Matthew
I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be doing this.
But oh my God, this man can kiss. I’ve had some nice kisses in my life, ones that I’d even consider top tier, but they have nothing on the way Xavier is destroying me from the inside out.
Slow, deliberate, heart pounding. It’s better than sex, which shouldn’t be a thing.
I’ve never had bad sex. Most sex is good if you know what to put where and how to reach the end.
This is something else.
A whole new experience. One that’s making my knees weak, and I suddenly understand the jelly-leg phenomenon. It’s not a myth. It’s real. They should put that on the news bulletin.
Xavier nudges my nose with his, coercing me to tilt my head further, and then he does something with his tongue that flips my stomach.
I can see why Hunter married him. I’m sure he has other fine qualities, but this one has to be part of the equation, right?
Has to be. If there was a list, this should be in the top five.
His incredible face should be there too.
And that seductive smile. It’s probably a long list.
Hunter.
Hunter.
“No, wait—” I gasp. “We can’t—I mean—what about Hunter?
” This feels like one of those things that really needs to be talked about.
Everything is moving so fast, and I don’t understand what’s going on, and this just feels like it could use some kind of rational conversation.
That involves tongues, but in a different way. For the talking part, not making out.
“What about me?” the man in question says behind us. My heart leaps into my throat, and I whirl around, ten years of my life gone in the blink of an eye.
He’s right here. Watching us. Watching me making out with his husband. Estranged or not, this feels like a really bad move on my part. Am I a harlot? Wearing a red A somehow seems appropriate here even though I guess technically I haven’t done anything wrong.
Hunter’s eyebrow raises infinitesimally. “Relax, Matthew.”
Relax? Seriously? Relax? “I wasn’t—I mean, I was. We were. You saw.” I’m making a complete mess of this. “Where’s a hole when you need one?”
Miles lets out a surprisingly dignified snort, and I go back over what I said.
Oh God. “That’s not what I meant. One that goes to the core of the earth, where I can burn up and forget that I know how to speak.”
“Where would we find one of those?” Xavier asks, amused.
He’s still touching me, a hand on my waist. He’s so unbothered I can’t help but wonder if I imagined this whole thing, and we weren’t actually kissing, and I just passed out and had a wild wet dream standing up.
It’s probably happened before. Not to me but someone else. Somewhere.
“We got your lizard,” Miles says. “And its… wardrobe.” He says the words like they’re foreign to him, another language he doesn’t recognise.
“His name is Augustus.” I wasn’t expecting them to get his clothes, but I’m glad they did. He likes his outfits.
“Right. He’s in the car with his stuff.”
“I’ll get him.” Anything to get out of this room and try to gather my thoughts. They’re scattered like leaves in autumn right now. Dead and on the ground. No, that’s a terrible analogy. My leaves are thriving. They’re just all over the place. But alive. Scattered and alive.
Sweeping between Hunter and Miles, not looking at either of them, I half collapse through the back door, almost tripping on the first step. Getting outside doesn’t really help the way my heart is attempting to run a marathon, but the fresh air is nice.
It takes me until I get to the car—he has an incredible car that has to be worth more than my entire year’s salary—before I realise that Miles has come out after me.
“I don’t need any help.” I can carry one lizard inside.
“Not here to help.” He doesn’t elaborate, just stares at me with those intense, dark eyes.
All three men are intense. In a sexy but terrifying way.
I’m still not sure what I’ve walked into, and at this point, I’m not sure I want to know, but since it involved men with guns that seemed intent in using them on me, I probably need to know.
At what point does burying my head in the sand not work anymore?
Maybe I should have gone with Jericho.
Then I wouldn’t have put my foot in it with that kiss. Of course, then I wouldn’t have experienced that kiss at all. Which one is worse?
I try to open the door, and it’s locked. Which, duh. Who wouldn’t lock their doors before coming inside? Crud.
The car beeps, and the lock clicks open.
I twist to find Miles with the fob in his hand, an amused twist to his lips.
“I suppose I am here to help, it seems.” He has a nice voice.
Smokey, deep, one that slides under my ribs.
That’s not a thought I should have. Not after going on a date with Hunter last night and kissing Xavier today.
I really am a harlot.
They were all together last night, though.
Doesn’t that make them a package deal? I’m so confused.
What is my life turning into? Is this one of those vivid waking dreams?
It’s lasting longer than I’d expect a dream to.
And it’s a lot hotter than any of my dreams have been in the past. My imagination isn’t normally that interesting or nice.
“Thank you.” It’s all I can think of to say. The less I talk, the better at this point. All I’m doing is sticking my foot in my mouth, which is impressive since I’m not that flexible.
Augustus is in the back, and they even put a seat belt on his carrier, which makes me smile. There’s a duffel bag next to it that seems too full to just be outfits and lizard food. Opening it up, I immediately see why: it’s filled with my clothes and what looks to be some toiletries.
“Oh, you got stuff for me.”
“You’re going to be here a few nights at least, and we can’t let you go back to your own home while we sort this out.”
“This” meaning the shooting and whatever they’re involved in that I suddenly am too.
“Why did they um… Did I do something to them?” I don’t know how since I’m not that interesting, and I don’t do anything that I feel is worth shooting me over.
I don’t gamble, I’m not in debt, I haven’t promised my first born to anyone—which wouldn’t matter since I don’t have a kid yet, and they’d need to wait a while for me to fulfil that one.
“No.”
Again, with no elaboration.
“Did Hunter do something to them?” Miles takes the duffel bag from me, letting it hang by his side.
“No.”
This is the weirdest, most disturbing game of twenty questions I’ve ever played.
Also the most frustrating. “Did you do something to them?” Even if the answer is “yes,” what does that have to do with me?
Or coming to my house to shoot at me? I don’t know why I’m not more frightened.
Best not to think about it too hard, or I’ll become a mess.
“In a manner of speaking.”
More of an answer, I guess, but one that comes with more questions. He asks his own before I can get another out. I didn’t know what I wanted to ask anyway.
“Why do you have clothing for an animal?”
Clothing for—oh, Augustus. “Lots of people get clothes for their cats and dogs.”
“That’s not either of those,” Miles points out.
“When I first got him, I started getting all these ads that were mostly about food for bearded dragon lizards. You know how when you see something, or talk about something, and suddenly your Facebook or Instagram feed is filled with it?” It happens to me enough it has to be a thing.
Sometimes I only have to think about something, and suddenly it’s everywhere.
The corner of his mouth lifts. “I don’t have either of those.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“That sounds nice.”
The curve lifts further, and I swear it’s a smile.
He looks even nicer like that. Softer, somehow.
Softer and more approachable. Also, still super dangerous.
It’s a strangely compelling combination.
I can’t help but glance at his very nice red lips, which is—stop that.
Get your lizard out of the car and stop looking at everyone.
“Does it?” he asks.
“Haven’t you ever heard the term doomscrolling?”
“No, and given the name, I doubt I’m missing out on much.”
This whole conversation is wild. “You aren’t,” I assure him.
I don’t think I’ve met anyone over the age of fifteen who doesn’t have at least one social media profile.
It really does sound nice. Stress free. The thought of closing down all of mine leaves me in a cold sweat.
They do that on purpose, make people addicted to it, reliant on it.
I’ve at least only succumbed to two of them, which I consider an accomplishment.
“What’s the point of doing it? Dressing it up?
” He jerks his head towards the car, to let me know what he’s talking about.
Which is good because it would have taken me an embarrassing amount of time to switch back to that.
He really does have nice lips. Does he put something on them to make them that shade, or is it natural?
Not a dark red or even lipstick red, just a nice coloured tinge to them.
What were we talking about? Oh, right. “There isn’t one, really. It’s fun, and he likes it.” Not everything has to be more complicated than that, though these three men do seem to like complicated.
“He likes it,” Miles repeats. “The lizard?”
“Yeah.”
He tilts his head, studying me before glancing at Augustus, who’s watching us with his intelligent eyes. “How do you know?”
“I… don’t really know. He doesn’t fuss or try to take them off?” Low-bar criteria. He’s not stressed out by it, so I figure it’s fine. How does one ask a lizard for permission to dress them up? I’m going to Google it later.
Miles nods, like we’re talking about a really serious matter. “Does he have a favourite?”
“Not that I’ve noticed, but he hasn’t worn everything yet.”