Chapter Twenty-Six – Dylan
I slept with Fawn Higgins — yes, the intelligent, beautiful writer, and I would do it again . . . and again.
What we did feels . . . honestly? Illegal. Like if someone burst in right now with a clipboard and said, “Mr. Crawley, you’ve violated at least four sexual laws”, I’d probably just nod. Because damn — it was raw, wild, and somehow . . . perfect.
Fawn is everything and even more. And the fact that she admitted she liked us — both of us — yeah, that’s been replaying in my head on a loop. I don’t even try to stop it.
I’ve never shared a girl before. It’s not my thing. But with Torin, none of this felt weird. It’s like we’d done this a hundred times. Like we’d rehearsed all this in some other life.
But now, they’re both passed out next to me, Fawn wrapped up in the protective cocoon of Torin’s embrace. She’s snoring quietly in his arms. What a cutie. An exhausted cutie. And honestly, I do feel a little bad. Well, not totally. Clearly, she was totally enjoying herself.
Me, though? Sleep is impossible. My brain is doing parkour at three hundred miles an hour.
The wall gives me nothing. I sit up and stare at it anyway.
Finally, I make the chaotic decision to wake Torin, and I lean in. “Psst. Dude . . .” I whisper, low enough that I don’t wake Fawn but loud enough that I hope he can hear me.
He grumbles immediately. “What, Dylan?”
“You asleep?”
There’s a beat of silence.
“What do you think? I just talk in my sleep for fun?”
God, he’s a cranky fucker when he’s tired. “I can’t sleep, dude. I’m so buzzed.”
That gets his eyes open. Barely. He blinks at me, unimpressed. “Then go take some melatonin, or I don’t fucking know, run around the block. Just don’t wake her up.”
Torin closes his eyes once more with a finality that only happens when someone’s reached their limit. He snuggles into Fawn’s back and nestles closer.
Fuck, I feel like a meerkat sitting here. I should do something. I could roll out of bed and whip something up for her breakfast. Something fancy. Pancakes, maybe.
Wait, waffles.
Or that Eggs Benedict thing, but fuck, I can’t poach eggs. Would that be weird, me being up so early, slaving away over eggs? I just want to impress her. Why am I like this?
“Psst. Torin,” I whisper, unable to stop myself.
His eyes shoot open again, and his reply is absolutely fueled by irritation. “What?”
Okay. So he’s grumpier now.
I lean in. “Do you think she’ll want to do this again? Should I make her orgasm next time? What if it was a one-off thing? What if—”
“Dylan, I would love to reassure you, but it’s two in the fucking morning.” His voice is flat and deadly. “I am seconds away from knocking your ADHD brain out, so you stop overthinking and sleep.”
I shut my mouth. He closes his eyes again, like he’s slamming a door shut. Honestly, fair. Well, he’s right. It’s like my thoughts are river dancing tap solos in my head right now.
I want to settle so bad, but then, I realize something.
Holy crap! We had amazing sex with Fawn, and we’ve all finally realized we like each other, but we haven’t taken her out on any dates.
It’s like skipping the tutorial stage and going straight to the boss level. Of course, I definitely didn’t mind it, because I can’t wait to do it again with her . . .
Right, focus. I will fix this. Tomorrow, after hockey practice, I will take Fawn out to a nice place, something memorable but not cheesy or boring.
I have five hours to figure out the perfect place. No pressure.