Knox
I stared at the blank screen long after the call ended, Maverick’s voice still ringing in my head like some kind of echo I couldn’t shake.
"I met someone.”
I closed my eyes and rubbed my hands over my face.
The words didn’t sting like I thought they would, at least not in the way people might assume.
There was no jealousy coiling in my gut, no sharp pang of betrayal.
I loved Maverick too much for that. We’d always promised each other honesty, freedom, room to grow—even if it wasn’t always easy.
And yet this was a curveball I hadn’t seen coming.
A woman.
Ajaih.
I repeated her name silently, letting the syllables roll around in my mind like puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit yet.
I wasn’t naive. I knew Maverick’s capacity to love went far beyond the neat labels most people liked to shove us into.
Hell, I was bisexual myself. I understood that love wasn’t a straight line, but it was more of a messy, unpredictable, expansive thing.
We'd talked about polyamory before, about openness, about trusting each other to explore when the time came, but this didn’t appear to be the casual exploration we’d occasionally engaged in during late nights as 20-somethings, being wild and free. This was something else.
He was falling.
For someone new.
For someone I didn’t know.
For someone who might, in time, take up space, I’d gotten used to calling ours.
I stood up and paced my newly renovated floors, my bare feet cool against the hardwood. The tranquil night air breezed through my open windows, caressing my skin. My head was buzzing, full of questions I wasn’t sure how I should even ask.
Who was she?
Did she see him? Like, really see him?
What did he see in her?
And the part I hated admitting even to myself:
Where would that leave us?
I trusted Maverick with everything, with my heart, with my body, with my truths that I hadn’t dared speak to anyone before him. He was my home, but the unknown, unpredictable, unsteady space we were about to step into, boy, did it scare the shit out of me.
And not for the reasons one might think, not because I didn’t want him to be happy.
More than anything, I wanted him to feel joy, to feel seen, to feel chosen.
After everything he'd survived, he deserved that.
He deserved someone who made him feel safe to explore every corner of himself, even the ones he was just now discovering.
I took a deep breath, pressing my palm flat against my chest like I could physically steady my heartbeat. This wasn’t about losing him. This was about change.
Change I hadn’t been prepared for.
My mind flashed back to the first time Maverick had ever said I love you. It had been hesitant, whispered against my neck in the dark, his breath shaky, his whole body trembling like the words themselves were foreign currency he wasn’t sure he could spend.
And now, hearing him say something so close to those words for someone else, it felt like standing at the edge of a cliff—equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.
I wasn’t angry, it wasn’t jealousy, it was anxiety.
I was anxious about what this meant, worried about who this Ajaih woman was, nervous about how our dynamic would shift, what new balances we’d have to find.
But underneath all of that was something softer, something steadier, love.
Because that was the point, wasn’t it? That’s what we’d built everything on, not ownership, not possession, damn sure not fear, pure unconditional love.
And love meant wanting him whole, even if that wholeness now included someone new.
I sat back down and let my head fall into my hands, exhaling slowly, my fingers tracing the edges of my phone, hovering for a moment before I typed out a message.
Me: I’m proud of you. And I’m happy you’re opening yourself up to this. When you’re ready, I’d like to see what she looks like. I’m sure she’s gorgeous.
I hit send before I could overthink it because at the end of the day, fear didn’t get to make decisions here, love did.
And I loved him enough to let him grow, even if I didn’t know exactly where that growth would lead us yet.
I leaned back into the couch and let the silence settle again.
"Ajaih."
I whispered her name to the empty room.
I didn’t know her yet, but I would because Maverick was falling for her, and wherever he landed, I intended to be standing close by.
Mav: Of course. She said it’s cool.
Seconds later, the photo appeared on my screen.
And the moment I opened it, my breath caught.
Jesus.
She was stunning.
Not just pretty. Not cute. Not attractive in that casual, passing kind of way. Stunning. Captivating. The type of beauty that makes time pause, that makes you forget your heartbeat for a second because you’re too busy staring.
Her honey-brown skin glowed against the soft backdrop, freckles making the perfect accessory to her luminous skin, her full lips slightly parted like she’d been caught mid-thought, and her eyes—God, those eyes.
They were sharp and warm at the same time, like she saw things most people missed but didn’t feel the need to speak them all out loud. They carried a quiet power.
A head full of sandy blonde curls framed her face like waves, wild and intentional all at once.
And then there were the tattoos, the bold ink climbing her arm, dancing across her shoulder like an intimate map of her story, and the small one just above her chest, drawing my gaze to the smooth dip of her collarbone.
She wore a little black dress that barely contained the soft curves of her body, and Louboutins graced her feet, making her round ass sit up higher. The way she held herself was confident, unapologetic, and centered.
Simply put, she was sexy as hell.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding as my thumb hovered over the photo as if touching the screen might somehow give me more of her, more of whatever force she radiated.
So this is her.
No wonder Maverick sounded different when he spoke about her. There was a gravity to her even through a damn photo.
But it wasn’t just about her looks, no, it was something else, something intangible that hummed beneath the surface.
I got the sense that she wasn’t afraid of complexity, of depth, of feeling.
She didn’t strike me as someone easily intimidated or easily impressed.
She looked like someone who’d lived, who’d fought her own battles, and who carried her victories and scars like art.
I sat down heavily on the couch, still staring, my thoughts spinning.
I was now certain it wasn’t jealousy; I wasn’t intimidated. What I felt was awe, arousal, and, if I was being honest, a new kind of curiosity was burning in my chest.
I wanted to know more about her, needed to even.
She had to be polyamorous if Maverick had been open with her about us, right?
She had to smell amazing and taste even better. A woman that fine had to smell like luxury, temptation, satiation.
And what kind of force would she bring into the careful, complicated little world we’d built?
My phone buzzed again.
Mav: Beautiful, right?
A small smile tugged at my lips.
Me: She’s gorgeous, fuck. Like…no disrespect, but my dick is hard, Mav… damn. And her energy? I get it now. I feel it through the photo.
I stared at the screen for another few seconds before adding:
Me: I’m happy for you, Mav. Can’t wait to meet her.
I meant it when I typed it, even if my chest still ached a little with nerves I couldn’t fully name. I wanted to meet the woman who made my man sound lighter than he’d sounded in years. I wanted to see what kind of magic lived behind those eyes.
Mav: I can’t wait for you both to meet each other. Knox, I have a good feeling about this woman and the awakening she’ll bring to our lives.
I prayed his gut feeling panned out to be fruitful, and some nights… when it’s just the three of us tangled and laughing and raw with satisfaction, desire, and emotions, we’ll realize—we’re not just lovers, we’re architects designing a love that refuses to be boxed in.
Atlanta raised me loud and proud. It gave me rhythm, soul, and a whole lot of love.
Unlike a lot of places, my house was a safe space because my parents were some of the fiercest LGBTQIA allies I’ve ever known.
My mom used to say, “Love is love, baby. Ain’t no shame in your story.
” And my dad? He was the kind of man who’d fight the whole neighborhood just to protect his child.
When I told them I was bisexual, it wasn’t a shock or a secret to hide; instead, it was treated like it was just another truth they celebrated.
Growing up with parents like that? It gave me courage I didn’t even know I had. They never let me feel less than whole. And trust me, in a city like Atlanta, that was a blessing.
I came out to myself in pieces, worked through the emotions that often followed queerness.
Sometimes I was confused, sometimes sure, but the one thing I never doubted was that my family had my back.
That foundation made it easier to find myself, even when the outside world wasn’t so kind.
And because I had a safe space to find myself and be who I was without shame, I became a safe space for others to discover themselves with the same unconditional love and support.