Chapter 11 Rule #11 Make your intentions clear.
Archer
The restaurant has cleared out, and I have lost count of how many drinks I’ve had. But I’m not sure it’s the beer I feel drunk on or the way Freya’s eyes shine under the warm glow of the overhead lighting. Or how Julian’s leg against mine feels like an anchor, holding me in place.
There’s something happening in this friendly little dinner of ours, and I don’t hate it. In fact…I don’t want to leave. I’m not even sure what time it is or how long we’ve been sitting here, but I could die in this spot, and I’d die a happy man.
Running my finger along the rim of my glass, a smile stretches across my lips.
“You know…” I start. It’s the alcohol giving me the courage to tell this story, but I just feel comfortable enough now with them. “My best friend thinks we should have fucked.”
Freya nearly spits her drink all over me, and Julian breaks out in laughter that sounds like sex, joy, and evil all rolled into one.
“Is that so?” Freya asks, wiping her chin with her napkin.
“In the elevator?” Julian says.
With a wicked smirk, I nod. “Yeah. And it got me thinking…if it had just been two of us…maybe we would have.”
Freya tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, and it makes my cock twitch in my pants. And I swear I feel Julian pressing back subtly on my leg.
“Which two?” she asks.
The dynamic between all three of us grows tense as I glance sideways at Julian before looking back at her. “What about me and you?” I ask Freya.
She breaks out in an adorable laugh, covering her lips with her fingers. “Um…yeah, probably.”
I couldn’t fight my smile right now if I tried, so I don’t bother. It feels nice to let it stretch across my face, dimpling my cheeks and making Freya blush.
“I think so too,” I agree. “What about you two?”
Glancing back and forth between them as they stare at each other, I see a fire brewing that is different from the connection Freya and I or Julian and I share. There is animosity turned attraction between them.
When neither of them say anything, just staring at each other for a second too long, I start to worry it was a mistake to ask this question. Julian breaks first, his eyes crinkling with a smile. Freya lets her head fall forward, hiding her bashful expression.
“Is that a yes?” I ask.
Julian quietly mutters, “I’d like to think so.”
“Yeah, definitely angry sex though, right?” she inquires with a wrinkle between her brows.
“Definitely,” he echoes.
Freya picks up her drink again, giving a drunk little hiccup as she takes a sip. I watch as her eyes dance back and forth between me and him. As she sets her glass down, I anticipate her question before she even asks it.
“And you two? If it were just you guys in the elevator for twelve hours…would you?”
I turn toward Julian, and my tongue darts out and licks my lower lip, his eyes tracking the movement. “I don’t know, fancy pants. What do you think?”
His throat moves as he swallows. Then, with a flat, uncaring expression, he softly mumbles, “You wish, tough guy.”
Nudging his leg with mine, I shoot him a wink. “I do wish.”
I watch with pleasure as his cheeks turn a radiant red. Sweeping his gaze away from me, he tries—and fails—to hide the effect I have on him.
He loves when I flirt with him.
As I turn my attention back to Freya, I feel a hand on my leg, just above my knee. Without making it obvious, I cast my eyes downward to see Julian’s long, delicate fingers resting there, gently touching the inside of my thigh.
And I thought I was the one making him squirm.
My cock stirs, the contact causing me to fidget in my seat. And when I look down at the table, I see their fingers gently intertwined.
So she’s touching him and he’s touching me, and this beer is going straight to my fucking head because all I can think now is that I’d like to get out of here and see where else our hands and mouths can take us.
“Maybe…” I say, clearing my throat, “if we were in that elevator just a couple more hours, it would have happened.”
Freya’s eyes meet mine. And Julian’s hand squeezes.
And we need to get the fuck out of here.
“What do you guys say we take this party back to my place?”
“I’m in,” Freya says in a rush, downing the rest of her French 75.
Just then, the server passes us, and I quickly wave her down, pulling my wallet out in a rush. Julian says something to her in French, and she responds with a smile. And honestly, I don’t care what they’re saying as long as it means we can leave quicker.
She pulls out the pad of paper from her back pocket and hands us the bill.
Without even looking at it, I pass her three hundred euros.
Then I stand up. The alcohol hits me even harder when I get to my feet.
I see Freya sway a little when she bursts up from her chair.
The rest turns into a blur. The three of us struggling to get our coats on with laughter, stumbling out the door, climbing into the back of Julian’s car with me smack-dab in the middle.
The ride to our building is quiet and tense. I only register the way his leg continues to press against mine, and when I look at him, I only see the sharp angles of his face and the icy color of his irises.
Freya rests her hand in mine and her head on my shoulder, and I don’t take my gaze from the man at my side. I won’t do anything in this car with his driver sitting silently in front of us, but the longer I stare at him, the more I want to taste those mean pink lips.
Just beyond his silhouette in the dark car, I see the Eiffel Tower sparkle in the distance. And while I register that Freya’s weight on my shoulder has grown heavy, I find myself leaning closer to Julian.
With our faces just inches apart, I stare into his eyes before I bring my mouth to his ear.
I don’t speak a word. I just let him hear the shallow edge of my breath.
Then I bring my hand to his leg, slowly gliding it over the surface of his thick slacks.
He shudders as I ease my fingers to the bulge at his crotch, squeezing him mercilessly and hearing the subtle, nearly silent moan deep in his chest.
With my lips against his ear, I whisper, “Is this for me?”
Maybe I’m being too loud or he’s embarrassed about being groped in front of his driver, but he suddenly shoves me away.
Releasing my hand from the front of his pants, I stare into his eyes with a drunk smile, and I watch as the cold, emotionless facade fades away and he gifts me with a wicked grin in return.
I turn toward Freya and find her nearly slumped over in the seat. “I think she fell asleep,” I say with a chuckle.
He laughs too, leaning over to see her. “We can take her up to my place. She can sleep in my spare room.” His eyes find mine as he adds, “You’re welcome to stay there as well…of course.”
Watching Julian stutter nervously is a treat. He strikes me as the kind of guy who always has to be austere and serious. When he’s drunk and nervous, it’s actually fucking adorable.
The car pulls up to our building. Julian jumps out first to come around and help me with Freya. As I wait for him, I brush her hair from her forehead, admiring just how beautiful she is with her long, dark lashes and slightly upturned nose with the gold hoop on one side.
Just before Julian opens her door, I press my lips to her forehead. She doesn’t even stir as he hoists her into his arms. As I climb out, the ground starting to sway a little again, I take in the sight of them, and I can’t get over how good they look together.
As we walk into the building, me first, I think about how incredible this feeling is—being so into two people at the same time. Two people who seem as into each other and me too.
And I’m no stranger to this type of dynamic. It shouldn’t be so foreign to me at all. My brother has been in a happy polyamorous relationship since before I was born. He’s been married to Ellis and Hanna for nearly thirty years now. I see the way they complete and complement each other.
Not that my drunk mind is getting that far. Right now, all I can think about is how much I’d like to see them both naked. Not tonight, obviously. While that was sort of the plan, I’m not waking a passed-out drunk girl for sex. I might be a scoundrel at times, but I’m no monster.
As I press the button for the elevator, I turn around to find Julian bypassing me for the stairs.
“Where are you going?” I ask, hearing the slur in my voice.
“Not taking that,” he argues.
Running after him, I grab his arm, but he won’t stop.
“Then let me at least take her. It’s, like, six flights up.”
“I’ll be fine,” he grumbles, and for the first couple of flights, he is. Then he turns back toward me, and the drunk look on his face makes me laugh. It’s a loud, cackling, tipsy sound. Then he starts, and soon we’re both howling in a dark, empty stairwell with a drunk girl who’s passed out cold.
“How is this better than the elevator?” I ask in my laughter.
His back hits the wall as he takes a break, his perfectly coiffed hair falling out of place.
Crowding him against the bricks, I put my hands under Freya, who still doesn’t even move.
Before I take her, I stand toe-to-toe with Julian, staring into his eyes.
She’s nestled against his chest, her weight equally distributed as I lean toward him.
“I had fun tonight,” I say with a gravelly rasp to my voice.
“So did I,” he replies.
I want to kiss him, but then again, I’ve wanted to kiss him all night.
Is now really the right time? With her passed out in his arms?
Not to mention I’m still not quite sure where Julian stands.
Is he even into guys? I search my memory for the conversation in the elevator, wondering if I missed the signs right in front of my face, because the look he’s giving me now says he definitely is.