The Care and Feeding of Meddling Himbos (The Aimee Position #3)

Chapter 1

Aimee

Hui Shen leaned closer to her camera, lowering her voice. “My granddaughter Skylar got her appetite from me.”

“Mrs. Shen!” I couldn’t help laughing. When I’d asked my brother’s grandmother-in-law to join me, I knew she’d be fun, but this was podcast gold. “Are you saying—”

“Haven’t you ever heard of swinging? It was quite popular back in the day.”

“Oh, I bet you have some stories.”

“Of course I do! But I suppose we’ll have to save those for another day!”

“Shall I pencil you in for an episode on swinging?”

“Perhaps. Now, I should go. I have mahjong with the ladies in thirty minutes, and Mrs. Wong gets cranky if I’m late.”

“Well, thank you for taking time out of your day to talk on the Aimee Position,” I said. “It was a blast. And good luck with the game.”

Hui rolled her eyes. “I don’t need luck. I have strategy.” With one last wave, she disconnected.

I closed the recording, saving it to edit later, then removed my headphones and hung them on their stand, stretching my arms above my head until my spine cracked.

The recording needed to go to my editor, so I opened my laptop to make some notes about timestamps, absently clicking an Instagram DM notification that popped up on the screen.

You disgusting whore. Polyamory is an AFFRONT to God and everything holy. You’re leading innocent people astray with your FILTH and you will BURN in hell for promoting this SIN. Repent before it’s too late!!

I blinked at the message, trying to make sense of the random string of numbers and letters in the sender’s username.

A sure sign of a burner account. Another keyboard warrior bullying from behind a screen.

As a woman who talked about sex on the internet, this particular kind of asshole was far too commonplace.

And they’d been getting worse since some conservative talking head had shared a sound bite from my episode about throuples on his podcast.

Three dots appeared, and I swiped the notification away and clicked through to block the account before he could say anything more vile. I pushed the message out of my mind as I scrolled on, thankful to find my inbox mostly full of positive feedback, topic suggestions, and requests for advice.

One crazy asshole couldn’t shake me, not with so many wonderful, supportive fans standing behind me. I was fine, just fine. No point in dwelling on it. Hell, that was what this kind of guy got off on.

A crash boomed from outside my studio, and I jumped, fumbling with my laptop as it teetered at the edge of my desk. My pulse spiked as my brain leaped to the threatening message.

Then I heard a deep, booming laugh, followed by a second voice, almost as deep, and my heart rate shifted gears to irritated.

The voices from the living room didn’t belong to a deranged keyboard warrior who never left his mom’s basement.

They belonged to two well-meaning, obnoxiously hot pains in my ass.

I glanced at the time on my computer and groaned. 6:43. How had I lost a full hour scrolling through social media? I hadn’t even made my notes, and there was something else I was forgetting.

I flipped open my planner and my heart dropped as I saw a scrawled note in today’s box with three red underlines under it. Date with Shane: 7pm. Don’t forget.

And Troy and Rhett were in my living room. These two idiots were about to ruin my chances of finding out if Shane was as fun as he’d seemed the first time we’d met. How could I put myself out there if my date arrived to find two massive, intimidating firefighters already in my apartment?

No more mourning my cancelled wedding, and no more hiding behind my podcast living vicariously through my listeners.

I peeked out of my studio, and sure enough, there they were—two six-foot-plus firefighters sitting cross-legged on my kitchen island like overgrown, exceptionally hot toddlers.

Rhett was facing away from me. His hair was sun-streaked, and his pale skin was tanner than usual and dotted with freckles, evidence that they’d been spending a lot of time outside at the firehouse this summer.

Troy was facing him, holding a white takeout box, dipping chopsticks into a pile of noodles, his square jaw flexing as he chewed, his medium brown skin shining under my kitchen lights as he leaned back, making a satisfied sound.

I cleared my throat and both of them looked up with identical cheerful expressions.

“Hey, podcast princess,” Troy called, flashing dimples that made my heart squeeze. It took every ounce of my willpower to ignore how fucking handsome he was and focus on my rage.

I folded my arms across my chest. “What the hell are you guys doing inside my apartment? Don’t you knock?”

“We tried! No answer,” Troy said.

“When you knock and there’s no answer, that is not an invitation to use your key!”

“But when you didn’t answer, we wanted to make sure you were okay!” Rhett protested, turning his pretty blue-gray eyes on me.

“Not how it works! And how many times do I have to tell you not to sit on my counter?”

“Counters are for glasses, not asses,” Rhett quoted my own words back to me with a grin as he slid off the island. “Sorry, Aims.”

Troy stayed put, unrepentant. “We brought dinner.” He gestured to the spread of containers. “To pay you back for all those leftovers you so generously let us have.”

“Generously?” I sputtered. “You TOOK them. From my refrigerator. Without asking.”

“Borrowed them,” Rhett corrected, opening another container that released the fragrant aroma of pad Thai.

“You can’t borrow food,” I said, exasperated.

“How are you going to give it back? Throw it up?” “Semantics. We’re paying you back with fresh, delicious spring rolls.

I have nine siblings. I know the importance of replacing food after I eat it.

” “Nine siblings?” That insane fact distracted me for a moment, but then the rage returned.

“Didn’t they ever yell at you for stealing their food? ”

“All the time. That’s why I don’t live in Lincoln anymore.

” Grinning, Troy jumped down from the counter, landing close enough that I caught the warm, clean scent of him—soap and something woodsy underneath.

My stomach did something that had nothing to do with hunger.

“The point is, we knew you’d forget to eat again because you get wrapped up in your podcasts, so…

” He gestured to the food with a flourish.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. Rhett and Troy had been in my life for years.

They’d joined the Denver Fire Department when I was still in college, forming a fast bond with my older brother Ryker.

Something about being the three lone wolves.

They were great guys: fun, supportive, goofy, and handsome as sin. Especially Troy.

When my brother had moved across the country to be with his true loves, I’d been relieved to have Rhett and Troy move in across the hall.

After all, Ryker was my only family, and there was a certain appeal in being looked after by a pair of burly firefighters who had appointed themselves my unofficial guardians.

I’d underestimated their capacity for driving me crazy.

“Ryker gave you my keys for emergencies,” I reminded them. “Not for Thai food ambushes when I have—” I glanced at the clock on my microwave and my stomach dropped. 6:50. “Fuck me!”

Both men raised their eyebrows. Rhett shifted toward me a little, like he was preparing to volunteer. My eyes dropped to his insane body for a moment before I reminded myself that these two were my older brother’s best friends, not the answer to my dry spell.

“Not what I meant, Rhett! I have a date. At seven. As in, ten minutes from now.”

I rushed to the hall mirror and groaned at my reflection. My messy bun was so far into messy territory that it looked like I didn’t own a brush, I had no makeup on, and I was wearing ripped jeans and an ancient University of Colorado t-shirt with a coffee stain on the collar.

“You have a date?” Rhett frowned, narrowing his eyes.

“Yes, and it’s nothing to be grumpy about.”

“Grumpy? Why would Rhett be grumpy about you meeting someone?” Troy asked, bumping his shoulder against Rhett’s.

Rhett’s response was to shove Troy’s shoulder back, and then they were at it—grappling like a pair of overgrown kids, all flexing muscles and grunts of exertion.

Troy got Rhett in a headlock, biceps bulging as he held Rhett in place.

Rhett twisted, using his broader frame to his advantage, and flipped their positions, pinning Troy against the counter with his hips.

The whole thing was ridiculous. Childish. Annoying as fuck.

It was also… hot. The way Troy’s body looked as Rhett pressed against him, the way their thighs tangled together, the flush creeping up Rhett’s neck as Troy’s hands gripped his waist—

No. Absolutely not. I did not have time for whatever homoerotic WWE nonsense this was.

“Okay, enough!” I snapped, shoving between them. “Seriously? Where’s your self-control?”

They broke apart, both breathing hard, hair mussed. Troy’s graphic tee had ridden up, revealing a strip of smooth brown skin and toned stomach muscles that I did not stare at. That much.

“I wasn’t grumpy,” Rhett said, glaring at Troy. “More… cautious. About our best friend’s little sister dating.”

“Right, well, there’s nothing to be cautious about.

I met a cute environmental engineer at that charity thing for the Denver Children’s Hospital.

” Turning toward my hall mirror, I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to salvage something from the mess.

“He’s going to be here any minute, and I look like I just rolled out of bed. ”

“You’re gorgeous in anything,” Rhett said.

“He’ll think I haven’t showered in days,” I corrected him. “And I need you two to leave. Now.”

The buzzer rang, and I froze like a deer in headlights.

Rhett was already headed for the intercom. “Go get ready. We’ll make sure this guy is okay.”