Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 119852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
A fundraising gala invitation wasn’t on either of our bingo cards. Yet, here we are, at T-minus one hour from the start of the welcome cocktail hour. And I’m wearing a tuxedo.
“Are you two done yet?” I call out. Kayla and Riggs are still in the bathroom, putting the finishing touches on their hair. Well, Kayla is. Riggs is probably staring at her with lustful drool dripping off his lip. Shit, why didn’t I do that? I could watch Kayla get dressed and undressed, made up and unmade every day and still discover something new each time, so why am I sitting alone, waiting while doomscrolling on my phone? “You’d better not be fucking without me,” I say, going to hunt them down.
They wouldn’t. We wouldn’t.
We’ve had some pretty detailed conversations about what we want our relationship to look like, feel like, and be like. Since none of us have been in a throuple before, it took some deep thought and honest examination of where we wanted our boundaries to lie, individually and with each other. One of the things we determined was that sex is all three of us or none of us.
“Just helping with her zipper,” Riggs answers as he comes into the living room. He’s wearing a tuxedo, the same as me, but while I’m comfortable, he’s pulling at his shirt cuffs anxiously. The suit is custom-tailored to fit him perfectly, so the discomfort is more mental than physical. It has to be tailored. There’s no way he’d fit in one otherwise.
“Asshole. I could’ve helped if I’d known she needed me.” My mission, to distract and redirect.
“She didn’t need you. I had it handled.” Riggs smirks, the shit-eating grin telling me my trick has worked. But before I can celebrate the small victory, he holds his arms out, posing like a paper doll. “You’re sure I’m good?”
“Did you remember the black socks?” I tease, and he glares daggers, the anger at the surface disguising his deeper nervousness. “You’re good, man. Tonight will be fun, you’ll see.” I’m ninety-nine percent sure that’s a lie, but I’m hoping the pep talk will help soothe both our nerves.
“Yeah, ‘cuz a night of small talk with a roomful of corporate people sounds like a fucking blast.”
“What if I’m one of those people?”
Kayla’s voice has both of us whipping our heads her way. She looks stunning in a floor-length pink gown with an off the shoulder neckline that makes me want to kiss across her collarbones, down her chest, and beneath the structured fabric.
“You look stunning, Princess,” I growl, instantly deciding the best part of tonight will be coming back home and getting her out of that dress. That was going to be the case no matter what, but seeing her with her hair in a sleek updo, wearing an elegant dress and strappy heels, with tasteful jewelry makes me want to un-prim and un-proper her right now.
Fuck, how did Riggs manage to keep his hands off her? Much less zip her into that dress instead of out of it?
“Thank you. You look quite handsome yourself.” She gives me a knowing look, reading my mind, with all its filthy ideas about what this evening could be. She reaches out to straighten my bowtie, and even though we both know it’s already perfect, I let her, welcoming her touch any way I can get it.
Once she adjusts it and runs her palms across my chest, giving those fantasies a place to come to life (ahem, my cock), she shoves me toward the front door with a laugh. “We don’t want to be late.”
I don’t give a shit about being late and neither does Riggs. But Kayla does. Tonight is the largest annual fundraiser for the Harrington Foundation. It will also be a very public appearance for the three of us.
I can nearly feel Riggs retreating into his shell, so I join forces with Kayla. “The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave.”
That gets us all moving.
Riggs had a fair point about the small talk. If I never have to do another surface-level dissection of the Devils’ plans for the upcoming season, it will be too soon.
Of course, we’re planning to play our best and aim for the Cup. What the hell else would we be doing?
But hockey talk is significantly more comfortable than the curious glances that have been angled toward us all evening. Kayla warned us that the society crowds’ version of ‘boyfriend’ is ‘close friend’, so she has introduced us as her ‘close friends’ to everyone who has approached us. There haven’t been as many raised brows as I would’ve expected, but I suspect that’s a product of the Botox, not any easy acceptance.
Ironically, I think it’s Kayla’s reputation as a ball-buster that has saved us from most of the too-intimate questions. Compared to her, Riggs and I are foie gras in their eyes. But no one dares to fuck with her.