo.¡±


    A soft laugh. ¡°I''ll leave some fresh water for you to drink right here. I hate to say this, but I have to get to work.¡± Pause. ¡°Call me later?¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡± Pressing her cheek against the underside of the toilet bowl brought conflicting relief. Who prayed to the porcelain gods without having gotten drunk the night before? Pregnancy debased her already.


    ¡°I''ll come back after my shift and bring some ginger beer and stuff to help your stomach.¡± Click click click went Josie''s shoes, then the soft sound of the front door closing. Alone. When did life get so complicated? The cold toilet felt like a mother''s loving touch, which made Laura laugh at how this was all unfolding.


    It''s always complicated.


    And she was utterly alone.


    A hand fluttered to her belly.


    No.


    Not quite.


    Chapter Six


    Three months later


    ¡°I can''t believe you still haven''t told them!¡± Josie hissed from the corner of her mouth as she sat next to Laura in the waiting room of the nurse-midwife''s office. Half the pregnant women seemed to be called to the midwife side, and half to the obstetrician side. Josie was so out of place there, like a toothpick in a sea of Teletubbies.


    Laura compared her growing belly to those she saw. At nineteen weeks, she was almost halfway there. That first trip to the doctor three months ago had yielded a complete shocker: she was seven weeks along. One missed period and bam! She was nearly one-sixth through the pregnancy without knowing it. All the prenatal vitamins and pregnancy yoga and morning sickness remedies helped her to get here, but Josie was harping on the one, pesky little detail she couldn''t deny her way out of for much longer.


    The past twelve weeks had been a blur, and now she was about to meet her baby via ultrasound, go home with a picture of an alien baby that people would pretend was beautiful, and here she sat after drinking a liter of fluid, her panties moist from a bladder that gave up control right around the time her shoes stopped fitting. A light breeze could make her pee at this point. A sneeze would unleash a tsunami.


    ¡°Am I as big as her?¡± she whispered quietly, surreptitiously pointing to a woman who looked ready to drop any day. The shirt she wore looked like something a tent rental company made for her. She violated the laws of physics when she stood.


    ¡°Close,¡± Josie guessed. Her face reddened and she tsked. ¡°Quit changing the subject! When are you telling Dylan and Mike?¡±


    ¡°Soon. After this,¡± she replied, pointing vaguely toward the midwife''s office. Today she would have her first ultrasound and, she hoped, learn the baby''s sex. She squirmed horribly, and not from Josie''s nagging. Her bladder was rapidly in need of its own, separate bladder. A kegel would help, but damn if she could isolate and squeeze anything down there right now.


    ¡°You''ve been putting it off for three months, Laura! And you always say ''soon'' but it''s never ''soon.''¡±


    ¡°It''s complicated.¡± Laura threw her a glare to stop a truck. If she said it...


    ¡°So we''re inducing next week, when I hit thirty-eight weeks,¡± she heard the enormously pregnant woman say. A creeping dread seeped through her skin. Or was it a hot flash? She honestly couldn''t tell the difference any more. Holy shit! That woman was twice as far along as Laura? How could they be close to ¨C


    ¡°Laura Michaels?¡± A medical assistant appeared, chart in hand. The drill was simple for her normal appointments; go on in to the bathroom, pee, dip the sticks in, and if anything came back irregular, report it to the midwife. Then sit in the waiting area again until called.


    For an ultrasound, though, she went back through the maze of medical equipment and desks to a tiny room with an exam table crammed in. The platform seemed unusually high. Climb? Dude, she could barely wipe herself these days, the stretch a, well...stretch. Climb?


    ¡°Climb on up,¡± the male technician directed, his voice pleasant and his demeanor kind.


    ¡°With this exploding bladder, I''ll squirt like a firehose if I lift my leg.¡±


    Josie laughed. The tech seemed amused. ¡°Nothing I haven''t seen before.¡± All these baby people kept saying that to her. If it was supposed to put her at ease it did, but also left an unsettled feeling, as if her birth experience weren''t unique, as if everything she was going through and that seemed so special were just...ordinary. Being ordinary didn''t trouble her, in general, but the sensations and blossoming of this new life within her were so special, so life-altering, that she wished everyone around her would give just a little more ¡°wow!¡± when they interacted with her.

 Page 23

    Or, maybe, what she really wished was that she had a partner to go through all of this with her. Resting her hand on her belly, she wondered when she''d feel the baby move. Hopelessly eager, every pocket of gas, tweaked muscle, you name it ¨C she braced and held her breath, hoping...


    And wasn''t that something she should share with the baby''s father?Advertisement


    Fathers, an evil voice whispered in her mind.


    Somehow she managed, with Josie''s help, to get up on that torture table. Reclining on her back pushed her womb against her bladder, making her instantly homicidal.


    ¡°Oh, man, can''t I pee? Please?¡±


    ¡°Just a few minutes,¡± the tech said, then explained the procedure. She hiked up her maternity shirt, a cute print from the Gap. Shopping for maternity clothing had turned out to be liberating, because the designers expected you to have breasts and a belly! Her shirt was covered with hippie swirls of pinks and turquoises, with lots of white thrown in. The panel on her maternity jeans was a pale blue, stretchy jersey added where the zipper and button normally would be.


    She wanted to wear these clothes forever.


    Maybe you will, if you can''t lose the baby fat, that same voice said. Gah.


    The cold gel made her kegels clench, helping keep in her urine but adding a sensory overload to that general region. The ultrasound wand the tech used went on the gel and soon she could see her little peanut, all bones and beating heart, floating upside down in an an enormous sea of black.


    ¡°There''s the baby,¡± the tech said in a neutral voice, taking measurements. From the start, Laura had decided to have a low-technology birth, so this was the first ultrasound. Meeting her baby visually brought tears to her eyes, her heart swelling, and even Josie was overcome with emotion.


    ¡°Oh, Laura,¡± she whispered, voice choked. She squeezed her shoulder.


    Her child. That womb pressing hard against all that water, making her eyes cross and her ribs ache, contained a little growing human being that was going to come out in twenty-one weeks and be her little, precious baby.


    ¡°Boy or girl?¡± Leave it to Josie to get to the point.


    The tech laughed, obviously accustomed to the question. ¡°First off, do you want to know?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± the women answered in unison.


    ¡°Then give me a few minutes to do the required measurements, and then I''ll try to see. No guarantees ¨C it''s all about whether the fetus is in the right position, and what we can see with the machine.¡± Laura nodded and Josie seemed already to know that. The room was so tiny that Josie had to jockey for space with the tech. And it was getting warmer in here. Plus, she felt like an overstretched balloon that would burst if anyone breathed hard.


    Loving warmth coursed through her. Baby. Her body, which she''d despised most of her life for its inadequacies, for letting her down time and again with men, was now ripe with purpose and growing a human being. How could she hate it right now? It was building, layer by layer, system by system, a whole ''nother human who would be part of the next generation.


    She was a goddess!


    Finally done with measurements, the tech stopped, frowned, and said, ¡°Excuse me. I''ll be right back.¡± The click of the closing door felt like a death sentence, the air sucked out of the room as Laura''s entire body switched into panic mode.


    ¡°That can''t be good? Why would he leave? Do you see anything?¡± Oh, God, no. Just no. Nothing could be wrong, right? She hadn''t planned for anything to be wrong.


    Josie peered at the screen. She shrugged. Non-chalant and cool, she made a questioning face and replied, ¡°I don''t see anything obvious, but I''m not an ultrasound tech.¡± Her hand on Laura''s felt reassuring. ¡°I''m sure it''s nothing. Maybe all your talk about peeing made him need to go.¡±


    ¡°Don''t make me laugh or I''ll give you a golden shower, Josie.¡±


    ¡°Now you''re turning me on.¡± The laugh did make her nearly pee, giving her a few fleeting seconds of amusement, shifting away from worry. A knock, then her midwife came in, followed by the tech.


    Fuck.


    ¡°Sheri? What are you doing here. They said this was just a routine screening and I wouldn''t see you.¡± What she wanted to say was Go away! Nothing''s wrong Nothing can be wrong so go away and let me not hear what you''re about to say! but something in her knew that wasn''t the case. She gripped Josie''s hand like she was drowning.


    Josie gripped back.


    Sheri''s eyes were kind but guarded, wrinkles forming everywhere as she smiled. Somewhere in her sixties, she had a relaxed, natural look to her, with dark brown eyes, tanned skin and long, grey hair braided in a thick rope that stretched over her ass. Today she wore a loose, flowing jacket over a tank top and a long skirt, an outfit not unlike many in Laura''s closet.


    ¡°The tech just asked me to take a quick look at something.¡± Her voice was smooth and practiced. Josie nodded, eyes on Laura, her professional nurse face in overdrive. They were all hiding something from Laura, and she did not like this one bit. Sheri introduced herself to Josie and they shook hands in a perfunctory way.


    The midwife and tech put their heads together and murmured medical terms Laura strained to hear. She really was about to explode, her vagina starting to pulsate ¨C and not the good kind of pulsating.


    ¡°I need to pee!¡± she whispered to Josie. How banal, to have such an insignificant need in the middle of what could be the worst news she''d ever heard in her life. Yet nature called.


    The tech and Sheri pulled back, the tech leaving the room. Sheri''s hand was warm and gentle on Laura''s shoulder. ¡°First, the baby is healthy according to our basic measurements.¡±


    A huge, loud sigh poured out of Laura, like a yoga breath. ¡°Thank God.¡±


    ¡°But it''s a bit complicated.¡±


    No!


    ¡°Right now, you''re on the high end of amniotic fluid. There''s a condition called polyhydramnios ¨C it literally means excessive amniotic fluid. Your measurements show you are at the low end of having this condition, which means the fetus is just floating in all that fluid, like an overstuffed balloon.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure that''s not just my bladder?¡±


    Sheri laughed and reached out to grip Laura''s hand. ¡°Why don''t you go and empty that poor, overstretched balloon and we can talk more. All the images we need are done.¡±


    Laura started to get up and stopped. ¡°The sex?¡±


    Sheri cocked her head and made a face of surprise. ¡°Oh! James didn''t get to that before he found me. You want to know?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± she and Josie practically shouted.


    Chuckle. ¡°Well, then, if you can bear it, lean back again and let''s look.¡±


    Groaning, Laura complied, the pressure to urinate overwhelming her mind and body. This was crucial, though. Boy or girl? She''d wanted to know since the day the test said PREGNANT.


    More gel. Wand. Gouging (not really, but it felt like it). Jiggle. ¡°Why are you jiggling?¡± And then she knew, as the baby moved and shifted, trying to get away.


    ¡°Well, this is not an exact science.¡± Josie snorted. Sheri made a self-deprecating gesture. ¡°I am, though, ninety percent certain it''s a girl.¡±


    Girl.


    ¡°I don''t see the telltale penis I''d expect to see. Just the umbilical cord. The only time we''re certain is at the birth.¡±


    Girl. Laura had imagined the baby was a girl since day one. She was right. It really was. Mother''s instinct always knew, right?


    ¡°Are you OK, Laura?¡± Sheri asked.


    She shook herself out of her own thoughts and grinned. ¡°I assumed it was a girl. I was right.¡± She stuck her tongue out at Josie, who had teased her she was wrong.


    ¡°You and Josie are having a baby girl,¡± Sheri said, looking at them both with great joy.


    Hold up. ¡°Me and Josie?¡±


    ¡°Awkward,¡± Josie said out of one side of her mouth. She addressed Sheri. ¡°Um, we''re not ¨C ¡± she said, pointing between her and Laura.


    ¡°Oh, no! No, we''re not a couple!¡± Laura added.


    ¡°If I were into women, Laura''s totally not my type,¡± Josie added helpfully.


    Hey, now. ¡°What does that mean?¡± Laura cried out, indignant.


    Sheri cut them both off, her face red with embarrassment. ¡°I certainly did not mean to start an argument, and I apologize for my assumption. And Laura, you did mention that the father isn''t part of the picture ¨C ¡±


    ¡°Fathers,¡± Josie muttered. Laura cut her a glare that would kill Medusa. Sheri clicked a few buttons on the machine and printed some pictures, handing them to Laura. On slick fax paper, they were the most beautiful photos she had ever seen in her entire life, even if her baby did resemble something from a government archive in an episode of The X Files.


    ¡°So I''ll leave you with this: your chart looks strong; All the lab work is perfect, and while you are technically overweight, and could technically reach obesity during this pregnancy, depending on total weight gain, you don''t have gestational diabetes, your cholesterol and other lab values are well within range, and frankly, Laura, you''re healthier than many average-weight women I see.¡± Picking Sheri had been smart.


    ¡°Does this mean I can still birth in the hospital with a midwife?¡±


    ¡°For now, yes. We can''t predict what will come next, but given the information we have now, you''re not risked out of a midwife birth.¡±


    Pleased as punch, Laura simply said, ¡°Thank you!¡± Josie appeared suitably impressed. The feel of the paper in her hands gave her a happiness she hadn''t felt in months. Not since her last night with the guys.


    ¡°This does, though, explain some of your added weight gain, some of it excess fluid. At this point, we''ll have you come back in three to four weeks and do another measurement to check fluid. You may find that as you expand, your mobility is a bit limited; if the polyhydramnios continues, it makes you look and feel as if you are further along than you are.¡±


    ¡°Is that why I look seven months pregnant but I''m barely at five?¡±


    Sheri nodded. ¡°It explains some of it. So call if you feel like anything is off, or if you have any fluid leakage or spotting. Right now, in the second trimester, measurements can change, so for this month we wait and see. If it persists, we''ll do some tests to see if we can find an underlying cause.¡±


    Each word made sense. Understanding the basics of this polywhatever wasn''t hard. But the screaming voice in her head that kept shouting wrong wrong wrong wrong made it hard to fully digest what Sheri was saying.


    ¡°I don''t feel well,¡± Laura blurted. Josie and Sheri closed in.


    ¡°Go empty your bladder. We''ll help you.¡±


    ¡°The day I need help peeing is the day I ¨C ¡±


    ¡°Give birth,¡± Josie interrupted.


    Nasty glare. ¡°Go find another woman. I''m so done with you. And you''re not my type, either.¡± Sheri seemed more amused now by their banter as she and Josie followed Laura down the hall to the single-stall toilet.


    ¡°I don''t need help,¡± Laura announced, opening the door and stepping into the same room she''d peed in for months now. Tears filled her eyes in the silent little tile-filled space. Something was wrong. Too much fluid? Sheri''s explanation made sense, and the baby was otherwise healthy. She. She was otherwise healthy.


    A little girl.


    Daddy''s little girl.


    Which daddy? Her bladder groaned in ecstasy as she released its contents, the entire process taking about four times longer than usual. Ah, what pregnancy did to the body. Never before had she considered how nearly-orgasmic going pee could feel.

 Page 24

    Thoughts of Mike and Dylan flooded her as she allowed that tiny little sexual thought to creep in. The pregnancy books talked about the magic second trimester, morning sickness gone and hormones aplenty making the mother horny. Laura got too much amniotic fluid and ¨C bonus! ¨C too much libido. Overdrive libido.


    The kind that can only be satisfied by two men.Advertisement


    Leaving the bathroom, she was greeted by Josie. ¡°Sheri had another patient. Said to schedule a follow-up in three weeks and not to worry.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, right.¡±


    ¡°Easier said than done, I know. Let''s check out and get some lunch. How about Jeddy''s?¡± Josie asked as Laura approached the desk.


    ¡°Pfft.¡±


    ¡°What? It''s good food?¡±


    ¡°First I''m not your type, and now you want to drag me back there?¡±


    The receptionist interrupted them, quickly scheduling Laura''s next appointment. Josie held the door open as Laura exited. ¡°Good food! Peanut butter cake...¡±


    Any other day and Laura would have been all over it, memories of Mike and Dylan there be damned. The weight of the appointment''s news felt like a lead burden spread through her body. Sleep was what she needed now, much more than good food.


    ¡°I''m really tired,¡± she said, handing her car keys to Josie. ¡°Can you drive?¡± Josie grabbed the keys, climbed in the front seat, and moved the seat forward a good foot. Laura carefully twisted to settle into the passenger seat, moving it back a foot or so.


    Deep breath. As Josie maneuvered the car from Wellesley to Somerville, she perked up, Energy came back. Suddenly, Jeddy''s sounded really good. Besides, if she went home it would be her and the cats, and they just hid and wanted food. Josie was a marginally better conversationalist than Miss Daisy, anyhow.


    ¡°How about Jeddy''s?¡±


    ¡°You bit my head off when I suggested it.¡±


    ¡°I changed my mind. Blame the hormones.¡±


    ¡°You never had pregnancy hormones before when you couldn''t make a decision.¡±


    ¡°I''m milking this pregnancy for as many excuses as I can.¡±


    ¡°So does that include excusing why you''re depriving this baby''s father of the right to know about it ¨C excuse me, her ¨C and be part of her life?¡±


    Ouch. Josie hopped on the turnpike and flew through the EZPass tollbooth. The little green light mocked Laura. Green for go. Go tell them. Tell them now.


    They have a daughter.


    Daughter.


    Uh, no. One of them has a daughter. One.


    ¡°I don''t know what to do, Josie. How am I supposed to tell them I''m pregnant?¡±


    ¡°You say ''I''m pregnant.''¡± They had been fighting about this for the past three months, ever since that day in her apartment when the test was positive. Josie insisted the men had the right to know; Laura insisted she needed more time.


    ¡°You don''t understand.¡± Tall wooden retainer walls lined one side of the pike, while the commuter train moved in the opposite direction on the left, making Laura a bit disoriented.


    ¡°Understand what it''s like to be pregnant? No. Understand that you are lying to them? Yes.¡±


    ¡°It''s not...¡± Laura couldn''t even cry about this anymore. Waiting had made it harder, each day, to consider telling them. She wasn''t heartless. At some point she''d let them know. Then they could face the question of which man was the father. Cringing at the thought, she turned away from Josie and pressed her forehead against the cool window glass.


    Silence. Laura tried to explain, her forehead flattening and the pain of pressing it, hard, somehow helpful. ¡°After what Ryan did, I just figured I was damaged goods. That I send out vibes that draw demented jerks. And then here come Dylan ¨C and Mike! ¨C and it seemed too good to be true.¡±


    Traffic slowed suddenly as they drove under the hotel that stretched, literally, across the pike. ¡°So when the guys double-teamed me at Mike''s place, and then seemed to laugh about it, it felt like I was being suckered. So I ran away, then I let them back in. God, they were so convincing.¡±


    ¡°Laura.¡± Josie''s voice was so mature and wise it made Laura close her eyes. She knew what came next. Josie moved over into the left lane to get off the pike at the split. ¡°You are Ryan right now.¡±


    OK, not what she expected. ¡°What?¡± she shrieked, outraged.


    ¡°Ryan kept critical information from you about a life-altering fact that made moving forward impossible.¡± Josie stayed left and kept her eyes on the road, though she sighed. ¡°And you are doing the same thing to Dylan and Mike. They have no idea that one of them is going to be a father in four months. And you are making it impossible for the father of your daughter to go forward, to step up and do the right thing, to have a role in raising her.¡±


    ¡°I''m not Ryan!¡±


    ¡°You are totally Ryan.¡± Laura knew they were close to Jeddy''s; she started drooling at the thought of their asiago cheese foccacia with chipotle maple sausage.


    ¡°Ryan,¡± Laura practically screamed, ¡°lied about having a wife for nearly a year. He talked about marrying me. He created an entire relationship with me that was permanently hopeless and never, ever possible.¡± How dare Josie compare the two? In fact, she was the one who had been lied to again by Mike and Dylan!


    ¡°Look,¡± Josie said flatly, pulling into a parking space and rummaging for quarters. Laura opened the glove box and pulled out a roll, the paper unraveling from earlier parking jobs.


    Josie interrupted herself. ¡°Jesus, you''re organized!¡±


    ¡°How hard is it to go to the bank and get a roll of quarters?¡±


    Josie got out of the car and shouted, ¡°How hard is it to tell the two men you were sleeping with that one of them might be the dad?¡±


    ¡°Uh, not even close?¡± Laura sputtered, grabbing the edge of the car door and hauling herself up and out. Two women walking a gold retriever stood, staring at her belly, mouths forming perfect little ¡°O¡±s, one with short salt-n-pepper hair, the other with a shaved head and the wilted look of recent chemo treatments.


    Laura wanted to crawl into a hole. Josie looked over, saw the scene, and came to her rescue. As well she should, since she''d dumped her into this fiasco. ¡°What are you staring at?¡± she snapped at the women, throwing an arm around Laura, guiding her to the Jeddy''s entrance. ¡°Haven''t you ever seen lesbians go to desperate measures to conceive?¡±


    ¡°Isn''t that what sperm banks are for?¡± one of them muttered.


    ¡°Hater,¡± Josie threw over her shoulder, spiriting Laura in.


    ¡°Lame-o,¡± Laura said, shaking her head. ¡°You''re losing your touch.¡± Josie growled at her, baring her teeth. Madge appeared, looking older and shrunken, as if she possessed no fluid whatsoever under her skin.


    From Laura''s face to Josie''s face to Laura''s stomach, Madge took them in. Pointing to Laura''s belly, she said, ¡°Fat or pregnant?¡±


    ¡°Alien baby.¡±


    Madge hacked out a laugh. ¡°Which one?¡±


    ¡°Which alien?¡± Now Laura was confused.


    ¡°No ¨C which guy? The Italian Stallion or the viking?¡± She led them to the only clean table in the place. It was slammed.


    ¡°Actually, the baby is mine,¡± Josie interjected. ¡°New technology.¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡± Madge rasped. ¡°If any woman''s got balls, it''d be you.¡±


    ¡°Can''t be yours,¡± Laura protested. ¡°I''m not your type, remember?¡± she said with a bit more snap than she''d intended.


    Madge spun her hand in a circular gesture. ¡°I ain''t got all day. Same thing you ordered last time?¡±


    ¡°I want that foccacia. And everything we ordered last time.¡±


    ¡°Eating for two,¡± Madge mumbled as she poked her handheld device and sped away. Josie looked around and seemed to take in the crowded place.


    ¡°Nothing like it was in the early morning.¡±


    ¡°You can see how they stay in business,¡± Laura marveled.


    ¡°How does that old woman work midnight shift and lunch?¡±


    ¡°Not human.¡± Laura''s stomach jumped as some odd muscle spasm took hold of her abdomen.


    ¡°You OK?¡± Josie asked, leaping to her feet. ¡°You look like something ripped inside.¡±


    ¡°No, no, I''m fine,¡± Laura gasped. As she looked down to examine her belly she felt it again, a little spasm and then it was as if something in her moved. Kicked.


    ¡°Oh, my God! Josie! The baby. She''s moving!¡± Laura pressed her hand to her belly and felt it, a little kick or a somersault that made the uterus feel slick and weird inside, as if a pocket of gas spirited itself from one side of her hips to the other.


    Fluttering. Nothing. A flimmer, like tiny swimming flippers inside her, moving slowly.


    Josie sat down next to her and planted her hands on either side of Laura''s belly, frozen in place and staring at nothing, just anticipating. Then she shrieked, ¡°I felt it!¡±, eyes wide and amazed. From a proud grin to tears, her face morphed into a mask of emotion, gasping and overcome.


    ¡°It''s real.¡± Her eyes met Laura''s and she flung her arms around Laura''s neck, the two separated by the baby.


    ¡°It''s been real for a while,¡± Laura cracked, her voice filled with emotion.


    ¡°Not for me. I''m not living it. This?¡± she said, touching Laura''s belly, palm flat against it, waiting. ¡°This makes it real.¡± Grinning like a fool, Josie wouldn''t let up, her hands pressing to catch another movement.


    Madge appeared with their coconut shrimp. She stared at their position. ¡°Get a room, you two.¡± And off she went, speed walking.


    Josie shouted, ¡°That''s what got her in this condition in the first place!¡± and abandoned Laura''s belly. Coconut shrimp vs. feeling baby move? No contest, apparently.


    And Laura had to agree. The shrimp was about as mouth orgasmic as you could get, and lately this was as orgasmic as she got. First trimester nausea had depressed her sex drive, but by week seventeen she''d emerged, scathed and emotionally battered by morning sickness, so grateful it retreated that she didn''t care complain about anything else. Within weeks, though, the second trimester horndog impulse kicked in.


    She needed to buy stock in Duracell. The baby''s college fund would go to batteries at this rate. There were moments she weakened and wanted to call Dylan and Mike just to fuck them and then send them home, needing the satiety of having these urges and constant arousal expunged, even for a few brief hours.


    None of the pregnancy books warned her that she would be engorged twenty-four/seven, that she would want to be touched and manhandled and fucked and to come and come and come until drained, then bounce right back up and be ready for more, face flushed and tissues eager. Even in her late teens she''d never had a drive like this; if pregnancy turned her into the female equivalent of a sex-crazed eighteen-year-old boy by week nineteen, she was going to have a crater where her clit should be by the thirtieth week.


    Or it would secede and go join one of the cat''s bodies, claiming sovereignty and a new pussy. Fucking anything that walked wasn''t what she wanted; most nights she spent an hour after masturbating thinking about Dylan and Mike, wondering how it had all gone so very wrong, and brooding over what she knew she needed to do.


    And now? It really was time to tell them. Her fingers sought out the photos of the ultrasound, stuck carefully in the outer pocket of her purse. Josie was right ¨C this was real. Reality meant being the stronger, better woman she had deep within and doing what was best for her daughter.

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    Her daughter deserved a dad who knew her.


    Knowing this time to wait a few minutes before biting into the piping hot shrimp, Laura just sat and took a few deep breaths. The scene outside was a lovely November New England day, sunnier than usual and unseasonably warm. Thanksgiving was two weeks away and Christmas decorations were already in some shop windows. Her lightweight shirt had lasted since August, when she''d bought it. Soon it wouldn''t fit, and the weather would turn to snow, perfect ski weather.Advertisement


    Ah, Mike. She sighed. Half hoping last summer that come winter he''d teach her how to ski, her eyes filled with tears yet again for what was lost. Stupid to think of that when she was holding back the most important news the guys had ever had in their lives. She assumed. Maybe Jill''s death has been more important.


    Both seemed pretty significant. What was she doing comparing them, anyhow? Ridiculous. Bottom line, though, was that after this meal she would go home, take a nap, and prepare to call them both tomorrow and face what she''d been putting off for three months.


    ¡°Mmmm,¡± Josie groaned as she munched on her coconut shrimp. Laura plucked one off the plate and took a bite, sinking her teeth in. Instant pleasure. The next ten minutes were a feeding frenzy as Madge brought out their sausage, foccacia, and the grand peanut butter cake.


    ¡°You eat more than a high school football team these days,¡± Josie said, incredulous, as Laura asked Madge for another plate of shrimp.


    ¡°I have the sex drive of a high school boy, so that''s not inappropriate.¡± Munch, munch.


    ¡°TMI. I sooo did not need to know that.¡±


    ¡°My batteries need batteries.¡±


    Josie shoved her fingers in her ears. ¡°Lalalalalalalalalalala.¡± Laura laughed maniacally and started to feel full. One more shrimp on the plate, she speared it and dipped it in the aioli. Heaven. Pure heaven.


    ¡°So you''re going to talk to them now, right?¡± Josie asked quietly, prodding without being negative. Pushing her plate of friend green tomatoes away, she smiled at Laura, an encouragingly sympathetic look.


    Laura pulled her unfinished plate into her zone of consumption. Mine now. Stabbing a tomato, she tried the tiger sauce. Horseradish. Was it worth the reflux?


    Yes! Mmmmm.


    ¡°You''re right. I''ll talk to them. The baby is one of theirs and it''s time.¡±


    Cupping one hand over her ear, Josie leaned across the table. ¡°Say that again.¡±


    ¡°I''m telling them.¡±


    ¡°No ¨C the part before that.¡±


    Laura made a sour face. ¡°You''re right.¡± Time for dessert! She dumped all the caramel and hot fudge all over the peanut butter hulk smash cake and sneered at Josie. ¡°And no cake for you!¡±


    ¡°You think I''m going to try to take a bite of that from a horny pregnant woman? I''m not suicidal.¡±


    Laura''s laugh carried through the diner, turning a few heads and yielding bemused smiles. Ah, it felt good to laugh, deep belly chuckles that came from relief and calm and goodness and light. The baby kicked again.


    ¡°She likes the cake,¡± Laura said, shoveling in another piece, following it up with ice cream.


    ¡°She''s a gourmand. What are you going to name her?¡±


    A long look at her plate. ¡°Hulk Smash. Hulk Smash Michaels.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that''s totally a porn name.¡± Laura threw a wadded napkin at Josie, who ducked.


    Finally full, Laura pushed her clean plate away. If she overate, she''d regret it later. Pregnancy was no different from non-pregnant life, with the exception of evil reflux. ¡°I don''t know. Whatever we name her it needs to be a collaborative effort.¡±


    ¡°Like the conception.¡±


    Laura snorted. They were shifting into uncomfortable territory. ¡°Yeah. Except no matter what, it''s only one of them who is the father.¡±


    ¡°Happy paternity testing.¡± Josie shot her a sardonic grin.


    ¡°Go ahead,¡± Laura sighed. ¡°I know you''re itching to say it.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Josie batted her eyes innocently.


    ¡°Just do it in a whisper.¡± Laura reached for her purse and fished around. Her bladder announced its presence and she stood, hips clicking and left leg screaming in pain.


    ¡°Maury, Maury, Maury,¡± Josie obliged, looking particularly pleased with herself.


    ¡°I''m suffering from sciatica and you''re chanting baby daddy cultural references.¡±


    ¡°And you still love me.¡±


    Laura flashed her a middle finger as she waddled off to the bathroom. ¡°You''re totally not my type!¡± she called back.


    Madge happened to walk past. ¡°Not my type either,¡± she said, frowning at Josie.


    Josie sighed. ¡°I get that a lot.¡±


    ¡°I''ll bet you do.¡±


    He wasn''t a stalker. Really. No ¨C really.


    Mike kept finding creative ¨C and not so creative ¨C reasons for driving past Laura''s apartment building and Jeddy''s. If he had to meet with the resort''s tax accountant on some issue that went beyond what his onsite CPA could handle, he just routed himself through Somerville, because ¨C why not? And sometimes he found himself really craving those fried green tomatoes and a toffee caramel peppermint sundae from Jeddy''s, so no harm, no foul if he stopped by ¨C right?


    Right?


    The past three months had nearly killed him. So finding himself on the road right in front of Jeddy''s stuck at a traffic light, neck craned to the left to stare in the restaurant''s main window wasn''t out of the norm. He made this drive once a week or so.


    What was out of the norm was the sight of Laura and Josie in a booth, eating and laughing. All the air in his lungs froze in place, the red light now the only entity keeping him here so he could gaze upon Laura''s face. Glowing. She literally glowed. The restaurant''s facade was a split set-up, the bottom half of the outer wall wood, the top half glass, so he could only see her and Josie through the window, her chest and arms and face animated as she threw a balled-up napkin at her friend, her mouth open and head tipped back in giggles and fun.


    Relaxing, his entire body went liquid, the first time in months he felt grounded, the incongruity of keeping the Jeep running, foot on the brake, and counting out the seconds before the light changed somehow ignored by his nervous system.


    All he wanted to do was to stare at her from afar. She looked so, so happy. Being apart from him and Dylan seemed to have done wonders for her, red cheeks and dimpled smile deeper and fuller. His own face stretched into a loopy grin, the first in far too long.


    Beep! Shaken out of his moment of joy, he realized the light had turned green. With great reluctance he took the left turn, watching for as long as was safe, her face a beacon of hope.


    Then gone.


    That day at home four months ago, after leaving Josie''s apartment, after Laura had screamed ¨C screamed ¨C that they should buy the building if they wanted in had been the coldest, hardest day of his life, like watching his own death in slow motion, his heart torn out and thrown to the wolves. What had they done to her? How had he and Dylan taken such an open, gentle soul and turned her into a screaming banshee? What evil lurked in them that this could happen?


    His run home had been fruitless, his need to escape Dylan at all costs greater than the desire to pound it out. All he could think of when he''d arrived home was a great red wall of anger within, and destruction made more sense than trying to be good. Everything he had worked for went to shit that day ¨C everything ¨C so shattering the glass in the room was like shattering his bond with Dylan.


    It made sense through the pure hatred he felt for himself at hurting Laura so deeply.


    Now? Not so much. For four months he''d lived apart from Dylan, his cabin a refuge that slowly had turned into a prison. An entire adulthood spent living with Dylan could not be undone so easily; in his rage, he''d missed that point. He felt as if he were missing a limb, the phantom remains of a leg or an arm feeling real and visceral, yet truly gone. Mike had banished himself from Dylan''s life, ignoring the text messages and voice mails that had been plentiful that first week, then tapered off in the second, finally ending with a plaintive, ¡°When you''re ready, I''ll be here.¡±


    Mike hadn''t been ready. Not yet.


    Maybe not ever.


    Seeing Laura like that, thought ¨C a gut punch. Flooding memories of her, of Dylan, of the three of them ¨C and most of all, of the great promise they''d represented, of a lifetime together. Double gut punch. He maneuvered the car into a parking spot at the skyscraper where the tax adviser''s office resided and put his forehead on the steering wheel, taking time.


    Breaths.


    Awareness.


    So full of life! Laura had never been so radiant with them. Perhaps she''d really moved on, finding a new person ¨C persons? ¨C to be happy with. The way the pink and white and green of her shirt had highlighted her hair, her eyes shining and bright, and how Josie had even seemed happier than her normal self all made Mike wonder if he and Dylan were just poison for poor Laura.


    Maybe not telling her the truth, though vicious and unfair, had somehow been the right thing in the end. Beating the steering wheel with one fist, he let himself feel. Not react. Not withdraw.


    Feel. Fuck fuck fuck. How had his life come to this? Alone in his enormous cabin, designed to be filled with friends and laughter, it was now inhabited by Mike the Monk. Mike the Idiot.


    Mike the Lonely. And he was, for the first time in his adult life. Not alone ¨C alone he understood. Alone he could handle, could even enjoy.


    Lonely? Lonely was a form of self-abuse he couldn''t escape.


    Not that he hadn''t tried. Running ninety miles a week, though, didn''t get him any further from his messed-up self. How had he turned into such an animal that last day at the apartment? What was buried deep within and unleashed at that moment, so all-powerful he''d gone into a near fugue state and been so violent? It had scared him. Badly.


    Maybe he should stay away from Laura. Even Dylan.


    Perhaps being lonely was his new normal. What he deserved. Because whatever was going on in Laura''s life, from the looks of her countenance in the window glimpse, she was swelling with glee and enjoying life.


    Without him.


    Screech. A BMW took a corner too close in the cement-floor garage, tires filling the cavern with too much sound. The clock told him he was late for the meeting with the tax attorney. Climbing out of the car and grabbing his briefcase, he smiled at the memory of her. Once his, once Dylan''s, once theirs, she had morphed into just Laura.


    Which was, all along, what she''d really needed.


    Tears choked his throat. He ground a fist into his thigh, willing the unexpected rush of very unprofessional emotion away. Tax attorneys weren''t therapists. He was here to talk numbers. As he cantered to the elevators, though, one number rang mournfully in his head, buzzing.


    Three.


    ¡°You see that? Mr. Money strikes again.¡± Dylan flinched but didn''t say anything. The guys working the night shift were all crowded around the television, the same local morning news show that had featured his doom...er, his billionaire status four months ago.


    ¡°Some guy with more money than he can burn,¡± Murphy added. The morning anchors were babbling on about some unnamed philanthropist who had come to the aid of burn victims from a local warehouse fire, then mentioned another incident last month where the same donor may have contributed $100,000 to help victims of an unexpected October ice storm.

 Page 26

    Every head in the fire station turned to stare at him. ¡°What?¡± he hollered, trying to get the attention off him. He was just here as a lowly volunteer, looking for something to do.


    Murphy laughed, the first good belly chuckle anyone had heard from him in months. Dylan had recently, quietly, funneled a substantial five-figure sum to him to pay for a caretaker for his wife and father. With good care, she was expected to have a strong chance of survival. His father, though, was fading fast. The money bought some peace and space for the family, and isn''t that all anyone could ask for?Advertisement


    ¡°A torn AC/DC shirt and jeans? You are the strangest fucking billionaire I ever met, Dylan,¡± he said.


    ¡°Only fucking billionaire you ever met, Murphy. You probably don''t even know any thousandaires,¡± Joe cracked. Everyone chuckled, Murphy included. The chief shooed them off to do work.


    ¡°You slumming?¡± he asked Dylan.


    ¡°Nah. Just covering a volunteer shift.¡± Truth be told, he was bored and lonely with Mike gone. But he couldn''t say that at work. The guys might be good at heart, but a few were as enlightened as a lamp post.


    ¡°You can do that from home, you know. Scanner.¡±


    ¡°Mine''s broken.¡±


    Joe''s eyebrows flew up. ¡°And you can''t afford a new one?¡±


    ¡°So sue me. I just want to hang out here.¡±


    ¡°Poor little rich firefighter?¡± Joe''s voice wasn''t mean. Just inquiring. It put Dylan on edge, made him ball his hands into fists, temper rising.


    ¡°Something like that.¡±


    ¡°Grab one of the scanners from here on your way out, then. There''s a big training going on in New York and a bunch of guys are there, so we can use all the volunteers we can get tonight. You OK with being on call through the night?¡±


    A warmth spread through him, making him stand taller. He remembered this feeling. Happiness. Purpose. Power.


    Action.


    ¡°Hell, yeah! Thanks, Chief.¡±


    ¡°Let''s just hope it''s a quiet one.¡± He always said that. Superstition. If he didn''t, one of the guys would jump in and say it. You don''t fuck around with bad luck in a station crowded with firefighters. They need every drop of help from whatever forces in the universe help out, from God to Jesus to the Flying Spaghetti Monster to Mother Nature. Even Mayor Menino, who wasn''t divine ¨C yet. One more election win and he''d be damn close.


    ¡°As quiet as a church mouse,¡± Dylan answered. Secretly, though, he wanted to do some good. Help someone. While he''d never actually hoped for a fire or a medical emergency, the thrill of the run was always in his blood. Helping people was exactly why he''d gone into this business, and it gave him purpose.


    If someone needed him tonight, he''d be there.


    Stuffed like the turkeys that had popped up in grocery stores everywhere, Laura lurched into her living room and plopped down. In a few months, she wouldn''t able to get up on her own. Time to start training Snuggles to offer her a hand getting out of deep, overstuffed chairs.


    No one else would.


    ¡°Oh, stop,¡± she muttered to herself. After dropping Josie off, she''d thought long and hard on the drive home. Picking up her phone and texting Mike and Dylan would be the hard part. Four months. Four long months. This wasn''t a reunion outreach, though.


    It was business. The business of, well, this. Her hands cupped her belly with pleasure, willing love through her palms to the baby. So much love. Only nineteen weeks along and now little Naomi ¨C no, Claire ¨C no, Elizabeth ¨C no, Caitlyn ¨C ah, whatever! ¨C was part of her heart.


    This child was a Michaels-Stanwyck, or Michaels-Pine, creation. Time they knew about the baby. Guilt settled in just as her sciatica flared up, the painful nerve running from hip to toe making her rub her muscles to no relief. Walking helped, so she grudgingly lifted herself up and hobbled to the kitchen.


    No need for food, but a glass of water and her prenatal vitamin would do for an excuse to move. Sheri said hot showers sometimes helped. Waddling down the hall, she turned on the spray to warm and grabbed a towel. On second thought, she also grabbed a new toy, a sleek little vibrator that couldn''t go too deep, but that had turned out to be just enough to take the edge off her horny second trimester.


    Too bad vibrators couldn''t slap your ass and tug your hair. If someone made one, they''d be filthy, smutty rich.


    Undressing wasn''t too hard, though she was rapidly losing the ability to bend down and slide pants off; plucking each leg out was becoming the norm, like tying shoes by bringing her feet up and crossing one leg at a time, leaving the laces tied on the insides. Lifting one leg carefully, balancing herself, then lifting the other over the small bathtub lip, though, would be a struggle in a month or too. Shit. This single-mama-pregnancy crap was bad enough in terms of a libido the size of Montana, but if basic self care was going to be a problem, she might have to resort to taking Josie''s offer and letting her move in.


    Hot jets instantly relaxed her neck, the warm wetness a relief. Closing her eyes, she soaked quickly and sank into her well-grooved fantasy about Dylan and Mike. For as much as she barricaded herself against them in real life, in her dreams they were very much present.


    Overwhelmingly so.


    Mike''s strong hands were eating up every inch of her skin, his mouth on her ear. ¡°Your belly is so amazing,¡± he crooned in her ear. ¡°My daughter. You''re growing my daughter.¡± His fingers slid down over her navel, delicately stroking her swollen front, then diving down to tease a much-abandoned, very-needy clit that begged for release. He turned her around, hands creating a trail of caressing love on her back, her hips, her breasts, all leading the way, a map to her mouth, his palms clasping her jaw and bringing his lips to hers, the first kiss a communion, the second a ravaging.


    Every part of her that could swell, did, from breasts to lush nipples, swollen folds and rosebuds that screamed out Mike''s name. As their tongues danced and he used his to convey a secret message, hands raking her hair, lips bruising hers, her hip pressed hard against his thick rod, wanting it in her, now. Four long months of new hormones and bursting, flush desire made this, made her ¨C


    Her own hands turned the vibrator on; no more shower head, in case it pushed water or an air bubble up inside her. The tingling was enough, along with her Mike, his tight hands, his wet chest hair scraping against her sensitive breasts...


    More hands. Dylan. Ah, there you are, she thought. The vibrator tip made quick work with her, getting her so close, so fast, that Dylan had little time to make his case, his body pressed hard against her back, lifting up, riding friction in the cleft of her ass as she thrust backward, Mike''s fingers going straight to her intense heat, the ¨C


    ¡°Oh, oh, oh!¡± she screamed, tipped over so fast as Dylan lunged for her, tongue lapping fast, Mike''s fingers in her, the vibrator plunging at her entrance, only in a few inches, though, the clamping and contractions of her pussy walls nearly torpedoing it into the shower wall. Huge spasms made her hips ache and howl, her body squirting now, the effort enormous compared to non-pregnant orgasms, the release four times harder than she was accustomed to experiencing.


    Climaxing was anti-climatic, though ¨C what she wanted now were strong arms to slump into, and preferably four of them. Someone to rub her feet. Another someone to get her favorite ice cream.


    Instead, she got to finish her shower, towel off, somehow twist her way into her jammies and climb into bed, her cats curling up against her. They didn''t quite count as those four arms, but as the day faded into sunset and she patted her growing belly, she whispered, ¡°Good night, sweet baby girl,¡± resolved to tell the guys in the morning.


    It was time to be a grown up about this. To act like someone''s mom.


    To stop being Ryan.


    Chapter Seven


    Wah wah wah wah 345 wah, Somerville, Dylan heard, his ears ringing as he sat up fast, the cold night air hitting his bare chest when the down comforter slid to his waist. The dispatcher''s words sounded so familiar.


    When she repeated the address again, his blood ran cold. Then the words: multi-unit fire.


    If you had told him even a year ago that he could move that quickly, shove on pants and boots and a jacket, be down God knows how many sets of stairs and out the door and in his car in less than two minutes, he''d have told you were a fool.


    Tonight? Not tonight, though, because that was Laura''s address the dispatcher just announced, followed by the words multi-unit fire. Blood pumping hard, he fumbled for his phone (thank God it was still in his pants from yesterday) and as he peeled out of the garage he tapped through his Contacts list to Mike.


    Multi-unit fire.


    Weaving across two lanes, he sped to her place, the drive inching by so slowly. The dashboard clock read 3:11 a.m. Shit. Mike might not answer. Mr. New Age sometimes turned the damn phone off for peace and serenity and all that shit that he''d surely left behind the last time Dylan saw him. Please let him answer. Please don''t have blocked him.


    Please.


    Multi-unit fire.


    ¡°''Lo?¡± Mike''s voice. Dylan shot through a red light and prayed, making a sudden turn on a one-way street that might buy him an extra minute. Or kill him. Either chance was equally possible.


    He put it on speaker. ¡°Laura''s apartment is on fire.¡± Not the time for preliminaries.


    ¡°WHAT!¡± Mike''s voice went up an octave.


    ¡°Sorry to be so blunt. Get over to her apartment. You remember where it is?¡±


    Mike''s voice had a weird quality to it. ¡°Oh, yeah. I do. Just ¨C shit! Just save her, Dylan.¡± Click.


    Multi-unit fire.


    Ask for so little, Buddy. He took a right so hard he thought the Audi might flip, but damn if that fine European engineering didn''t come in handy when you''re doing 77 mph on Mass Ave. If a cop saw him, he was toast.


    No cops yet.


    Two minutes.


    Multi-unit fire.


    In a multi-unit fire, two minutes could mean death. Block that thought, Dylan, his mind shouted at him.


    One minute. He heard sirens, ears perked, discerning the direction. Going away from her part of town. Damn it! He might beat them all at this rate. He shot through four different stop signs, hoping like hell no one was walking an unleashed dog in the middle of the night, and slammed on his brakes, halting in the middle of an intersection, running for her building.


    Smoke poured out of the basement windows. Fuck fuck fuck. That could make the first floor ¨C literally, the floor itself ¨C a structural nightmare, depending on where the actual fire was. Firefighter mind battled with his lover''s (ex-lover''s) mind and love won out as he sprinted up the steps and felt the front door using the back of his hand. Cool.


    Red lights and his all-too-familiar siren sound caught his attention, the truck making its slow turn. ¡°Stanwyck!¡± someone shouted. Murphy. Dylan waved as felt the locked doorknob, then kicked in the door. A mother with two teens ran past him, followed by a young woman, college-age, carrying a cat and dragging her bike.


    Laura. His mind raced, plotting out the scene. No heat ¨C yet ¨C but tons of smoke. Crouching, he found clear air on the ground and began feeling his way to her front door. Just feet away, he felt it; cool. Locked.


    ¡°Thank God,¡± he muttered, two bodies moving past him as he heard the steady thump thump thump of fireman making their way cautiously upstairs. A loud clanging from below; a different crew was sourcing the fire, figuring out the focal point to work on containment and the level of danger.

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    Kicking in his second door in less than thirty seconds, his heard the splintering of the threshold, bent down again and shouted ¡°Laura!¡±


    No answer. Some memory gnawed away at him, how horrified she''d been (but had tried to hide it) when he''d mentioned fire safety in her building on that first date. Her unease, a pained look in her eyes. Fear? A victim?Advertisement


    Bullhorn. Dylan couldn''t make out the words he heard outside, but he knew the crew worked to remove everyone from the building. He guessed six units, but it could have been more. As he crawled through the tiny apartment he felt a wave of adrenaline, then gratitude, that she lived in such a small place. Finding her would be easy.


    But what if you find her dead? a voice crept in. He shoved it away and felt, hand by hand on the wall, along the perimeter of her place. Living room, kitchen, no dining room, a bathroom, and then ¨C bedroom.


    ¡°Laura!¡± The smoke was rising up through vents in the floor, especially near the forced hot water heaters against each wall. As he moved, eyes closed, he cursed himself for not grabbing a mask. Stupid stupid stupid, violating ten years of careful work. Emotions put people in jeopardy, Joe had taught them, and now he was caught in his own emotional turmoil, the blaze endangering them both.


    Mike would kill him if he couldn''t save Laura. He half blamed Dylan for Jill''s death anyway, irrational as it was. If something happened to Laura...


    Something brushed against him, too small to be human. Cat? She had three cats, right? In the darkness he coughed, then shouted her name again, the cat long gone. ¡°Laura! It''s Dylan!¡±


    ¡°Dylan?¡± a little voice cried out. Left. It was to his left. Moving away from the wall, he violated what he''d been taught, disorienting himself. The bed, thankfully, was close. Instinct surged within him as she came into view, huddled under the covers, two cats guarding her.


    ¡°Get off the bed now, Laura,¡± he ordered, steel in his voice. The cats scattered. She was trembling and likely half in shock.


    ¡°I can''t,¡± she mewled. How could a grown woman''s voice be so tiny? Something was off, but this wasn''t the time for psychology. He stood, grabbed her, and pulled her off the bed roughly. No time to be kind. Her body fell in a funny way, more awkward and bulkier than he expected.


    ¡°You can and you will,¡± he said gruffly. The smoke was thicker now above, and he could feel the heat from below. They had a minute here, maybe two.


    ¡°Stanwyck!¡± someone shouted. Murphy. ¡°You in there?¡±


    ¡°Back bedroom. One female. Still conscious. I got her.¡± His arms were on her shoulders and she was struggling to stand.


    ¡°Don''t stand. We have to crawl out now. The smoke is too thick.¡±


    Murphy shined a bright flashlight in the room, illuminating what little could be seen in the two feet above the floor. ¡°This way out!¡± he shouted. ¡°Two minutes, max!¡±


    ¡°The cats! And grandma and grandpa!¡± Laura cried, trying to stand and walk toward Murphy. He could see her shins and knees and then nothing ¨C grey.


    Yanking her hand, hard, he made her fall. ¡°The cats are probably outside by now. Don''t stand!¡± he warned, nearly growling. ¡°Follow me!¡± Fear made him a lousy leader. And what did she mean by ¡°grandma¡± and ¡°grandpa¡±?


    ¡°Are your grandparents here, Laura?¡±


    ¡°No!¡± she wailed. ¡°They diiiiied.¡± Her voice took on a keening tone and she began to rock. Oh, shit. No time for this.


    ¡°Crawl!¡± he ordered. Murphy started toward them on all fours, the line of light bobbing and weaving in his hand.


    ¡°I can''t! The baby!¡± She sat on her ass and began what looked like an agonizing crab walk, her ass dragging.


    Baby? Baby?


    Murphy''s flashlight ray landed on her belly in that instant, illuminating a very obvious mound. She was pregnant? A zing of every emotion he''d ever felt, from joy to agony, flashed through him.


    Grabbing the covers off the bed, he thew them on the ground and spread them out. ¡°Get on,¡± he barked. Somehow, her addled state cleared enough for her to comply.


    ¡°Murphy! Help!¡± he begged. Crawling, he dragged Laura a few feet using one hand. The hardwood floors were a godsend right now. ¡°Clear the way ¨C remove the area rugs!¡±


    ¡°Done!¡± the gruff man shouted.


    Two more pulls and Dylan barely had her in the living room. He was doing this wrong. Murphy came in and planted himself in front of Laura.


    ¡°I''ll pull, you push,¡± Murph suggested. Within seconds they had it figured out, blind and coughing, freeing her into the hallway which was blessedly more clear. Dylan stood, slid his arms under her, and ran out into the fresh air, hefting Laura delicately.


    ¡°Here!¡± A paramedic from a nearby ambulance company waved him in. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mike, then Josie, but couldn''t say anything as Laura coughed and mumbled.


    ¡°Shhhh,¡± he said as he laid her down on the gurney. ¡°Twenty-nine year old caucasian female, pregnant. How far along are you, Laura?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Nineteen weeks.¡± Her voice was getting smaller, her breathing more labored. Shit ¨C how much smoke had she inhaled? He could see Mike and Josie trying to come over, a cop behind yellow tape blocking them, Mike arguing and gesturing wildly.


    Then Josie slipped under the tape and sprinted, screaming ¡°She''s pregnant!¡± Mike''s arms stopped in mid-air, his face agog. Dylan would have to deal with him later.


    ¡°I''m so sorry,¡± Laura rasped. ¡°I was about to tell you, but...¡±


    Dylan kissed her forehead and smiled, sniffing as he cried tears he didn''t know he was capable of. ¡°It''s complicated,¡± he whispered.


    She choked out a very weak laugh and said, ¡°It''s always ¨C ¡± before losing consciousness.


    Mike broke past the cop and shouted ¡°Laura!¡± as the paramedics worked on her, loading her into the ambulance, Josie seamlessly climbing in for the ride. ¡°Brigham¡± she mouthed to him as the lights turned on, the sirens roared, the back of the ambulance shrinking, then turning left, out of sight.


    Of course they would take her to Brigham and Women''s Hospital. That''s where all the high risk pregnancies ¨C


    Fingertips touched his soot-covered arm tentatively. ¡°Dylan? Is she ¨C ¡± Mike stood there, wild-eyed and shirtless, flip-flops on his feet and running shorts thrown on. He''d clearly raced here from the cabin. How did he get here so fast?


    ¡°She''s breathing. They''re taking her to the Brigham. How''d you get here so fast?¡±


    ¡°I''m at a meditation retreat here in town.¡± He shook his head impatiently. ¡°The Brigham? Why would they take her there? You always said that''s where...¡± Mike''s voice faded out. ¡°Oh, holy fuck.¡±


    Dylan slipped to the ground, his own body coming into sharp focus. Lungs were a bit wheezy, his body covered in black, feet floating in sockless boots, brain hurting. ¡°She''s pregnant, Mike. Nineteen weeks.¡±


    ¡°That means ¨C ¡± Mike sat down next to him, elbows on knees. ¡°We gotta get there. Now.¡±


    One of the firefighters shouted ¡°Clear!¡± and Dylan knew from the response that he wasn''t needed; so many guys were here he''d just get in the way now.


    ¡°Yeah, we do. Can you drive?¡± A lump formed in Dylan''s throat at the simple request, so casual and assumed, like old times.


    Mike looked down at his attire. It was November. ¡°Can we stop by the apartment and let me grab something? Or ¨C ¡± Mike''s question carried so many layers of meaning. Four month''s worth.


    Maybe a lifetime''s worth.


    ¡°Yeah. Sure. I''ll drive, then, and park the car at home.¡± They walked quietly toward the street until Mike grabbed Dylan''s arm. ¡°Hey, Dyl?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Exhaustion was creeping in. He didn''t have it in him to argue.


    ¡°I''m so sorry.¡± The embrace was the last thing he expected. And then ¨C ¡°Thank you for saving her.¡±


    ¡°Them.¡±


    Mike pulled back, confused. His face cleared and he raked his hair, shaking his head. ¡°Them. Right. Hoo boy.¡±


    ¡°Hoo boy? Hoo girl?¡± Dylan responded, the knee-jerk joke so inappropriate he cringed. Couldn''t turn it off, even in crisis.


    Mike''s answer came as an afterthought as the two split to their respective vehicles, both running, seeming to communicate without words. ¡°Who knows?¡± he shouted, the joke capturing Dylan''s heart and carrying him forward, hopeful, as they raced to their future.


    Chapter Eight


    A fireball was in her crotch, pushing hard, so hard, to come out. Laura couldn''t breathe, scratching at her neck, trying to claw open her trachea to get air, air, air. Oxygen was gone, her throat spasming as her vagina split open, divided in two, and out came an enormous, glowing-orange sphere, shooting across the surgical room and catching the wall on fire.


    Screaming, she opened her eyes to find a nurse pushing buttons on some sort of box, a man in scrubs holding her arm down, and six very worried eyes watching her from a few feet away.


    Eyes she knew.


    She was on her left side and the nurse had her face in both hands, eyes boring into her. ¡°Laura! Laura! I need you to breathe slowly, to focus. We can''t find the baby''s heartbeat ¨C ¡±


    Baby! Heartbeat!


    ¡° ¨C and the more you panic, the harder it is to get the monitor hooked back up.¡±


    Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. The nurse took her through the motions, and Laura calmed down. Inhale ¨C and she heard more breaths. Her eyes slowly focused and found Josie, Dylan and Mike standing in a line behind the nurse, all expanding their diaphragms when she inhaled, and whooshing out air when she exhaled.


    It was kind of creepy.


    Buh bum buh bum buh bum buh bum buh bum buh bum, the machines spat out, the sound of little horse hooves a huge relief to everyone in the room. ¡°There she is!¡± the nurse crowed, reading the numbers. ¡°One forty. Just where we want her.¡±


    ¡°Where am I?¡± Laura asked, her condition sinking in. Hospital? IV? Baby monitor? What had happened? Oh, God. The fire. Her apartment. Sitting up, hearing the alarms, people thumping and the rush of fear that made her just hide. She had just started to slide out from under the covers as Dylan shouted for her, mind remembering the baby and helping to override the bizarre panic she''d been stuck in.


    Freezing, just like she had when her grandparents had died in the fire in their house the summer she lived with them ¨C


    ¡°The fire!¡± she shouted, then coughed uncontrollably. The horse hooves ramped up suddenly, nurse frowning.


    Dylan came to the end of the bed and rested a hand on her foot. ¡°It''s OK. You''re safe now.¡±


    She struggled to sit up, the nurse''s hands going to her shoulder and hip, pressing. ¡°Please stay where you are, Laura. We''re still not sure why you lost consciousness and we need to make sure you rest on your left side.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Better blood flow throughout your body,¡± Josie piped up. One look of assurance from her was all Laura needed; Mike added his gentle touch to Dylan''s, taking the other foot, and the horse hooves went from a racing gallop to a steady canter.


    ¡°Much better,¡± the nurse said, soothing voice meant to praise. ¡°You guys have a magic touch.¡±

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    Yes, they do, Laura thought, her belly tensing suddenly. ¡°What''s that?¡± One of the monitors began beeping.


    ¡°A mild contraction,¡± the nurse answered. ¡°You''ve had a handful since they brought you in a few hours ago.¡±Advertisement


    ¡°Contraction!¡± she rasped. ¡°I''m only nineteen weeks along! I can''t ¨C ¡± Why had she frozen? What mkind of mother doesn''t get a fight or flight response the second her baby is in danger? Fear had kept her in hiding in her closet that night twenty years before, staying until it was too late for grandma and grandpa, a firefighter finding her and carrying her down a long ladder from her second-story window. Of all the nights to have a sleepover with them; her mother had never been the same and, in some ways, it had killed her, too, to lose her parents like that.


    So what kind of mother could Laura be if she just...froze? Instinct should have made her leap out of bed and out the door. Old trauma made her useless.


    The pillow was wet before she knew it, silent tears rolling from both eyes, pooling at the bridge of her nose before spilling over. Josie came closer and took her hand.


    ¡°You did a great job, Laura,¡± she soothed. Mike and Dylan shared a puzzled look.


    ¡°I froze!¡± Laura wailed.


    "Hey," Josie said, gently forcing Laura to stare directly into her eyes. "You did nothing wrong. It was totally understandable that you froze at first, but you did get started. You were trying to get out. And you did what Dylan said and you''re safe now and the baby is fine."


    "Is she? Are you sure?" Laura turned her attention to the nurse, who was now writing rapidly in Laura''s medical chart.


    The nurse looked up and smiled. "So far, so good. We need to monitor you for another day and make sure you didn''t inhale too much smoke. Plus, the polyhydramnios puts the baby at risk in general, so we''re running some basic tests to check on that."


    Laura could see Dylan and Mike exchange a worried look. So much to tell them. A flood of overwhelm hit her, hard, like a wave of exhaustion. How could she unravel this mess? Why had she waited so long?


    Was this what they felt like when they waited to tell her about them ¨C and about their money? One day seemed to have blended into another and now here she was, both men staring at her with plenty of questions ¨C as if she had all the answers. A flash of sympathy for their delay in confessing the truth ¨C both times ¨C coursed through her. Maybe she''d been too harsh. Perhaps she should have put herself in their place and tried to see their choices through her own eyes.


    Or, maybe, she was just a wimp who felt trapped, now, and could only feel empathy when she experienced the torture of making a similar bad decision. She didn''t like to think of herself like that, but if the baby shoe fit...


    The nurse looked around the room, first at Dylan, then Mike, then Josie. Finally, she jotted something in Laura''s chart and looked at her patient. "I''m going to leave now so you can rest, but a medical assistant will be in within an hour to check on you and take a few stats." Laura caught a good look at her now; almond-shaped brown eyes, dark hair, kind, plump face. About her age. Short and full-figured, fast walker, quick wrist for writing. Her name tag read "Diana."


    "Rest is what she needs," Diana declared. "The cops and firefighters want to interview Laura." Her heart began to race. Why would they want to interview her?


    Buh bum buh bum buh bum. Diana chuckled. "It''s a mood detector, isn''t it?" Really? Every emotion Laura felt was going to be tracked by the baby''s heart rate? Oh, wow. That was going to be sooooo awesome as Dylan and Mike confronted her. Really. Might as well strip her naked and ¨C


    "I promise we won''t stay long," Mike said gently, sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes tracking back to Laura''s belly over and over.


    "Me, too, " Dylan added, shooting Diana a charm-filled look. It worked; the nurse wasn''t immune to his smile, and frankly, neither was Laura. A warmth, a hope, began to grow in her. Deep breath. Maybe she and the baby would be safe and fine and the three of them ¨C


    Uh. The four of them ¨C


    ¨C would be OK.


    Whoa, there. Getting ahead of yourself. You still have to face the music. The baby monitor made a series of strange sounds, like skittering bumps.


    "What was that?" Mike asked, eyes filled with fear.


    Laura''s turn to laugh. "She''s just moving all over the place."


    "She?"


    "The baby." Mouth open, his expression shifted, then closed off. What he had been about to ask was clear as he stopped himself, mid-reach, hand pulling back.


    "You want to feel?" she offered. Tears filled his eyes suddenly, which made her own pool just as fast, and as Mike''s strong palm rested on her sheet-covered belly, it felt like being welcomed home after self-imposed exile. A bit awkward yet familiar, regret tinging everything good but hope a steady presence.


    "Oh!" His eyes danced as the baby shifted, the feeling tangible through Laura''s stomach. "Was that a kick? It wasn''t very strong."


    "I just felt her first movement yesterday, so I know that was a movement, but I don''t know what she''s doing. A kick, a roll, Gangnam Style ¨C who knows?" A tear trickled down Mike''s cheek and landed on his t-shirt, staining the light-blue fabric dark. In that moment, she felt a tearing horror of regret, of pain, of shame for keeping this from him. From them.


    "I''m so, so sorry," she choked out, voice hoarse and raw from breathing in smoke, but more from her own remorse. "I should have told you a long time ago, but I was just being stupid. I didn''t know how to handle it and now I get why you didn''t tell me about everything. Once you don''t say anything it just...snowballs."


    Dylan blinked hard and maintained his distance; unlike Mike, he seemed hardened. Which was weird, because she would have expected the opposite, that Dylan would be easier to reconnect with. "Why did you freeze?"


    She didn''t expect that question. More tears. "You mean in the fire ¨C Oh! My cats!" Panic filled her again, the baby''s heartbeat racing. Damn it! Staring deeply into her eyes, Mike inhaled slowly, her own body instinctively following. The act of being this connected made her heart slow down, his kind eyes extending an olive branch of forgiveness, of love and understanding.


    It almost made her feel like this wasn''t hopeless.


    Almost.


    "The baby is telling us something, Laura," Josie said, her voice pinched and worried. "Now really isn''t the time. And your cats are fine and peeing all over my apartment right now. I grabbed them from the bushes and threw them in my car and took them home for Dotty to terrorize."


    "Dotty''ll have them in line in no time," Laura murmured. Yawn. What time was it?


    "Laura?" Dylan asked, his voice gentle but firm. "What happened to your grandparents?"


    Josie grabbed his bicep and pulled him aside. "Would you shut up about that? It upsets her."


    "No, no, it''s OK. I can talk about it. A little." The horse hooves picked up their pace but not too much. Man, she had missed these guys. Even now, here in a hospital bed, her home probably destroyed by the fire, her cats becoming subs to Dotty''s dom, it felt so...right to have Mike and Dylan here.


    "They died."


    "In the fire?"


    She nodded.


    "Is that why you freaked on our first date when I talked about fire procedures in skyscrapers?" Her stomach dropped. He remembered that? She''d been nervous enough, and then he''d casually talked about how to handle fires in enormous buildings like hers. What were the chances he''d pick the one thing that terrified her the most?


    And what in the hell kind of world made a fire break out in her apartment while she was pregnant?


    Wait. Why had Dylan been the one to rescue her? Her turn to ask some questions.


    "Why were you the one who rescued me? You live across town."


    Mike and Josie turned their attention to Dylan, who blushed. Blushed! She''d never seen anything so adorable before. He looked like a bashful eighth grader. "I was on call. I woke out of dead sleep and heard your address. Ran for it and called Mike."


    "In good traffic it''s fifteen minutes to my house from yours, Dylan!" Laura exclaimed.


    "I made it in six." Mike made a low whistling sound. Dylan grinned, proud of himself. "And that''s why I have that Audi," he crowed. Josie rolled her eyes. Men.


    Exhaustion seeped in some more, making Laura''s eyelids feel heavy. Too much to talk about, too little energy. "I''m sorry."


    "You keep saying that." Dylan held a finger up to his lips. "Shh. No need."


    "One of you is the father," Laura whispered. "I had this one day where I missed my pill. Not even twenty-four hours! But it must have been enough."


    "Or maybe I have super sperm," Dylan joked. Mike''s glare was like a laser. Josie''s, too.


    Laura smiled weakly. "We need to do a paternity test and then we can ¨C "


    "No!" Mike and Dylan shouted in unison. The confused look they gave each other shifted to a strange understanding, their faces animated with shifting expressions even as they stayed silent. It was like watching two mimes have an entire, deep discussion without saying a word.


    "No?" Josie said, incredulous. "What do you mean, ''no''? You have to know who the father is, for the birth certificate." Protective and defensive, Josie stepped closer to Laura, as if ready to shield her from whatever the two men had in mind. Laura, though, knew what was going on.


    "You really don''t want to know, do you?" she asked quietly.


    Barely four hours had gone by since Dylan''s phone call, and Mike had to absorb his first encounter with Dylan since their fight four months ago, seeing the two loves of his life endangered by fire, and now he had just learned that Laura was pregnant with their baby. Their baby. All three of them. He didn''t want to view it as his, or Dylan''s. But he had no idea Dylan felt the same way!


    Pointing at Dylan, he said, "You, too?"


    The smile on his partner''s face was so telling, impish and serious all at once in a way only Dylan could pull off. "Me, too. She''s ours. Not yours. Not mine."


    Would Laura agree? Mike wasn''t sure. Seeing her there, on her side, radiant and scared, made him want to bar the door and protect her from whatever the world threw her way. Radiant! Hah! Now he knew why she seemed to be glowing when he saw her yesterday at Jeddy''s, through that window.


    A happy pregnant woman, full of life.


    Full of his child.


    His daughter.


    Their daughter.


    "I hate to break up this lovely Hallmark moment ¨C hey, where do I get a card for this? ¨C but as wonderful as the sentiment is, it''s not practical," Josie announced. Like poking a pin in a balloon, Mike felt deflated, burdened and weighed down by something he couldn''t name.


    "Why not?" Dylan threw back at her. The opposite of deflated, Dylan seemed emboldened. Cocksure.


    "What if something happens to Laura? You need to know who the legal father is for custody. For raising her. I''ve seen too many really screwy situations in hospitals after parents die to know that you do not want Child Services to be the one who takes your daughter away to a foster home while the legal system sorts all this crap out. Plus there are issues of inheritance." She made a face and rubbed her fingers together. Money.

 Page 29

    Like a bucket of ice water pitched on them, Josie''s words made him feel stone-cold sober. Crackpot idea, right? Some calm, internally-focused part of him thought it might work ¨C not knowing. Once they knew who the dad was it would shift everything, make him and Dylan competitors, not collaborators.


    "I like it." Laura''s voice was small but strong. "If they both want to be her dad, I''m fine with it."Advertisement


    Josie looked at them all as if they were aliens. "But you have to know!"


    How had they gone from just learned about the existence of this tiny being to having a fight about her already?


    "Maybe we can both go on the birth certificate?" Dylan asked.


    "What ¨C like you each contributed half a sperm? Biology doesn''t work that way," Josie wisecracked.


    "I know how ¨C "


    Buh bum buh bum buh bum. They all turned to look at the monitor. A large wet spot grew around Laura''s eye on the pillow, her chin quivering and chest shaking a bit.


    "Out!" Josie ordered. "All of us! We can come back and fight another time when Laura''s stronger."


    Shit. She was right, as much as Mike was loathe to admit it. He looked at the clock; was it really not even 7:30 a.m.? Man. He''d lived five lifetimes in four hours. He walked to the head of the bed and bent down, stretching to give Laura a kiss on the temple.


    "You have nothing to be sorry about. I''m the one who is so, so sorry, Laura. We should have told you."


    "I should have told you," she whispered back, reaching for his hand. The joy of this moment made his own heart grow, and his fingers reached down to stroke the baby.


    "We''ll be back later. We''re here for you." He knew he shouldn''t speak for Dylan ¨C that was a bridge he still needed to cross ¨C but the words were reflexive, born of years of knowing he could speak for two.


    Dylan came from the other side of the bed and kissed her cheek. "Me too. I''m sorry, Laura, for letting you down."


    A smile. "It''s all good." Yawn. The baby''s heart rate settled back down.


    Click. The door opened and Mike saw Josie leading the way. By the time he and Dylan had stepped out, Laura was snoozing, as it should be.


    Buh bum buh bum buh bum.


    A dad. Daddy. Dylan fumbled with the idea that he might be someone''s daddy. Images of his own father, still strong and hearty at seventy, flipped through his mind. Fishing and hiking and swimming and camping. He knew how to parent a boy, all rough and tumble and energy.


    A little girl? He wasn''t exactly the princess tea party type. A lump in his throat seemed to push on his tear ducts and make his eyes leak a bit as he and Mike and Josie left Laura''s room.


    "You''re covered in soot," Josie marveled. He looked down at his forearms. Yep. Nothing new. After a year on the force he had found that his cuticles always had a few flecks of black in them. Professional hazard. "You literally carried her out and saved her life." Hair wild and eyes tired, she smiled at him, a genuine, earnest look that made her quite beautiful, transformed. "Thank you. You saved them both."


    Both. A baby girl. He washed his face with his hands, kneading the skin, willing his brain to focus, as if he could massage it into place. "What are we gonna do?" Open-ended question. One that no one had an answer to, but he had to ask it anyway.


    "This is a start." For the first time, he got a good look at Josie. SpongeBob pajamas and sockless, with flip flops. What a fashion plate. Then he remembered ¨C 3 a.m. She had sprinted like they had, and he felt a combination of extreme fatigue and gratitude. Too bad he''d been too stupid to take Josie''s advice when she''d flung it at him that night at Jeddy''s. Thank God Laura had a good friend through all this.


    A look at Mike, who was looking at him. A shared smile. Maybe this would be OK, he thought.


    How were they going to raise a child? Nausea settled in. Or maybe that was just hunger. Josie rubbed her eyes and took a good look at herself, head tipped down. Chin on chest, she started laughing, a coarse, harsh sound.


    ¡°Man, I gotta get home and make sure those cats haven''t destroyed everything. And I need to sleep. My shift starts at three.¡±


    ¡°You work in a factory?¡± Dylan asked. She had a hard look to her, like someone who was streetwise. Yet when she softened and smiled, she seemed delicate and intellectual. What a chameleon.


    ¡°I''m a nurse,¡± she said flatly, as if she were offended he thought her working class.


    ¡°Cool. I''m a paramedic.¡±


    ¡°No ¨C you''re a billionaire,¡± she said slowly, as if speaking to a child.


    Deadly stare. ¡°And you''re a ¨C ¡± The rest of his sentence was cut off by Mike, who wrapped an arm around his shoulders and steered him away from Josie.


    ¡°We''ll be back in a few hours to check on Laura and talk about our daughter,¡± he said, soothing the simmer that threatened to bubble over in Dylan. Another hand on his shoulder, then a matching one on Mike''s.


    ¡°Hey.¡± Josie''s voice was clipped and edgy. ¡°You two blew it, and if she lets you back in, let me make one thing perfectly clear.¡± Dylan''s temper rose somewhere in his throat, floating like bile.


    One long fingernail pointed at their crotches, one by one. ¡°The warlock waitress will be wearing very real balls if you mindfuck her again. And that baby, too.¡±


    Holy shit. ¡°You really have some nerve,¡± he nearly shouted, letting his voice rise, feeling it like an old friend. The nurse, Diana, looked at them from behind a large desk, eyeing them warily.


    ¡°Me? I''m not the one who ¨C oh, fuck this. I''m done trying to help you two.¡±


    ¡°Offering to chop off our balls isn''t my idea of help,¡± Mike added, his voice flat and dry.


    ¡°It''s 7:30 a.m. My best friend and her baby nearly died in a fire. Now I have to help her not feel guilty after I''ve spent the past three months trying to convince her to tell you two assholes.¡±


    She what?


    ¡°You two lied badly enough ¨C twice ¨C to crush my best friend''s heart. The best friend I''ve been with now through the first half of a pregnancy.¡± Her voice rose. ¡°Were you there when she cried her eyes out over you two? When she started to get morning sickness? How about when I went out to get the tests and we went through them, one by one, and they all read positive ¨C where were you?¡±


    ¡°We didn''t know ¨C ¡±


    ¡°I know you didn''t know, Dylan. Why do you think you didn''t know?¡± Nostrils flaring, hands on hips, she looked like a miniature Joan Jett doing a SpongeBob imitation, all yellow fury. ¡°Because she thought you didn''t tell her about your money because you didn''t trust her. She was fucking overwhelmed and confused. And by the way ¨C use a damn rubber sometimes, you two!¡±


    OK, she had him there. He should have. Mike didn''t? A side glance at Mike, who imperceptibly shook his head. So it really could be either of them.


    ¡°Forgive me,¡± she said bitterly, as if asking for anything but forgiveness, ¡°if I seem overly protective. Someone has to be, though, because the greatest threat to Laura ¨C and her baby ¨C so far has been fire, and you.¡±


    Wham. As if struck between the eyes by a hot ball of lead, Dylan nearly sank to the floor. Fuck all. He resented the hell out of what Josie was saying but he had to admit she was right. The wince on Mike''s face said she''d struck his target, too. Bullseye.


    Double bullseye. She walked off, fast and efficient, just like a nurse. Except they weren''t her patients. Quite the opposite. They were her wounded, her words meant to hurt, to get the point driven home.


    And she had succeeded.


    Shoulders slumped, he sighed. Ah, man, he had to get back to the station to do reports and go through debriefings. Mike looked at him and pointed to the hallway toward the parking garage. A slow walk to the elevators was rote enough that he just kept moving forward, brain turned to mush.


    ¡°What now?¡± Mike asked as they waited for the elevator.


    ¡°You''ll drive me back to my place?¡± They''d left Dylan''s car in the apartment garage and come in the Jeep.


    ¡°I''ll drive us back to our place.¡± Dylan closed his eyes and leaned against Mike, nodding.


    Sometimes it didn''t have to be so complicated.


    Thank God.


    Chapter Nine


    Mike held the smartphone''s camera up and surveyed the soot-covered room slowly. Laura''s apartment building had just been opened for him and Dylan to come down, the fire investigation completed enough that they permitted residents to remove vital items. The conclusion: an electrical fire that started in the breaker box in the basement, directly under Laura''s place.


    She was damn lucky. A few more minutes and...well, he wouldn''t be holding a camera streaming live video to her on her smart phone, her sweet face asking questions and giving directions as she rested under a down throw on his couch, looking relaxed and healing nicely.


    His couch. At the cabin. When the fire investigators told her she wouldn''t be able to go back to her apartment for weeks, if not months, the structural damage too great for people to live there, the news had seemed to crush her. Quick to offer help, he and Dylan had both tried to get her to move in. Cabin vs. apartment?


    She''d chosen the cabin. Who knew why, and he didn''t care. Josie was with her, helping to acclimate her, and now he and Dylan were on a mission to bring back whatever she wanted. Life as he knew it was over. Not just the past four painful, grueling months, but the time before that as well. He and Dylan would never be the same again. It was less about hiding the truth from Laura (twice) and more about what seemed to be a strange role reversal, with Dylan calmer, more reserved, more mature and Mike more emotive, charismatic, and, well ¨C


    Alpha.


    ¡°Not my circle chair!¡± Laura groaned as Mike pointed his phone at it. Black. ¡°That used to be a really nice mauve.¡±


    ¡°It''s toast now,¡± Mike muttered.


    ¡°Laura, a restoration and cleaning company should really get in here before you take anything home,¡± Dylan interjected, arms crossed, brow furrowed, voice uncharacteristically stern and bureaucratic. ¡°You shouldn''t inhale any of the soot from the fire.¡±


    ¡°Mike said he''d wash everything three times before I wear it,¡± she answered, voice echoing from the tinny speaker. Dylan shot him a look of pure evil. Mike''s saucy grin was his only answer.


    ¡°Suck up,¡± Dylan hissed.


    Mike thought that over for a second. ¡°I''ll own that.¡± Deeper grin. Dylan''s eyeroll felt like a victory.


    Two hours later he and Dylan were straining to carry out a slew of choices Laura had made, from clothing to heirlooms to the cat beds, although he had repeatedly offered to buy her whatever she needed.


    ¡°Why does she want all this?¡± he asked Dylan as they crammed it into the back of the jeep. ¡°Her coconut shampoo? Seriously?¡±


    ¡°It''s comfort. Control. Fire victims need it, so it''s good to do this for her. I''ve seen people cry over a dirty seventy-nine cent can opener. When your house catches fire and you survive, things take on more meaning.¡± Mike eyed a hand-knitted lap throw Laura had screamed about when found intact. Her grandma had made it. She wanted it for the baby''s crib.


    ¡°Her things, you mean.¡±


    ¡°Right. It''s not the same if you swoop in and just replace it all with a four-figure trip to Target.¡± Surveying the load, Mike started to understand. Laura hadn''t asked for appliances or expensive electronics. She wanted photo albums and video cartridges and clothing. Personal stuff you couldn''t really replace easily.

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    And the damn gallon jug of coconut shampoo.


    ¡°Gotcha.¡± Mike relished the drive back to the cabin, knowing she was there. Dylan had put dinner in the oven before they left, a slow-cooking roast, and tonight would be the first night they would all spend together.Advertisement


    As a family? The thought went through his mind so fast, like a blink, that he didn''t dare dwell on it. If he did, it might not happen.


    Please let it happen. For the first time in months, the drive up the mountain felt like he was really coming home, Dylan singing along to some ''80s Christmas song, the late-autumn sun warming his skin as the prospect of creating a true home with Dylan, Laura and their baby warmed his heart.


    ¡°I still think you are nuts. And not warlock waitress nuts. Crazy. Cray cray. The baby needs to have a father on the birth certificate.¡±


    Laura sat on the sectional sofa, butt sinking deep into the soft leather, a warm red down comforter keeping her toasty. Getting up would be harder than getting comfortable, but she had Josie to help. And, soon, Mike and Dylan. Snuggles moved a foot along the top of the sofa, chasing a patch of sun.


    ¡°Well, hello to you, too, Miss Merry Sunshine,¡± Laura cracked. She gratefully accepted the cup of decaf Josie offered.


    ¡°They''ll be here soon and this is the first chance I''ve had in a week to talk openly with you. Those two seemed to have had a schedule for making sure one of them was always there in the hospital.¡±


    ¡°They did.¡±


    Josie''s face was agog. ¡°All so I couldn''t talk alone with you?¡±


    Sip. ¡°I don''t think that''s why.¡± Sip. ¡°Just, you know, because we''re ¨C ¡± What words were supposed to come out next? Together? Were they back together? Laura didn''t know where they stood, actually. Five days in the hospital had been long enough to learn that she was fine. The baby was fine. The polyhydramnios had actually improved a bit, though it wasn''t gone. She would need constant monitoring for the rest of the pregnancy, but they hadn''t found any problems with the baby that explained it. Being extra-big with added fluid would make it harder to move around, and could make the delivery a bit risky, but they''d ruled out birth defects.


    Which had been the best news Laura had received in ¨C well, ever. Diana had reviewed her chart with Sheri and the supervising obstetrician, Dr. Kalharian, and they''d agreed on a schedule for follow-up care.


    Her orders: go home, rest, hydrate, recover.


    Easier said than done, because she''d had no home. Until Mike and Dylan had offered her one. Josie, too. Deciding had been hard and easy at the same time. Josie was the easy choice, and her friend seemed to assume Laura would pick her.


    But her heart, her gut ¨C her womb ¨C told her to go heal in the mountains.


    She figured out pretty quickly that the guys would respect her, would treat her like a queen, and would wait on her hand and foot if she stayed at the cabin. Dylan had told her, with a quiet serenity and troubled demeanor that was so unlike him, about his and Mike''s...fight? Breakup? What word do you use when there isn''t one to describe the relationship in the first place?


    So many strands of the relationship between the three of them had been snapped by someone deciding not to tell a simple secret, the kind of information that really wasn''t a deal breaker, but that can become one if withheld for too long. Dylan and Mike really cared about her ¨C she knew that, and knew that by screaming at them that day at Josie''s months ago, she''d created a rift that needed mending.


    And yet she absolutely was not the only one with some guilt to work through. The guys hadn''t told her they knew each other, and she was still uneasy, in a tiny place deep inside, about how they had come to her, orchestrated that wonderful first night. Getting over that had been hard, but not impossible. Could she find a place for their other secret?


    Staring around the room, she suspected she could. The vaulted ceilings, the knotty pine, the startling view of the snow-covered ski trails, and the cozy fire burning in the fireplace all made her feel like she could ¨C


    ¡° ¨C eat shit?¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    Josie stared at her. ¡°I still don''t get why you didn''t tell Mike and Dylan they could just go and eat shit, but I respect your decision.¡± Her tone of voice made it clear she did not. ¡°How''s little Josie today?¡±


    ¡°You mean little Laura?¡±


    ¡°Whatever.¡± Bzzzz. Laura found a text from Mike: ¡°Need anything at the store? Ice cream and pickles?¡±


    She read it aloud. Josie softened. ¡°That is really sweet.¡±


    Laura typed back: ¡°Nope. Thanks! <3¡±


    ¡°You''re going to regret that at midnight when you want salted caramel ice cream.¡± Josie stood and reached for her purse.


    ¡°You''re leaving?¡± Panic fluttered in her chest. Or was that the baby kicking again? Touching her belly, she shook her head slightly, to herself. Nope. Panic.


    ¡°Four ¨C er, five,¡± she pointed to Laura''s midsection, ¡°is a crowd.¡±


    Reckoning. This would be it. Mike and Dylan would come back and they''d wash her things and she would need to find a rhythm here as she recovered, the three of them settling in to ¨C what? What, exactly, were they to each other? And then there was the issue of ¨C


    ¡° ¨C who the father is.¡± An expectant look covered Josie''s face.


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°The baby is sucking your brain right out of your head, Laura.¡± Josie laughed. ¡°It''s like you''re not listening to anything I say.¡±


    ¡°And that''s new because...¡± she joked.


    ¡°Ha ha.¡± Josie shrugged into her leather coat. She looked like Captain America when he was little. ¡°You''ll talk to the guys about the birth certificate issue?¡± They''d cooked up a scheme they thought the guys would accept. Even Laura realized that as sweet as it was to share the baby, and for whichever man wasn''t the bio dad to act as if he were, the practical legalities needed to be respected. Someone''s name needed to be on the birth certificate.


    ¡°I will. I promise.¡± The two hugged, Laura clinging a bit longer than she normally would. As if crossing over into a new life, a new world, she felt unmoored, time starved, and unsure. The baby grounded her in that moment by kicking her, hard, in the cervix.


    ¡°See you tomorrow.¡± Click. The front door closed and Josie walked out on the porch, the same porch where, nearly five months ago, Laura had slunk out, Mike bringing her her purse, her fear so overwhelming it had almost crushed her heart.


    Almost. And then...why hadn''t they told her? Why? They were billionaires. Her baby''s father was a billionaire. Josie had joked about child support (¡°You could get more than you make in a year. Hell, in a decade, per month. Can I get the other one to impregnate me?¡±) and Laura reeled from the implications of all.that.money.


    Some dish Dylan had in the oven simmered and filled the cabin with a luscious aroma that made her belly start to eat itself. She was hungry.


    The guys were on their way. Her stomach dropped. Because this time she''d be alone with them and it was time for some long overdue conversations.


    Why was it always, indeed, so complicated?


    A palpable tension sat between him and Mike on the car ride up the mountain, a third partner who wasn''t nearly as appealing as Laura. Unresolved emotions, unspoken words, and a sense of uncertainty made the air thick, kept Dylan''s nerves on edge, and finally forced him to blurt out, ¡°I was a total douche. I should never have made us wait to tell her about the money, and I almost blew it, and now here we are with maybe ¨C kinda ¨C sorta ¨C a chance with her, and I don''t want to fuck it up again.¡±


    Cringe.


    ¡°If you''re a douche, I''m a bigger one. Mega douche. Thor the Douche,¡± Mike bantered back, his voice jovial, but his face serious. Eyes on the road, he seemed to feel the change in the car. They were talking. Really talking, once again.


    ¡°How do we make this right with her?¡± Dylan''s words had an urgency, a plaintive tone he could hear in his own voice and hated.


    Mike shrugged. ¡°I think this time we actually listen to her and Josie and do what Laura wants.¡±


    ¡°That easy?¡±


    Mike picked up Route 2 and they prepared for the long drive. ¡°If it were easy, we wouldn''t have fucked it up.¡±


    ¡°Twice.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Twice.¡± Mike blinked, revving up to sixty-five mph. ¡°Dylan, I''m sorry about the glass and all that.¡±


    ¡°It''s OK. You sent that cleaning crew and replaced everything.¡±


    ¡°That''s not what I mean.¡± Mike''s jaw flexed and twitched, his stubble glinting in the sunshine.


    ¡°I know. And it''s OK. As long as we''re OK.¡±


    Mike laughed, a sputtering sound of surprise. ¡°We''re fucked, man.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. We''re about as far from OK as you can get.¡±


    That made Mike swallow and blink hard. ¡°True. But as long as we''re not OK together, I think we''ll be fine.¡±


    ¡°What if it''s not your baby?¡± Dylan said rapidly, as if saying the words fast would somehow make them less provocative.


    ¡°What if it''s not yours?¡± Mike''s answer was a growl.


    Silence. A dark cloud of confusion and suspicion, with an undertone of something sinister he''d not felt with Mike, ever, slithered about in the Jeep. Dylan decided to let down his defenses and simply said, ¡°I don''t care. I care, but I''m not invested in whose she is. I''m invested in loving who she is.¡±


    Mike''s head jerked back in surprise. Shoulders relaxing, he drew in a deep breath. ¡°Same here.¡± He took his eyes off the road for a second and gave Dylan a look that made him fight to hold back tears. ¡°I just don''t want to be left out of the greatest love I can imagine.¡±


    Nodding, Dylan tapped him on the shoulder with a gentle fist and said, ¡°Impossible. Because that love can''t exist without all three of us.¡±


    ¡°Four. Four now.¡±


    Four.


    Laura woke to the sounds of laughter in the kitchen, deep men''s voices guffawing and teasing, the room''s light telling her it was past sunset and somehow she''d fallen asleep in place, curled up and warm. Her stomach growled and her mouth felt like cotton, parched. A glass of water on a coaster, inches from her hand, was a pleasant surprise. A few quick gulps and she finished it off, yawned, stretched and ¨C ouch! ¨C sciatica flared up, necessitating that she stand and stretch more.


    Little muscles in her hips and along her ribcage needed to be treated with kid gloves, stretched slowly and with great care, or she''d have a stitch in her side and a major spasm. Pregnancy really wasn''t for wimps, all the blessings aside.


    Walking with a slight waddle, she made her way into the kitchen. Mike was making a salad, Dylan checking on a roast, and both turned to her, smiles at the ready, so amused and playful she almost burst into tears at the hope it all inspired.


    ¡°She rises!¡± Dylan exclaimed, drying his hands on a dish towel and planting a kiss on her cheek. Mike kept his space, reaching for the empty glass in her hand. Without asking, he filled it from the water dispenser on the fridge door and handed it back, full.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± she said, looking around, blinking. Both men kept stealing glances of her belly. Obvious and trying not to be. She did a shimmy and said, ¡°Lap dances, $25.¡±


    ¡°You undercharge,¡± Dylan said, mirth in his voice but something more sensual in his eyes. Her pulse quickened and blood flowed to places that had been deeply neglected by a man''s touch.

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    ¡°OK. $50. I''m lap dancing for two, after all.¡± She wiggled her belly. Mike groaned and Dylan winced. Topic change.


    ¡°Whatcha cooking?¡± She nosed over Dylan''s shoulder. A big slab of delicate meat surrounded by carrots, potatoes, onions, and something unidentifiable. ¡°What''s that?¡±Advertisement


    ¡°Celeriac.¡±


    ¡°Sell airy what?¡±


    ¡°Celeriac. It''s kind of like the root of a celery plant. Sort of. It''s really savory and complements the meat nicely.¡±


    ¡°Mmmmmkay, Rachel Ray.¡±


    He looked offended. ¡°I''m Gordon Ramsay all the way, babe.¡± Arms reached around her, his face nonplussed as he couldn''t make it, the belly in the way. ¡°Don''t you forget it,¡± he joked, pulling back, bemused.


    ¡°More like the rat in Ratatouille,¡± Mike said, droll and patient.


    ¡°You two are getting Kraft Mac n Cheese if you don''t stop.¡±


    Her stomach growled audibly. Dylan pointed at it and said, ¡°The baby speaks! She defends me!¡±


    ¡°Are all audible bodily functions a commentary on you, Dylan? If so...¡± Mike bit his lips, holding back.


    ¡°Let''s just eat!¡± Laura declared. Her stomach growled again. ¡°I''m starving!¡± No one had cooked her a homemade meal in, well ¨C not since Dylan''s meatballs. It felt good to be pampered, cared for, taken care of.


    And the food was divine.


    So was the company. Somehow, the three of them fell back into an easy banter, talking and laughing with abandon, yet comfortable with silence. So much to say. So little pressure to say it. Time might heal all, she thought, if they never said a word. Just living and being and coexisting might do the trick.


    Not really. She could hope, though. Food, though ¨C food had a universal language that said, ¡°Dig in. Eat. Relax. Enjoy.¡±


    And she did.


    Beep! Something that sounded like a clothes dryer went off. ¡°Oh! Your quilt!¡± Mike said, jumping up from the table and walking down the hallway.


    ¡°My quilt?¡±


    ¡°Your grandma''s quilt. Mike''s washing it a few times. Part of your stuff we hauled home.¡±


    A grateful warmth filled her. Blinking back tears, she said, ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°Don''t thank me. Thank Mike.¡±


    She reached for Dylan''s hand and squeezed. ¡°No. Thank you. You saved me. Saved us.¡±


    He shook his head, eyes serious. ¡°I almost ruined us. And I hurt you deeply.¡± Hearing it from him made a difference; she had tried to convince herself it didn''t matter, but it did. Mike returned to the table, a look of puzzlement, then alarm, on his face.


    ¡°Everything OK?¡±


    ¡°We''re getting serious,¡± Dylan muttered.


    Mike''s face shifted to dawning understanding. ¡°Oh. Got it.¡± He pushed his plate back and leaned forward on the table, chin in hand. ¡°Is this the part where I get down on my knees and beg Laura to forgive me for being such a ridiculous, cravenly afraid asshole?¡±


    ¡°That''s my role!¡± Dylan protested. ¡°I look really good eating humble pie. Lately, it''s my specialty. Shows off my good side.¡± He tilted his face to the left, a sad smirk coloring the discussion.


    ¡°You can both play that role,¡± she joked. Except she wasn''t joking. They all knew it. ¡°No,¡± she added, shaking her head. ¡°All three of us can play that role, because I did to you what you did to me.¡± She winced. ¡°With higher stakes.¡±


    No one argued. That made her feel even worse. Here we go, she thought. Cards on the table. Hearts on sleeves. It was now or never, and clich¨¦s aside, if she wasn''t brutally honest with herself and with them, she could never, in good conscience, forgive herself.


    Which was the most important person she needed to extend forgiveness to.


    ¡°Can I say something, Laura?¡± Mike interrupted. He stood slowly, with great deliberation, inch by inch rising to stand over her and Dylan, the table miniscule and unimportant, the air filled with intent.


    ¡°Sure,¡± she squeaked.


    He looked at Dylan. ¡°I need to say this to you, too.¡± Dylan looked askance, uncertain and a bit worried, mirroring Laura''s own internal state.


    Mike sighed. ¡°I love you both.¡± He bent down and touched Laura''s belly. ¡°And I love her, too. We have lots of words we could utter and exchange, decode and expunge, but none of those words matter as much as these: I''m sorry.¡± He looked deeply into her eyes, then Dylan''s. ¡°I love you.¡± Again, at both, careful and measured, meted out equally. ¡°I love this. I''ve missed this.¡±


    His hands swept over the table, gesturing at the room, trying to capture the love and laughter and comfort in his hands. Laura knew he couldn''t, because it wasn''t a thing. It was something the three of them created when they were together, an alchemy they couldn''t force. It just was. ¡°I want it all, for the rest of my life.¡± He bowed his head, releasing Laura''s swell. ¡°I don''t have any better words.¡±


    ¡°There aren''t any.¡± Dylan''s voice was thick with emotion as he stood. He and Mike moved to Laura, who volleyed between them, head bouncing left and right to take this all in. With one on each side of her, she struggled to understand what was going on as they both knelt down.


    ¡°I don''t know what to say,¡± she admitted. And she didn''t. Nearly five months of wants and needs and luscious thoughts poured into her now, less from passion and more from a knowing love. A place of goodness and completion, of welcomed desire, of being treasured and assured not by words or by touch but by presence.


    ¡°Say you''ll stay. Say you''ll let us take care of you.¡± Dylan touched her belly. ¡°Both of you.¡±


    She frowned. ¡°Take care of?¡±


    ¡°We have more money than we can spend in ten lifetimes. Quit your job. Be a full-time mom. Start a business or a charity or whatever your heart desires, Laura. Hang with us. Help me run the ski resort. Become a gym bunny. Open a bakery. Hell, buy Jeddy''s and fire Madge,¡± Mike laughed, his face wide and open, body tense but eyes serene and raw all at once.


    ¡°In other words, let us take care of you, because we need you to take care of us,¡± Dylan said, getting to the point.


    Oh, guys, she thought. Her heart should be racing, temples pounding, face flushing and heart swelling, right? Instead, all she could feel was a diffuse calm. An acceptance. An understanding.


    And the baby did a somersault right then, her little foot practically poking a hole in Laura''s belly. ¡°Holy shit!¡± Mike shouted. ¡°I could see the outline of her toes on your shirt!¡± She''d chosen a fairly tight, ¡°slimming¡± light pink maternity shirt, with a little spandex, and it was pulled snugly over her belly.


    ¡°I saw it, too!¡± Dylan joined in.


    ¡°Maybe she was answering for me?¡±


    ¡°Was she?¡± they asked in unison. Laura closed her eyes, shoulders dropping, her breath even and mature. Yes. Yes yes yes yes.


    In later years Laura would try to remember the exact moment she leaned down and took Mike''s face into her hands, kissing him gently and with great passion, but try as she might she could never pinpoint it, would never find her recollection precise enough to discern when she made the decision. Like so many other moments in her years with Dylan and Mike it just was, a delicious shift of molecules and energy that moved her body, compelling her toward what her heart wanted.


    Regardless, Mike''s response was keen and matched, lips connecting, arms wrapping about her waist, sliding up her back as he stood, pulling her to standing, the belly making an awkward chaperone that separated them. Dylan stood back and watched, smiling. He wasn''t left out for long, as Laura pulled back from Mike, breathless, and reached out.


    The little, doubting voice inside her, the one that whispered insecure comments in her ear at inappropriate times, the saboteur of all that was good and whole in her life, tried desperately to wiggle its way to the surface as Dylan''s arms wrapped around her, as his lips touched hers, as his mouth explored hungrily and apologized with little movements and sighs, hands saying "I''m sorry" in ways words and looks could never convey. Laura found herself not only not caring what that voice said, not actively pushing it away, but instead just not listening. Tuning it out like static, like traffic, like the sound of something so insignificant it becomes white noise after a while. You know it''s there but it blends in with the rest of the world and takes its rightful place as something you don''t need to attend to.


    What she needed to give her attention was, in fact, right here, standing before her, both men here, now, for her. And she was here for them, all three together and hopeful and trying to find their way to a new truth. A new honesty. A new vow.


    As she warmed to Dylan''s caresses, their bodies awkward and accommodating, the reality of their earlier coming together very real ¨C regardless of whose baby she carried ¨C desire roared forth, a huge ball of need and hormones rushing to the surface, her mouth aggressive, hands not backing down. Wanting them both, needing time and pleasure, her skin''s memory of the fear of nearly dying now straining for an expression of life, to conjoin and co-mingle with Mike and Dylan, to renew something deep and unspoken as they unveiled a commencement. A beginning of something unspoken but cherished.


    Dylan''s touch became tentative, hesitant. She pulled back and asked, "You OK?"


    Mike''s eyes held the same conflict that Dylan''s reflected as she looked at them both. "Can we...are you...is this -- " Dylan stumbled.


    "Oh, God, yes!" she nearly cried out. "Do you have any idea how much I''ve missed this?" She stroked his arm. "Both of you." A sigh. "All of this."


    "No, I mean, the doctors ¨C can you, you know?" Mike jumped in, hands clearly itching to touch her, but keeping a respectful distance as she was in Dylan''s space.


    She blushed. "I''m cleared for ''intimate relations,'' as the nurse put it, but I don''t think they were thinking of what we do," she laughed. Pointing to her belly and hips, she added, "And I think we just have to do this the old fashioned way this time. No room for two at the inn."


    "I like old-fashioned," Dylan sighed in her ear, nuzzling her neck. A zing of pleasure made her inhale slowly, savoring the heat of his cheek on hers. Mike stepped back, sweeping his arm toward his bedroom, the same room, same bed, where they''d first been together, what seemed like a lifetime ago.


    In a way, it was. This world was theirs to forge, social and emotional rules that they landscaped, shaping it as they wished. No doubting voice, no righteous screeds, no one else could dictate how or whom she loved. So this lifetime that she embarked on felt like her real life. Time to start it.


    Start it off right. Nice and slow and easy and luscious. Taking Mike''s hand, holding on to Dylan''s with her other, the three walked with languid grace, her body hot and ready so soon, so fast, she nearly burst as Mike reached down to kiss her, Dylan stroking her shoulders and back, hands wrapping around her from behind and loving her belly.


    Sinking back into him, soaking up Mike''s skin, the taste of him, how his mouth was lush and present and fully aware of hers made the scene less surreal. Just...real. As if all of the other moments in her conscious life were somehow just a preparation for this, and that all her worries and concerns were useless, unnecessary.

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    Discarded.


    The sound of Dylan''s long inhale, then his deep exhale, hands reaching under the hem of her shirt and warmth ¨C just as Mike''s hands cupped one breast, his hip grinding into hers, back curled over her, shoulders lifted, one hand stroking her ample, swelling nipple as the other kneaded her hair, little kisses interspersed with great, deep, wet explorations. Her clit pulsed, abs tightening and elongating, body primed and ready for everything.Advertisement


    And it looked like that''s what she was about to get.


    Four hands slid up her ribcage, across her shoulders, down her legs, everywhere, like tentacles made of honey and wine, slipping and caressing until she stood in panties alone, their flesh ripe and clear, her own hands busy and red-hot from sliding cotton and threads off six packs, glutes, biceps, and flesh that now stood ramrod straight, as if tipped up to say thank you for the coming feast.


    Mike''s bronzed chest, with a sprinkling of sun-kissed hair, felt familiar and foreign under her finger tips, his hands lifting up under her thickened breasts, face gazing down and marveling, as if looking at a work of art for the first time. When his eyes met hers they were smiling, and he touched her lips with one finger. ¡°I do love you.¡± Hand on her belly. ¡°And her.¡±


    A lump in her throat made it hard to speak, Dylan''s hard, muscled form behind her, leaning against her back and ass. Heady from the touch of both, she tipped her face up and drank in Mike''s words. ¡°I love you, too.¡± His smile, his mouth, their tongues touching as she was enveloped by manflesh, manskin, the two men who completed her ¨C it made her feel truly, madly, intensely loved.


    Cherished.


    Dylan''s words were a trigger for so much more as he nipped her ear and whispered, ¡°I love you, too.¡± Mike released her and she spun around, arms lifting over his shoulders, his muscled forearms on her back and hips, their embrace less sexual and more a homecoming.


    Until his mouth found hers, telepathically transmitting everything they couldn''t say but felt, as if he thought and emoted for her through a long, wet stroke, or fingers that trailed a line down her neck to her breasts, pausing to turn a soft areola into a pebbled nipple.


    ¡°And I love you,¡± she replied, smiling into the kiss, feeling his mouth shift, too, into a grin. Ah, she really was home. Love. They''d all said it, felt it, meant it. The sweet taste of it was nirvana, a light, delicate ¨C but hardy ¨C flavor that they would relish forever.


    She moved to the bed, climbing on carefully, the only one wearing anything. Slipping out of her panties, she became self-conscious of her body for the first time ¨C how it had changed, how she had gained weight, how her breasts were fuller, more sensitive, her hips wider and more lush. Would they like it? Was she too big?


    Mike''s hands held an answer as he reached for her, eyes tracking his own hand as he moved it along her side. She propped her head with her hand, elbow holding at an angle, breasts and belly pulled down by gravity and one leg bent. ¡°You''re so...¡± He sighed, his hand opening where her ribcage met her breast, smoothing and sloping to take in more. ¡°Voluptuous. Glowing.¡± Bending in, muscles rippling and arms tight, he kissed her and then slid into bed, arms warm and chest pressed against her, molding himself around her. ¡°Amazing.¡± She relaxed into rippled muscles on his thighs, his long, lean body surrounding her, mouth kissing her neck ¨C


    Oh! That was Dylan, who had taken up residence behind her, her back warmed instantly by a wall of hot skin and hard flesh that started with her ass, then her thighs, gliding up her sacrum, back, and shoulders, like a strong blanket of sensuality. His hands cupped her breasts as he kissed her neck, erection pressed into the cleft of her ass, ready for her bidding and whatever they all chose next. Delicious. That they had all the time, all the choice in the world, to do as they wished right here, right now.


    Just the feel of them against her body made her abs tighten, the flesh above her clit buzzing, her hands eager and needy, touching Mike and Dylan with an urgency she didn''t have to possess any more. No rush. No scarcity. All three had made the decision to move on, to redesign the world, to make their love so much more.


    Mike trailed kisses down her breasts, looping one nipple into his mouth, tongue teasing with circles of benevolence, making her walls clamp and the air in her lungs rush out. Base instinct guided her hands to his hair, hoping ¨C oh, hoping! ¨C he was headed where she needed that mouth most right now. It had been long, long months without, and her body tingled with anticipation, for that first cool touch of tongue tip, as the warmth of her flesh would mix with his wetness and make her gasp.


    ¡°Are you OK on your back?¡± Dylan asked. She hadn''t considered it.


    ¡°I can be creative,¡± Mike answered, his voice muffled. For some reason, it made her giggle, and she got a case of the sillies, right here in this incredibly sensual moment. Laughing so hard tears filled her eyes, Dylan watched her, eyes dancing with amusement. Mike paused, then crawled up her body, dragging his chest along her skin.


    His head popped up, face curious, as she quivered and shook, overcome with laughter. ¡°I''ve been laughed at in bed before,¡± he said, ¡°but never while doing that.¡±


    Oh, God. That made her giggle even more, great whoops surprising her, Mike glancing at Dylan, Dylan''s shrug, both sets of eyes watching her. Contagious, the laughter got them too, deep voices rumbling with chuckles until finally Laura settled down, flapping her hands in front of her face to cool down and calm herself.


    ¡°What was that?¡± Dylan asked, finger circling her nipple.


    Mike dipped his head back under the covers and moved down. A kiss on her hip. ¡°Was that funny?¡± A kiss on her knee. ¡°Funny?¡± A kiss on her mons. ¡°Giggling now? How about I make you gasp.¡± The last word came out as a low growl, so predatory and primal she filled with a blooming wetness, all heat and low thrumming, body fully ready.


    And gasp she did, for as his hips moved, Mike folding his extended body into position between her legs, and although she was on her side, he simply moved one leg up, balanced it on his shoulder gently, and leaned down, tongue touching the exact place she needed it to. Like a butterfly in slow motion, his tongue lapped and licked in a perfect, slow rhythm that took her from ready to gone. Dylan''s scent, all musk and smoke and salty, filled the air as he lowered his mouth on her other nipple, keeping symmetry.


    She didn''t care, transported to a frenzied near-climax by a few touches of Mike''s tongue. When Dylan rotated slightly, calves brushing against her hip, his body hovering over hers, her mouth was open, breath coming out in pants, his lips taking hers as his hand reached for her ass, pulling her closer.


    What she wanted, though, was more. Urging Dylan to slide up, she reached for him, fingers lacing around his thick erection, guiding him to her mouth. Knowing she would soon come ¨C hard and furious, crazy and tilting ¨C she wanted to give, to make someone else feel as good as Mike made her feel now, to spread out her own intensity, delaying her climax, to make it all the more incredible and vital and fucking liquifying when it did come.


    And it this rate, she didn''t have long, months of pen-up frustration and need and arousal and all of it. Mike''s hands spread up her hip to take in what they could, as his mouth worked wonders, exploring the full, pink flesh of her labia, one finger sliding inside her ¨C now two! ¨C the added sensation giving her a gasp, indeed, as she tongued Dylan''s mushroom cap, his body tensing, all of this energy traveling like a physics math word problem.


    If Mike''s tongue flickers at a rate of 69 beats per second while Laura''s mouth licks Dylan''s enormous cock five times per minute, as her hands dig into Mike''s golden waves and Dylan groans at 200 decibels, when will they all come?


    About...now, apparently, Laura''s body twitching, removing Dylan from her as he eased back, her face turning to the pillow, unable to do anything but experience this, biting the sleek cotton to keep from screaming. Didn''t work. ¡°Oh, God!¡± she shouted, her body convulsing, neck muscles stretching and pulling at the same time, her body stretching like a cat''s, then shaking, stretching, then shaking, hands curled into fists in ecstasy.


    Beyond words, she just came and came, exploding as Mike rode the wave, following her as her clit bobbed and jumped, hips out of control, her eyes open and then shut, occasionally catching glimpses of Dylan''s transfixed look, watching her with such passion it nearly made her come again.


    ¡°No, stop!¡± she begged. ¡°I want you in me!¡±


    ¡°I''m here,¡± said Dylan, smoky and sensual. He slid against her, from behind, as Mike straightened up, slipped out from under the covers and rested on his knees, a delicious drink of water her eyes soaked up. How could he have so little fat, pockets of muscle etched into his ribs and abdomen? Unreal. Dylan''s hot skin married hers, hips resting behind as Mike''s mirth-filled eyes acknowledged what he''d just given her, and waited patiently for so much more, lips flush and red, blue eyes growing serious and sultry.


    Now it was Dylan who nudged against her, her own passage eager to be filled, nudging back as he centered himself, then the tip of him touched her outer lips, eliciting a sigh that turned into a moan, her body responding with such fierce arousal she was grateful for two men. They might not be able to satisfy the tiger inside her, the one that had prowled for the past few months through her erogenous zones, pacing and searching for ¨C


    Oh! Oh! As he entered her everything split and she felt nothing but slick, her body welcoming and warm, his erection pushing hard from behind as she rested on her side, trying to get him deeper, needing a fuller feeling of man, of Dylan, and as he began to thrust, slow and tender, she whispered, ¡°I love the feeling of you in me. I need you so much.¡±


    ¡°I need you, too, Babe,¡± he answered, the hissing musk of his breath enough to put her into a cocoon of this, of nothing more or less, his abs pushing against her ass, his knee between hers, his cock inside her as rough palms massaged her breasts, wet lips kissed her earlobes, and then ¨C there it was.


    Explosion. Implosion. Screams ¨C hers, of pleasure and orgasm and release and pluming and of complete annihilation of the mind. Hands and fingers and mouths and cocks and ass and pussy walls all worked in concert until everything was just a pink and red void, panting breath and hot, wet flesh and a gritty, guttural groan of fucking and being fucked, of having her body pushed to its sensual limits and over the line, of crossing something that expunged all worry, all fear, all timid nature into a ball of greedy desire and lust and ¨C


    Dylan. His neck muscles pushed against her ear; she could feel the strain as she came down from her own high, could sense the creaming inside her as he came, could hear the little sounds the back of his throat involuntarily made as he thrust, then froze, thrust, then froze, squeezing every drop from this masterful movement. He slumped against her, spent, as her energy roared to life, her appetite for sex and skin and being fucked a thousand times stronger than it had ever been in her life, the roar of want so great she feared she would devour them.


    Mike. Could Mike be enough now? As Dylan slid out of her, kissing her shoulder, Mike moved like a lion, slow and sure, owning the land and the bed, her body and his, knowing what she needed without her saying a word. He didn''t seem surprised when she took his mouth with force, a maniacal power driving her to kiss him, to use her tongue to nip, to suck, to measure the terrain of him.

 Page 33

    ¡°I want you on top,¡± he murmured, stretching out on the bed, his tall runner''s body going on and on. Dylan had rolled over and watched, an open, friendly face that seemed more wistful than voyeuristic, and as she climbed on Mike''s hips, straddling him, she unceremoniously plunged down on his rigid cock, the tip hitting her cervix with a push of pleasure that made it seem as if she hadn''t just made love with Dylan, hadn''t just come from Mike''s mouth and Dylan''s cock, hadn''t just been satisfied and catered to in every way possible.


    Because she needed more. More, more, more. Mike obliged, pulling her down for another kiss, her own taste more evident now, her lips spreading in a grin at the mixing of their juices, their bodies, the ease of so much sensual abandon. She leaned down and changed the angle of her hips, now in control of the thrusts, her ass lifting up, pussy lips encasing him, her shifts imperceptible to him but giving her clit more friction, making her so, so close.Advertisement


    ¡°God, I love your body,¡± he gasped, hands full of her breasts, throat tight as she milked him, plunging down as hard as possible to feel so full, so real. Moonlight spilled into the room and she took in the scene, Dylan''s gaze of love and enjoyment, Mike''s body filling hers, his chest and face below her, eyes concentrating on her, absorbing their lovemaking, the love in the air palpable. Tipping her head down, she inhaled slowly, primally as she pulled up, the room filled with moist heat and the scent of three, the thought combining with her faster movements, her body fucking him now, the one who maintained the pace, who took the rising ball of lust inside her, which expanded and grew until ¨C


    Starbursts. More screams. An emptying and a completion that she couldn''t name. ¡°Laura! Laura!¡± Mike shouted, his face twisted in torque and thrust as she raked her fingernails over his shoulders, his hands kneading her hips and ass, fingertips pressed hard into her luscious curves. They thrashed and vibrated, her pussy climaxing less from her clit''s frenzy but more from the deep pushing, the perfect pitch of flesh against flesh, of the supernova of juicy sex.


    Her hips ached, forcing her to rest her head on Mike''s shoulder as she came down, down, down from a high she didn''t know was possible, much less achievable in the arms of anyone ¨C or any two. Mike murmured love and whispered loyalty in her ear as Dylan snuggled up to them, helping to ease Laura onto her side, her body limp with the feeling of being wrung out, a joyous song of satiety humming in her head.


    As their breathing returned to a normal pace, Laura looked first at Dylan, then at Mike, then at the window, moonlight smiling in on them. Finally.


    Finally she had what she wanted. Exactly what she wanted.


    Sigh. Almost.


    ¡°OK, boys,¡± she commanded, arms folded up under her head, the gesture one of authority. ¡°Which one of you is going to give me a foot massage, and which one of you will make the salted caramel ice cream run?¡±


    Mike looked out the window with a forlorn look on his face. ¡°But it''s snowing! And a twenty minute drive to the nearest store.¡± The look he shot her said what are you talking about?


    She pulled her hands out from under her head and clapped twice. ¡°Then get to it!¡± Settling back down, she let a deep, satisfied sigh flow through. ¡°Now I see why I need two men.¡±


    Cold hands touched her feet, Dylan already at her bidding with the massage, laughing at Mike. ¡°Too slow!¡±


    ¡°I don''t wanna ¨C it''s cold ¨C are you kidding?¡± Mike pleaded. Even so, he seemed to know the argument was lost, reluctantly standing and throwing on his pants.


    She pointed to her belly. ¡°Does it look like I''m kidding?¡±


    ¡°Fine. Salted caramel? A pint?¡±


    She nodded, then stopped. ¡°No! Make it two. It''s going to be a long couple of days and I don''t want you leaving for one second longer than you need to.¡± She batted her eyelashes as Dylan worked on her feet.


    ¡°Anything else?¡± Mike held his smart phone, ready to type. ¡°A list? Because I don''t want to have to leave again.¡± A lascivious smile consumed his face. Laura liked it.


    ¡°Nope! Simple list. Ice cream.¡±


    ¡°Easy,¡± Dylan said, nodding approval.


    ¡°That''s right,¡± she sighed, winking at Mike as he shrugged on his coat. Mike kissed her forehead and shot Dylan a promise of future revenge as Laura lay in bed, stretching.


    The baby kicked in agreement as Dylan laughed. ¡°A girl could get used to this.¡±


    ¡°That''s right,¡± he said, working on her arch. ¡°It''s never complicated ¨C anymore.¡±