2. Ivy
CHAPTER TWO
Ivy
Hunter waves down a passing server and flashes a boyish grin that probably gets him anything he wants in life. Three shots appear like magic.
No salt, no lime. Just clear silver in slim glasses lined up between us.
We clink. The sound is sharp and clean.
I tip mine back. The tequila scorches my throat on the way down, and I suck in a breath through my teeth, wincing.
Hunter laughs, low and wicked. “You good?”
“Peachy,” I rasp, blinking the burn out of my eyes. “Didn’t realize I signed up for gasoline.”
Rhett’s mouth curves into something crooked. “It gets better.”
Does it? I’m already buzzing. Not enough to forget where I am or who I’m with, but just enough that the edges of everything start to blur.
Music thumps through the walls behind us. Laughter spills from the bar. Inside, the team is still celebrating.
“We really cooked those bastards tonight,” Hunter says, stretching like a satisfied cat. “Poor guys. I almost felt bad.”
I grin. “You didn’t.”
“Not even a little.”
Rhett’s quiet, leaning back against the balcony railing with another lit cigarette in one hand and his gaze on me. That hazel-gold stare hasn’t drifted since we stepped out here. It should be unnerving. It isn’t.
I’m not sure what surprises me more—that I’m bantering with two professional athletes on a balcony in Miami, or that it feels easy. Familiar, almost. They don’t know me. I don’t know them. And yet…
They keep leaning closer. Not in an obvious way. It’s subtle. A brush of Rhett’s arm against mine. Hunter’s knee bumping mine and not moving away. The way both of them angle their bodies toward me like I’m already part of whatever this is.
I let my weight shift onto one hip, steadying myself. My legs are bare—thanks to Brooke and her summer manifesto—and the night air slides over my skin like silk.
“Is this normal?” I ask, turning toward them. “You guys flirt with strangers after every win?”
Hunter shrugs, all teeth and dimples. “Only the pretty ones.”
“I’m pretty sure Hunter means ‘ only the sexiest ones ,’” Rhett adds, deadpan.
I feel my skin prickle with excitement. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.”
Hunter nudges my foot with his. “You gonna let us buy you another round, or do we head out for salsa instead?”
“Are you going to take the shots with me?’ I smile at him.
He shakes his head. “I’m driving. I’ve done all my drinking for the night.”
“Then let’s do salsa,” I say.
“Yeah?” Rhett asks. “I can take shots with you if you want.”
“No, I’m good.”
I let them lead me back indoors. I bend to grab my heels from where I’d kicked them off earlier. They’re strappy and ridiculous and digging into my pinky toes, but they pull the whole outfit together.
I should say something clever. Set a boundary. Remind myself this is just rooftop small talk.
But I can’t stop grinning.
I slip my shoes back on, standing tall again. “I should probably tell someone where I’m going. So no one files a missing persons report.”
I dig out my phone. My fingers hover for a second before I tap out a quick message.
Hey, don’t wait up. Might be out late. All good. I’ll text when I’m back.
I hit send before I can overthink it. Brooke replies within seconds.
T just told me about your two hot dates. How is it going? Actually, don’t tell me. Just send me a safe word so I know you’re sober.
I smother a laugh, type back.
Ceviche.
“Everything okay?” Rhett asks.
“Yeah.” I tuck the phone into my clutch. “Just letting my best friend know I haven’t been abducted.”
Hunter grins, stepping a little closer. “Not yet.”
His tone is joking, but something about it lands low in my stomach. My skin tingles.
He offers his arm like we’re heading into a gala. “Come on, the night’s young.”
And just like that, I follow.
We pile into a black Range Rover, sleek and quiet and still humming with cold air from the valet line. Hunter takes the driver’s seat, hands confident on the wheel. Rhett claims shotgun.
I slip into the back, the leather warm beneath my bare thighs, the interior low-lit and silent except for the faint thump of music still in my veins.
Hunter catches my eye in the rearview mirror. “You okay back there?”
I smirk, settling back. “I’m great.”
Rhett twists a little in his seat, glancing back at me. “You’re awfully calm for someone being kidnapped by two giant men.”
“Is this a Florida thing?” I tease.
He chuckles, voice low and gravel-edged. “Nah. This is a you thing.”
We glide through traffic, the city slipping past in streaks of gold and red. When we hit a red light, Rhett turns fully in his seat, his arm draped casually over the console as he angles his body toward me.
“Can I ask something?”
“Sure.”
His gaze holds mine—curious, but not invasive. “Are you okay with this?”
“This?”
“Letting two guys flirt with you at once.”
Something tightens low in my belly. My skin hums, aware of every inch of space between us.
“I don’t mind it,” I say honestly.
Hunter glances over his shoulder, flashing that lopsided grin. “Has it happened before?”
I open my mouth. Pause. My throat goes dry. “I’ve never— I’ve never been with more than one person.”
“At once?” Rhett’s voice dips, rich and slow.
“At all,” I admit, barely audible. “I thought I was very traditional. The closest I’ve come to out of the norm is kissing a girl during a college dare. And that barely counts. There was tequila involved. And glitter. But I’m finding that I don’t mind this…”
Hunter lets out a low whistle. “We’re definitely gonna need the full story on that sometime.”
Rhett doesn’t laugh. He just watches me. Then his hand reaches back—warm and steady—and lands on my knee.
“We don’t mind sharing, Ivy,” he says, voice soft but firm. “That’s kind of our thing, but only if you want this. You set the pace.”
Hunter nods, his tone light but sincere. “We’re excellent teachers.”
My breath catches when Rhett’s fingertips start to move—barely there, drawing slow, teasing circles just above the crease of my knee. His touch isn’t pushy.
It’s careful. Patient. Like he’s waiting for permission that my body is already screaming to give.
My pulse thrums.
“I feel like I’m already in class,” I murmur, leaning back slightly, the heat in my cheeks mirrored between my thighs.
Hunter makes a sharp turn, pulling onto a quieter street lined with palm trees and high-end condos.
“Forget the salsa club,” he says.
“Where are we going?”
“The penthouse.” He says it so casually, like it’s obvious. Like it’s always been the plan. “Unless you’d rather keep pretending you’re not dying for this.”
I glance between them.
Hunter’s jaw is tight. His eyes on me in the mirror are dark now—no more jokes.
Rhett’s hand is still on my thigh, a pressure that anchors me in the moment.
The way they look at me—it’s not greedy. It’s reverent. Like I’m already theirs and they’re just waiting for me to say yes.
“Yes,” I whisper.
Rhett doesn’t waste a second. His hand slides higher up my thigh, fingers firm, callused, dragging goosebumps in their wake. His touch is rough in a way that makes my breath catch—like he doesn’t just want to feel me, he wants to leave an imprint. A memory.
His palm rests just beneath the hem of my dress, the tips of his fingers barely brushing where I’m already warm. His knuckles graze the softest part of me. Not quite a touch. More like a promise.
My legs shift, parting slightly on instinct.
He pulls me to the edge of my seat. A low sound escapes me—a whimper I don’t mean to make. It fills the quiet car like smoke, curling in the space between us. Rhett’s eyes darken. His jaw clenches.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, and I swear I feel the word against my skin.
Then Hunter moves.
One arm hooks behind the passenger seat and the other lifts, his hand cradling my jaw like he’s done it a hundred times. Gentle and sure. His thumb skims the corner of my mouth, and I don’t realize I’m leaning toward him until I’m already halfway there.
“You okay?” he asks, voice low.
I nod. My throat’s too dry to speak.
Hunter leans in. Not fast. Not greedy. Just close enough that I can smell the faint trace of his cologne— bergamot, something sharp and clean that makes my head swim.
His lips brush mine. Soft at first. Just a taste.
He pulls back a breath, watching me.
I chase it.
Our mouths meet again—deeper this time. My hand fists his shirt, dragging him closer as his tongue slides against mine, slow and hot and claiming. He kisses me like he has nowhere else to be. Like this was always going to happen.
Like he already knows exactly how I like it.
Rhett’s hand never leaves my thigh, but his mouth is near my ear now, breath hot as he murmurs, “You look so fucking good kissing him.”
Hunter pulls back just enough to let me breathe, his forehead resting against mine, his thumb stroking my cheek.
“Ivy,” he says, and my name sounds different in his mouth.
“I want this,” I whisper.
Rhett’s lips brush my shoulder, his voice lower than a growl. “Then you’ve got us.”
I melt between them.
It’s been so long since I’ve been touched like this—wanted without hesitation, without fear.
And tonight?
I don’t want to be careful. I don’t want to behave.
I want to be theirs.