Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Eliza shakes her head, eyes wide.
“I have no idea because girlfriend, you’re asking the wrong person. But did it feel okay to you? Like do you think the men knew about the other guy’s dates, and didn’t care?”
I bite my lip, shaking my head.
“No, because the dates were both last night, so I don’t think they knew about each other. Or maybe they did? I don’t know because I’m so confused! But I have a bad feeling about this.”
Eliza nods thoughtfully. “Okay, this sounds like a seriously tangled love triangle. But do you like both of them?”
“More than like,” I admit, voice ragged. “I think I might be in love with them. Both. Which is so fucking stupid I can’t even—”
My friend cuts me off. “No, it’s not stupid. Not even a little. But it’s a mess, for you, and for them, too.”
“I know,” I say. “I know, but—”
“Are you happy?” my bud asks, her eyes serious. “Because that’s the important thing, Marnie. There’s nothing that matters except love, and if you love both Brent and James, then I think there’s a way out of this.”
I think carefully.
“I am happy with them,” I say, “and I do love both men. But sometimes, I’m just terrified. Like, every minute I’m at work I think it’s all going to explode in my face. And if dating them separately isn’t okay, then they’re going to kill each other. You don’t know Brent and James, Eliza. They can be vicious. Cold-hearted. Savage, even, and brutal.”
Eliza squeezes my hand. “No, I know that. But I think you need to figure out what you want. And you need to be honest with them and with yourself.”
A tear rolls down my cheek, warm and humiliating. “But what if I’ve already fucked up by seeing them separately?” I whisper. “Even worse, what if I don’t mean anything to them? What if I’m just a roll in the hay, a distraction until the next girl comes along?”
Eliza shakes her head, her expression fierce. “I can’t believe you’re even asking that when just a minute ago, you were talking about them killing each other while fighting for you. So you know you’re not a flash in the pan, Marnie. You’re sexy, smart, and incredibly lucky. You have power here, even if it doesn’t feel like it.”
“I don’t know how to use that power though,” I say in a small voice, and the shame in my tone is so raw I can barely hear myself.
“You do,” Eliza says, calm and sure. “You just have to stop being afraid.”
We sit like that for a while, nursing our drinks, the noise of the café swirling around us like fog. Eventually, the tears dry up, and I take a deep breath.
“Thanks, girlfriend,” I say, voice wobbly. “I know my situation is so fucked-up, and I realize appreciate you listening to me.”
“Anytime,” my buddy says with a sympathetic smile before squeezing my hand in hers. Then she lets go, leans back, and gives me a playful smile. “If you need me to torch their offices, or if you want me to key their cars, let me know.”
I laugh, for real this time, and it’s enough to make me feel human again.
The rest of the weekend, I keep my head down. I work through the case files, prep for Monday’s brief, and try not to think about James or Brent, which of course means I think of them constantly. I can still feel James’s arms around me, the solid weight of him, the incredible tenderness mixed with lust. But also, I can taste Brent’s mouth on mine, the desperate edge of his hands in my hair, the heaviness of his big body pressed against my plush curves.
I am absolutely, unequivocally screwed. Should I be seeing them alone? Do they know? Or will this love triangle be the death of our relationship?
Tears start in my eyes again because the answer could be something terrible … but there’s only one way to find out.
18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN — CAUGHT IN THE ACT!
Brent
She’s above me, sopping, breathless, riding with a rhythm that feels like the last seconds before the world ends. My sheets are a war zone—twisted, damp, perfumed with her and me and the musk I can taste in the pit of my throat. Her hair is everywhere, wild and sticking to her back in gold wet ropes, swinging down to brush my chest every time she grinds harder. The light is low—lamps, not overheads, never overheads—but it’s enough to turn her skin molten, her breasts bouncing with every surge, her face a mask of hunger.
I can’t get enough. I don’t want to get enough. It’s been like this for weeks, but tonight, I want to brand Marnie into my memory. I want her to walk out of here every day with the imprint of my hands, my teeth, my cock still inside her. I drag my palms over her hips—so fucking soft, so full—and dig in, just to watch the little shock in her eyes as I jerk her down harder. She doesn’t break stride. She leans in, nails raking my ribs, and moans.