Chapter Two
“A threesome?” Gwen echoed.
“Maybe it’s the booze talking,” Bailey suggested.
“It is not the booze talking,” Chloe said and hiccupped.
“You’re drunk,” Gwen pointed out.
“I’m drunk now, yes,” Chloe agreed and hiccupped again. “I was not drunk when I came up with this wish.”
“Which was?”
“Sophomore year of college.”
“You’ve wanted a threesome for ten years?” Bailey asked, incredulous. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Chloe blinked. “Um. I meant a threesome with two men.”
Bailey rolled her eyes. “Duh. I know you’re straight, Chlo.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“I think she means it’s weird that you’ve been thinking about this for ten years and you’ve never said anything,” Gwen put in.
Chloe shrugged. “I guess I just felt weird about it.”
“Why? We talk about sex all the time.”
“You talk about sex all the time,” Chloe corrected Bailey. “I mostly just listen.”
“Okay, that’s fair,” Bailey admitted.
“Why now?” Gwen asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean after ten years, why are you doing this now?”
“Because I’m thirty,” Chloe said. “And horny. And…”
“And you’ve met someone you want to do this with,” Bailey guessed. “I mean, someones.”
“No.”
Bailey arched an eyebrow. “Chloe.”
“No.”
The other eyebrow went up. “Chloe.
“No.”
Both eyebrows drew fiercely down in a stern scowl. “Chloe Elizabeth Bell.”
“Little bit,” Chloe confessed.
“I knew it,” Bailey crowed while Gwen gasped in shock. “Who?”
“It’s not important,” Chloe insisted, cheeks burning.
“If it wasn’t important you’d tell us,” Gwen pointed out. “And you wouldn’t be blushing.”
That was the trouble with lifelong friends, Chloe thought. They knew you too well to buy your bullshit. “Okay, but you have to swear you won’t say a word. To anybody.”
“Who are we going to tell?” Gwen wondered.
“I don’t know, but you have to swear.”
“I swear,” Bailey said. “You swear, Gwen?”
“I totally swear.”
“On your lives?” Chloe prompted.
“On my life, on my soul, on my corset collection and my pair of perfectly broken in knee-high Ferragamos,” Bailey said impatiently. “Tell us already.”
“Okay.” Chloe blew out a breath. “You know how Carrie and Mo bought the space next to the bar last year so they could expand?”
Bailey nodded. “Sure, I remember.”
“They’ve been looking for a while for someone who could handle it, and they found this company.
” Chloe paused to lift her glass, realized it was empty, and set it down again.
“They’ve been in and out of the bar for the last month or so, taking measurements, drawing up plans, meeting with the aunts. ”
She snatched the bottle of Kahlúa off the table, poured herself a shot, and downed it. “And I’ve spent the last month or so having to change my panties after work.”
“Whoa.”
“I’ll second that,” Bailey said. “Who are these guys?”
“Hammer & Ink. That’s the name of their company. One of them is an architect, the other one does the contractor stuff.” Chloe blew out a breath. “And they’re both so damn hot I can’t stand it.”
Bailey had her phone in her hand and was tapping furiously at the screen. “God, I miss when search engines were useful. They’re a couple?”
“Uh-huh. Married for five years, Mo said. In business together slightly longer. Living rent-free in my head since Thanksgiving.”
“Here it is,” Bailey announced, then went still. “Oh.”
“Let me see, let me see.” Gwen moved over, pushing her face against Bailey’s to see the screen. “Oh.”
Chloe wanted another shot, but her head was already spinning, so she just lay down on the floor. “Told you.”
“I can’t decide which one is hotter,” Bailey mused. “The silver fox or the fuckboy.”
“He really does look like a fuckboy,” Gwen agreed, then hastened to add, “but not in a bad way.”
“No, in the very best way,” Chloe said and closed her eyes. It didn’t stop her from picturing Knox Ager and Jesse Colson in all their silver fox, fuckboy glory.
The first time she’d seen Knox he’d been in a suit, navy with a subtle pinstripe in a lighter blue, a vest to match, and a tie that reversed the colors of the suit. The suit had been sharp enough to catch her eye, but it was the face that had made her do a double-take.
He had smooth olive skin that glowed warm against the silver of his neatly trimmed beard, a mane of hair the same color that he wore swept back from a high forehead.
His cheekbones were sharp, his jaw square, giving his face a sculpted appearance that made her fingers itch for a sketch pad even though she couldn’t draw for shit.
He had smokey hazel eyes that glinted with warmth and humor, a slow smile that had butterflies dancing in her belly, and when he’d introduced himself, his voice had been low and smooth with just a hint of a drawl.
She’d managed to take his drink order without drooling, called back to the office to let Aunt Mo know he was waiting, and was mixing his Manhattan when Jesse had walked in.
Dressed in well-worn jeans and a long-sleeved gray T-shirt with the company logo emblazoned across the chest, he was Knox’s opposite, but no less gorgeous.
Curly brown hair, thick and wild and shot through with red and gold, tumbled into his eyes.
She’d watched, her heart pounding double-time, as he’d flipped it back with a toss of his head and aimed that fuckboy smile at her.
“Hey, beautiful,” he’d said, dimples popping in cheeks covered with a day’s scruff.
His eyes, a deep, soft brown, danced with warmth and humor, as though he knew exactly what effect he was having on her pulse rate.
He’d ambled toward the bar with an unhurried stride, settled on the stool beside Knox, and aimed a wicked smile. “How about a cold beer?”
She was very much afraid that if Mo hadn’t come out of the office at that very moment, she might have fallen at their feet.
Since then, she’d managed to act somewhat normal whenever they came in to go over plans or talk about changes with her aunts, relaxing enough to be able to exchange casual greetings and idle chitchat if they had to wait.
But her heart still beat double-time whenever Jesse smiled at her, and Knox’s voice still sent butterflies dancing through her belly, and she’d had to go buy more underwear to avoid having to do laundry three times a week.
“What do you know about them?” Bailey asked, interrupting her stroll down Panty-Soaking Lane.
Chloe opened her eyes. “Just what it says on the website, and what they’ve told the aunts. Which isn’t much, I guess.”
“They’ve got a pretty thorough bio,” Gwen said, scrolling on the phone. “Education, experience.”
“I mean personal stuff,” Bailey interrupted. “You said they got together before they went into business together?”
“The other way around,” Gwen said, still scrolling.
“Carrie said they were both working for another firm when they met. Workplace romance.”
“Aw.”
“Yeah, except there was a company policy against fraternization, plus the owner was a raging homophobe. So they both got fired.”
Bailey scowled. “Dick.”
“After that, they decided to go out on their own, and be loud and proud.”
“If these photos are any indication, they do beautiful work,” Gwen said, finally looking up from the phone.
“The question is, what kind of work do they do in bed?” Bailey wondered and waggled her eyebrows. “And do they do it with women?”
“Their bio says they’re bi.”
Bailey snatched the phone from Gwen’s hand. “Seriously?”
“They’re open about it,” Chloe said. “Loud and proud, remember?”
“That’s awesome. Bi erasure sucks.”
“They may be un-erased, but they’re still married,” Gwen pointed out.
“Married doesn’t necessarily mean monogamous,” Bailey pointed out.
“It usually does,” Chloe countered. “And even if it doesn’t, just how the hell am I supposed to get that information?”
“That is a pickle,” Gwen agreed. “I guess you can’t just ask.”
“Maybe I can,” Bailey offered. “I could come by when they’re there, strike up a conversation.”
“And say what? ‘Hey, do you guys ever double-team chicks for fun’?”
“Well, I wouldn’t be crude,” Bailey muttered.
“Is there a non-crude way to ask that question?” Gwen asked.
Bailey considered that. “Maybe I could email them a survey.”
“Please don’t help,” Chloe begged.
“Well, how else are you going to make this threesome happen?”
“I don’t know. Hookup apps?”
“That’s a terrible idea,” Gwen replied, appalled. “Absolutely horrible. You might as well walk naked into a biker bar.”
“There aren’t any biker bars in Braxton,” Chloe told her.
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
“That hookup apps are a terrible idea!”
“Why are we talking about hookup apps?” Bailey asked. “I thought you wanted a threesome with Hammer and Ink.”
“I’d give my lapidary saw to have a threesome with Hammer and Ink,” Chloe declared.
“What’s a lapidary saw?” Gwen wondered.
“One of her jewelry-making thingies,” Bailey replied.
“But since the chances of that happening are exactly zero,” Chloe continued, “I’m moving on. In fact, I’ll just get a double-headed dildo and call it good.”
“TMI,” Gwen protested.
“Prude,” Bailey accused.
“Libertine,” Gwen countered.
Bailey turned to Chloe. “Did she just call me a slut?”
“Sort of, but in a very proper and ladylike fashion. Can we forget I ever brought this up?”
“No, it’s your birthday wish. It’s important. We can figure this out.”
“I can figure this out,” Chloe corrected. “It’s not a group project.”
Bailey ignored her. “If Hammer and Ink are off the table, and so are hookup apps—Gwen is right, that’s a terrible idea—”
Gwen smirked. “Told you.”
“—then we’re going to have to get creative.” Bailey tapped a blue-tipped fingernail against her lips. “Do you know anybody who’d be up for this?”
“Every cook and busboy at the restaurant,” Gwen replied. “But you’d probably be safer with the bikers.”
“Seriously? That restaurant has a Michelin star,” Chloe said.
Gwen snorted. “Like that means anything.”
“I could ask Nash,” Bailey went on. “I’m sure he knows someone. He’d probably do it himself, actually, if you wanted.”