Chapter Sixteen
Orion
It took all of one goddamn day for me to text her.
Maybe I’m weak. Maybe I just needed more.
Or maybe Juliet is the kind of woman who fucks a man straight into insanity.
That soft little body should not be able to take me the way she did. That’s a whole new level of unfair.
And yet here I am.
At her house.
For dinner.
With her boyfriend.
I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, but I know one thing, I couldn’t say no.
Maybe I want to see what kind of man she loves. Or maybe I’m just fucking crazy enough to hear out this strange fucking arrangement they have.
The house is nice. Cute, even. Big. Well-kept. Warm light glows from the windows, something inviting about the whole setup.
There are two cars in the driveway.
I pause, dragging a hand over my jaw.
What the fuck am I doing?
My phone buzzes.
Tammy.
Jesus.
I don’t even bother opening it. I already know what the text says.
I tried polite. I tried firm. I tried fucking ignoring her.
Nothing works.
I send one text back.
Fuck off.
Then I pocket my phone and make my way up the walk.
I barely get a second to knock before the door swings open.
And I’m greeted by a man.
Noah.
Juliet’s boyfriend.
And shit, I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.
He’s not like me.
He’s solid enough, but not built. He’s got more of a quiet, easy charm, something about him that screams poet, student, maybe even musician.
Not competition.
Not a threat.
But still…
This is fucking weird.
“You must be Orion,” he says, eyeing me, assessing, but not hostile.
I nod once. “Noah?”
“Yeah,” he says.
Silence.
A beat too long.
He clears his throat, stepping back to let me in. Not quite awkward, but not exactly comfortable, either. “Juliet’s in the kitchen,” he says, waving toward the living room. “Come on in. It’s almost ready.”
I step inside.
The house smells amazing. Warm, buttery, rich, something homemade.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but this? This is home.
It fits her.
But the fact that Noah fits in it too?
I don’t know how I feel about that yet.
I follow Noah to the kitchen.
Juliet is there, looking as fucking delicious as whatever she’s cooking smells.
She’s smiling, soft, sweet, completely at ease, like this isn’t weird, like this isn’t completely fucked.
Like this is just another night at home.
She wipes her hands on her apron.
Pink. Edged in a little ribbon.
My mind immediately takes that and runs straight into the fucking gutter, because now I’m picturing her in just that apron, bent over the counter, ass up, begging me to…
Jesus Christ.
I force my gaze back up just as she walks over.
No hesitation.
And then?
She kisses my jaw.
Just like that.
Not shy, not careful, just casual as hell, like she does it all the time.
Like she’s already mine.
Her lips are soft. Warm.
Fuck.
“I’m so glad you came,” she says, all sunshine and ease. “I can’t wait for you two to get to know each other.”
She gives a little bounce on her toes, turning to Noah like this is some kind of playdate she set up.
He forces a smile.
And shit, I don’t know if he’s faking it for her or for me.
Juliet waves us off, shooing us toward the dining room. “Go sit down, I’ll serve in just a bit.”
Huh.
Okay.
The table’s already set, plates, silverware, drinks.
Mine’s a soda.
I pick it up, take a sip. It’s cream soda.
My favorite.
I pause, frowning slightly.
Odd.
I sit. Noah does too, right across from me.
Okay.
So we’re doing this.
I drum my fingers against the table, debating whether or not to say something.
“So… you been dating her long?” I ask, because fuck it, might as well acknowledge the fucking elephant sitting at the table with us.
Noah huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Several months now.”
Several months.
Not years.
Interesting.
“This is kinda strange,” I say.
He laughs again, easy, like he’s already had to process this a long time ago. “Yeah. But she’s worth it.”
I nod, because yeah, I bet she is.
“How’d you meet her?” I ask.
He smiles, like he’s replaying it in his head. “Bumped into her at work.” His voice goes soft, a little distant. “She was everything I dreamed about. Like… too perfect to be real.”
No shit.
“She’s a hell of a woman,” I say, more to myself than anything.
“An angel,” he says.
That makes me pause.
That’s a strong fucking word.
Angel.
Not just beautiful. Not just perfect.
Something holy.
Something devotional.
I tilt my head slightly, watching him. “You okay with this?”
Because fuck, I don’t know if I would be if I was here first.
Noah meets my gaze. Steady. Certain.
“Yeah,” he says. Then, after a pause, like he’s measuring his words carefully, he adds, “She’s pretty sure she needs you.”
What?
That’s an odd way to put it.
Before I can press, Juliet walks in, carrying a casserole dish, steam curling from the edges, smelling like heaven.
She sets it down on a hot pad in the center of the table.
“I hope you’re both hungry,” she says, beaming. “I made lasagna. Pasta from scratch.”
I stare at the dish.
My fucking favorite.
I swallow, my throat suddenly dry.
Coincidence?
Juliet smiles, so sweet, so fucking knowing, and then turns back toward the kitchen.
“I’ll get the garlic bread. Go ahead and start!” she calls over her shoulder.
That ass.
That little fucking bounce in her step.
Jesus.
“She’s an amazing cook,” Noah says, voice casual, like we’re just two buddies having dinner, like this isn’t a whole fucked-up situation.
“You like something, just tell her. She’ll have it next time you see her.”
My head whips toward him.
Excuse me?
“You realize her and I?” I start, testing the waters, seeing how far he’s thought this through.
“Yeah,” he says, cutting into his lasagna like I just told him it might rain tomorrow.
I hesitate, then serve myself too.
Because fuck it.
I’m already in too deep.
Juliet comes back with two plates of bread, setting them down with absolute fucking precision.
The extra dark, practically burnt ones land in front of Noah. The golden, perfectly toasted ones? Right by me.
“Noah likes his stuff a little overcooked,” she says, all sweetness and sin, her voice completely innocent, like she’s not absolutely wrecking me with every word. “You two are like night and day.”
She glances at me, all bright-eyed and dangerous, then back at Noah with the same level of devotion.
It’s insane.
Then she tilts her head, all casual and knowing, and drops the next bomb like it’s nothing:
“He also doesn’t eat sweets, so dessert is all for us.”
I blink.
What the fuck.
“I made butterscotch pudding,” she continues, watching my reaction like she’s waiting for it to land.
And oh, it lands.
Not store-bought, either. No half-assed, from-a-box shit.
No. Homemade.
Of fucking course.
I take a bite of lasagna before I say something I probably shouldn’t.
It’s unbelievable.
This girl is a menace.
Juliet smiles, serves herself a plate, and watches us.
Her eyes flick between me and Noah, like she’s evaluating us, seeing how we’re vibing.
And then?
Like she’s decided we need bonding time, she says, “Did Noah tell you he writes songs?”
I glance at him.
Noah shifts, looking a little uncomfortable.
“Plays guitar, too,” she adds, tearing a small bite of bread.
“No,” I say. I take another bite of lasagna, because I need something to do with my mouth before I say something stupid.
Juliet sighs, like Noah’s been keeping secrets. “He’s really good.”
Noah gives a half-smile, shaking his head like she’s exaggerating.
“I already told Noah you lift like a beast,” she says, her bright blue eyes locking onto mine. “Though, I mean… you can tell just by looking at you.”
She pops the small bite of bread between her lips, chewing slowly.
Jesus.
“You’re absolutely carved in stone,” she murmurs.
I grip my fork tighter.
Shameless.
No hesitation. No shyness.
Just Juliet, sitting between us, running her mouth like she’s completely unaware that she’s making it impossible to focus on anything else.
Noah glances at her and smiles, shaking his head like he’s used to this.
Then he shrugs at me, like, Yeah, man. This is just how she is.
And fuck me, I shrug back.
Because hell, maybe he’s right.
Maybe this is just how she is.
Maybe we’re just going to have to accept it.
I take another bite, because I don’t know what else to do.
And that’s when Juliet leans in, eyes shining, her voice so sweet, so unhinged, so completely fucking casual:
“Don’t eat too much,” she says, slicing her fork in her pasta, “There’s dessert…”
She lifts a bite to her mouth. “And after, well… I don’t want either of you to have too full of a tummy if we decide to take this to the other room.”
I almost fall out of my chair.
Noah chokes on his drink.
Juliet?
Juliet just smiles like she didn’t just drop an atomic bomb in the middle of dinner, and then?
She pops the bite of lasagna into her mouth, and chews like nothing happened.
I laugh, because this is straight out of a fucking porno.
Hot college girl invites you over, feeds you lasagna, and suddenly it’s an orgy.
The meal first is a nice touch.
Noah, ever the composed one, sets his fork down carefully. Methodical. Thoughtful.
Then he looks at me.
“This is a first for me,” he says. Like we’re discussing a new restaurant. “You?”
I blink at him.
I glance at Juliet, who is still sitting there, eating her food like she didn’t just suggest that we all fuck after dessert.
Then I look back at Noah.
“Yeah,” I say.
And then?
Juliet grins.
Fucking grins.
Like she just won the sex lottery.
She lets out a tiny, delighted giggle, then claps her hands together like a kid on Christmas morning.
“I’ll be your first,” she practically purrs. “Both of you.” She leans forward, eyes bright, thrilled, devious. “That’s something special.”
I swear to god, she fucking twinkles.
Like she just convinced us to adopt a puppy together.
“We’ll celebrate this night yearly,” she announces.
I choke on my drink.
Noah rubs his temple, sighing.
The yearly orgy?
This is happening.
I stare at both of them.
Noah, looking resigned but not at all unwilling.
Juliet, smug as hell, breaks another bite of bread like she’s already planned the invitations.
Am I doing this?
Yes.
Hell yes.
Because Juliet .
And Noah was right.
She’s worth it.
And hell.
This is wet dream shit.