Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“So you’re marching in the poly parade, too?”
BLAIR
“Did he read these books, or did his interior designer buy them?”
“They’re Beau’s. He can read.” I mock my twin, “His favorite book is Dick Fucks Jane and Tom.”
Vale laughs, shifting Beau’s books to the bottom shelves in his office, per his insistence, while I load the top and middle shelves with mine.
“He has all the dead white men classics.” Vale lines them up neatly. “But I’m impressed with his contemporary authors: Morrison, Ishiguro, Lee, Hollinghurst, Díaz. My literary panties are wet.”
“Suck a bag of big books,” I tease her, but I’m impressed, too.
Beau’s home—correction: his seven-bedroom mansion on an immaculate golf course—belongs on one of those reality shows about luxury real estate and nepo-baby agents.
My new closet is the size of my former bedroom. His kitchen looks like a Michelin chef’s dream. I keep expecting pink dolphins to leap from his giant pool. And last night, I discovered the thrill of a bidet and why the French say, “Ooh, là, là.”
Beau even insisted I take a guest bedroom for my “overflow.” He did the same for Colt, who’s neatly arranged his Air Jordans in a guest closet like a shrine.
My bedroom? It’s a shrine to dildos, of course. Ones that will collect dust because Beau’s bed feels like a cloud. Every night, I sleep in man-body heaven.
But it’s his office, now mine, according to Beau, that makes me want to start writing Hallmark Valentine’s cards, not paranormal romance books.
There’s a white marble fireplace in here. The white shelves have two frickin’ ladders like a vintage library. In addition to a desk for ruling the world, there are two cozy ivory velvet chaise lounges where I can sit for a decade.
And my favorite?
In the week it took me to get home and move my life to Atlanta, Beau made me an acrylic desk plaque.
DESK OF A SMUTTY GENIUS
“This is love, you know.” Stacey, now my former boss and forever friend, stacks my books neatly on a shelf. “He’s giving you his desk, house, and cars.”
She just had her daughter last month but insisted on helping, saying she needed a change of scenery. So, two of her husbands, Ford and Mateo, joined her and their daughter for our caravan from Charleston to Atlanta. They turned it into their first family trip.
“I have my car,” I answer, though Beau gave me the keys to his white Mercedes G-Class SUV. “My Kia has four working wheels, too.”
The only time I’m comfortable with having a sugar daddy is when I’m in bed with my men. Those two are welcome to shred my ego with their dirty talk. When it comes to sex, I have no shame.
But when it comes to money, I have pride.
“I get it,” Stacey answers, moving books. “I’ve been there, believe me. You want your freedom, your money, and your dignity. But any man who owns a book by Virginia Wolfe is worth letting him care for you, too.”
“Besides,” Vale adds, “what are you gonna do now that they started training camp? Or when they’re at practice or away games? This is a big house to have all to yourself.”
“I’ll write.” I cut open another box. “They have jobs, and I have mine.”
“Is it something in the Charleston water?” Stacey almost laughs. “You, with your two men? Me, with my three husbands? Luca Mercier and his subs? Silas Van de May and that group of six? I guess birds of a group feather flock together.”
“And fuck together,” Vale jokes.
“Some of us do.” Stacey shrugs. “Some of us don’t, but we protect our network. It’s about more than sex. It’s about support. Do you know the looks I get with my husbands and now our daughter? Lucky for me, I have so much love and friends in my life, and I’m immune to hate.”
I sigh, neatly arranging my favorite books—the ones I’ve read—by trope and color. Don’t judge. I like a rainbow of romance.
“That’s why I need help,” I reveal. “I mean, other than insisting on helping me move and being a badass boss.”
“Ahem.” Vale clears her throat.
“And being the perfect twin,” I add for her sake. “Y’all, I need a beard for Colt.”
“A beard?” Vale scoffs. “That’s so antiquated and phobic.”
“In your world,” I answer. “You’re getting a PhD in Human Sexuality. You live in an ivory tower of progressive pussy and pricks and preferences. But down here, on the gridiron, that’s not reality. Millions are still phobic. Some shit hasn’t changed.”
“You’re right, you’re right.” Vale dusts off her overalls. “Sorry. I get it.”
“So, you need someone you can trust who’ll date Colt?” Stacey’s already stroking her chin, scheming plans. “But someone who’ll respect your triad and won’t get feelings for him?”
“Yeah,” I reply. “Not like tomorrow, but soon. I thought we’d have time, but Amber Kostas won’t shut up about me and Beau and my books. She just outed us as a couple last week, so it’s a matter of time before she drags Colt, too, especially when people find out we’re living together.”
“Ugh,” Vale declares, “women like her drag us back a century. She’s gotta put a woman down to lift herself up. I bet she doesn’t vote. I bet she calls other women ‘bossy’ and uses ‘pussy’ and ‘girl’ as an insult.”
“Probably,” I huff impatiently. “But I don’t have time for her ignorant politics; I need a plan. The clock is ticking.”
“I think I know someone.” Stacey plops down on a chaise, kicking her feet up. New moms are allowed to rest. “She’s a friend’s sister, and she’s been coming into the shop a lot lately. I trust her.”
“You trust her not to fall for Colt?”
But could I blame her?
Long ago, in college, I fell for Beau. Even though he changed all the notifications on my phone and laptop to sound like farts, I know he’s also the one who anonymously left a T-shirt on my dorm bed for my birthday.
“Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read.”
He had it made with one of my favorite quotes from my favorite book, To Kill A Mockingbird.
That’s Beau.
And Colt?
He likes turning the air conditioner so damn low we have to cuddle when we sleep to stay warm. He and Beau alternate who’s in the middle, one spooning me while he gets spooned. I tried the middle, but now I know how cheddar feels in a panini press.
Maybe this winter, they can sandwich me.
But it’s also how Colt pours my coffee. How he rubs my feet. How he pinches my ass in the kitchen, but how he’s been shy, too. He still hasn’t given himself to Beau like Beau lets Colt take him and me. I can tell Colt’s afraid of something.
And it only makes my heart soften for him. Faster than the speed of sound, I’m falling for Colt, too. That’s why I worry.
Who wouldn't fall for him?
“Yes, I trust her,” Stacey answers, adjusting her blonde ponytail. “She’s part of a secret group. I can’t say much, but she’d care about this situation. She’d help.”
Stacey owns Delta’s, the most exclusive sex shop in the South. She would’ve gone out of business on day one if she had loose lips. The woman is a vault of intriguing intel.
“A secret group?” My author ears perk up. I abandon my books for more of this story. “What group? Come on. You know I won’t tell. I bet I know them anyway. Everyone who’s anyone shops at Delta’s, and I know their kinks.”
“You know I can’t answer.” Stacey yawns. “Groups are secret for a reason.”
BAM!
I jump.
So does Stacey.
We snap our glance at Vale, who’s dropped a stack of leather-bound classics. But it’s the fresh look on her face that grabs my attention.
“A secret group?” I dig. “Like the secret boardroom someone has meetings in. Right, Vale? You and our accountant, Mr. Nash Allen, add up to many secret sins.”
“Quit being an ingrown pubic hair,” Vale snaps. “You’re annoying me and my crotch. It’s like Stacey said, some things are secret.”
“Secret like how you pluck your nipples?”
She snarls, “Secret like how you make tit butter when you sweat?”
“Yeah, twin.” I laugh. “We got matching Ds.”
“No, we share DNA, not dicks.”
“Dicks? So you’re marching in the poly parade, too?”
“Charleston’s not that big of a city,” Stacey interrupts. “I suspect groups and secrets intermingle.”
“Not down here in Hotlanta,” I worry. “I feel like a castaway. Like it’s me, Beau, and Colt against the world.”
“You’re not alone,” Stacey assures. “You remember Scarlett, right? Luca Mercier’s new wife?”
“Of course,” I gush. “I can’t forget her. She ordered a gold chain ankles-to-anal-plug locking bondage kit for their honeymoon last month.”
Vale sighs, “Scarlett’s my idol.”
“Yes, her.” Stacey smiles. “She’s Mrs. Luca Mercier now, and I met her sister, Ruby, at The Mercier Hotel and their Charleston wedding. Ruby’s amazing. She’s one of us.”
“So, I can trust her?”
I’m sweating. Yes, the A/C is cranking for Colt when he gets home, but it’s July, and I feel like I’m starting training camp, too.
Throuples training camp where the opponent is the general judgy public, and I don’t like our odds of winning.
“She won’t fall for Colt? Or Beau?”
Vale sings, “Someone’s sounding jelly.”
“I’m not jealous,” I blurt. “I’m worried. This isn’t a game for us.” Vale grins like The Joker. “Okay, fine. It’s an NFL football game, so I’m worried. We need help.”
“Ruby will help,” Stacey promises. “And she won’t want a quad with you and your men. She’s kinda got a thing of her own.”
“Like?” I’m so intrigued. I had no idea all of these secret groups were hiding amongst Charleston’s elite.
Then again, it’s called “The Holy City,” so that only means it’s brimming with secrets and sinners and hypocrites.
But for our groups, love isn’t a sin. So, we protect those who have to keep theirs a secret.
“Like it’s not for me to say,” Stacey answers, “but it’s why I think she’ll help. And she’ll be fun. She’s a huge football fan, too.”
While they take a break, Stacey shares Ruby’s contact information with my phone, and I fetch lemonade from the kitchen.
Before I call Ruby, I’ll run it by Beau and Colt. They told me I’m in charge of Operation Beard, but I need to consult with my troops.
They’ll be home this evening. Since they’re veterans, they don’t have to stay overnight at training camp. Plans of greeting them at the door, holding a tray of cocktails, and wearing naughty panties make my kitty tingle.
But when I check my phone, making sure I have Ruby’s contact, there’s a missed call that’s an immediate lady-boner killer.
“Great,” I mutter while Vale and Stacey recline in my new office, enjoying their lemonades. “Dad called.”
“Imagine that.” Vale chuckles. “Word is out you’re dating the NFL’s top player, and now our dad, a former top player, too, wants to coach you. Watch.”
“I’m not taking advice from him.” I sit on my desk, polishing my hand over the burl wood. I went from an old IKEA desk to something that looks like Jane Austen was here. “Dad’s a pro at cheating, divorce, and child support. I’ll do the opposite of whatever he says.”
“Was he abusive or something?” Stacey sounds concerned.
“No,” I answer. “He’s just an unfaithful horn-dog who tries to lie about all the kids he has. Every year, we discover a new half-sibling.”
“He’s actually mellowed out.” Vale sounds sincere. “Since Mom died, I think it changed him. I think he’s trying to be better. So, just see what he wants. The worst that can happen is you hang up on him.”
The worst that can happen?
I look around the sun-filled room, taking in my new office, home, and life. I’m waiting for my new hunky boyfriends to get home, and hopefully, one of them snores tonight, and I can’t sleep.
Hopefully, that’s the worst that can happen to us.