Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Savannah
Brayden walks me off a private elevator into a rooftop restaurant with a spectacular view of Millennium Park, his hand resting protectively on my lower back.
The hostess scrambles from behind her stand to lead us to our table. As we pass, there’s a ripple of conversation from other diners. “Forsyth—” and “his brother—” and, once, “cocaine.” That last one gets my attention. Enough to distract me as Brayden insists on pulling out my chair.
“People are staring at us,” I whisper.
“People are staring at you. I can’t really blame ‘em with you in that dress.”
“What dress?” I ask, teasing, because I spent the Uber ride over here trying to tug down the hem of my short black dress while Brayden hovered his palm over my knee like he was going to put his hand on my bare thigh.
Brayden doesn’t answer, not directly. Instead, he kisses my neck, lips brushing the tendon there that feels especially sensitized.
A place he’s never kissed me before. He’s just doing it for show.
Just like he kissed me on the plane and in the clubhouse hallway and a dozen other times…
A feeling, warm and liquid and dangerous, settles in my belly.
I sit down and Brayden takes the chair opposite me, legs extended until our feet brush under the table. Something no one else can see, and yet, he doesn’t draw back, and I don’t want him to.
I fiddle with my lock pendant as the waiter takes our drink order, the metal of it warm from where it sits on my skin. I get a flash of Asher’s mouth around it. When you wear that, I want you to think of me. I can’t stop, somehow, the way I can’t stop thinking about Brayden when I’m with Asher.
“Fuck, Adler’s here.” It takes me a second to register what Brayden just said.
I turn around. Asher is right there, stepping off the elevator and craning his head around the dining area as if he’s looking for someone.
The crowd does that same murmur, louder this time.
Right, Asher played here. From across the table, Brayden’s expression goes stormy. “Wonder what he wants,” he grits out.
Me. I swallow the thought in a gulp of water, wishing that our waiter had delivered our drinks.
“I’m sure he’s just having dinner. He used to live in Chicago.
” Briefly, I wonder if he’s meeting a former teammate.
An ex. You have no right to be jealous. But I am, a burning sensation no amount of water will extinguish.
Asher is at the hostess stand, pointing to our table, a four-top with two unoccupied chairs. Maybe he’s being friendly and coming to say hi. Since when are he and Brayden friends? Either way, he’s walking over here. “Be nice,” I warn Brayden. “People are taking pictures.”
Brayden’s lip curls in distaste as Asher makes his way toward our table.
Unlike Brayden, who’s wearing pants that came from a dry cleaner bag, Asher’s in a T-shirt and ripped jeans.
The collar of his shirt is just stretched enough to see one curl of his tattoo.
For some reason, the place on my chest where he sucked a mark—long since faded—starts to throb.
Asher gets to our table, rests his hands on the back of the chair, but doesn’t pull it out. “This seat taken?”
“No,” I say, just as Brayden says, “Yes.”
Asher snorts. “Which is it?”
“Fine.” Brayden says it like they might not be in a fistfight, but the possibility is there. “Don’t you have friends in Chicago, Adler?” he asks once Asher sits.
“Sure, I’m with two of them right now.”
Brayden rolls his eyes. “You and Savannah are not friends.”
“Isn’t that up to Sav?” Asher says my nickname like he’s trying to make a point. “And does that mean we’re friends, Forsyth?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Aw, I thought we were getting somewhere.”
“So you crash my dinner out with my wife?” What Brayden has called me a few times, but never it that tone. Like I’m his, not as a thing he’s bought but a person to protect.
Asher raises an eyebrow. “If Savannah tells me to leave, I’ll leave.”
Our waiter chooses that moment to finally come back, bearing our drinks—a mocktail that’s clear and not too sweet for me and a club soda with lime for Brayden. The waiter turns to Asher. “Anything for you, sir?”
Asher and Brayden both look at me expectantly, Asher’s lip twitching, Brayden’s jaw working.
I should tell Asher to go. Everything about Brayden’s and my relationship hinges on that.
But I…don’t want to. From the looks Brayden is shooting Asher—gaze drifting before he refocuses on me—I’m not sure he does either.
“Here’s the drink list.” I hand Asher the slim cardboard menu.
Asher glances at it once then eyes Brayden’s drink. “What’re you having?”
“Club soda.”
“Yeah, one of those is fine.”
“You can—” Brayden starts, then catches himself. “Drink whatever you want.”
Asher turns to the waiter. “Club soda with lime.” The waiter nods and takes our dinner orders.
I’m sure I ask for food, and I’m sure it’ll be delicious, but the only thing I can think of is the slight nudge under the table—someone’s shoes gently tapping against mine, too softly for me to tell if it’s Asher’s sneaker or Brayden’s dress shoe.
Which would you prefer? I don’t have a good answer to that question. It shouldn’t even be a question at all.
Once the waiter leaves, Asher takes a piece of the complimentary bread from the basket and begins to dissect it with his fingers. “What were you reading on the plane?” he asks.
I don’t have time to answer before Brayden cuts me off. “She’s studying bioinformatics.”
“I have no idea what that is,” Asher says.
Brayden takes a triumphant swig of his club soda. “Bioinformatics is a scientific discipline that uses computer tools to analyze large sets of biological data.”
Asher’s mouth gets that tug. “Oh, obviously.”
“Yeah, I didn’t know what it was either,” Brayden admits.
“So we all agree I’m smarter than you both?” I tease.
“Yes,” Brayden says, just as Asher says, “Probably combined.”
They both look at each other, then actually laugh, Brayden like he can’t help it and Asher like his face might crack.
For a long moment, everything is…nice—the glow of the low lighting in the restaurant and the talk of other diners.
Like I’m on a date with both of them, somehow.
Was this how Victoria felt when she went from zero boyfriends to three in the course of a few months?
But Asher and Brayden would never be interested in that… right?
Across the table, they’ve resumed glaring at each other. That feeling returns, the one like everything is about to blow up in my face.
After a moment—and the delivery of Asher’s club soda—Brayden pushes out his chair, then rises. “I’ll be back in a minute.” He says it to Asher as if telling him to keep his hands to himself.
“You look nice,” Asher says, the second Brayden is no longer in earshot.
I preen for a moment—I know I look good in this dress—then look him up and down. “Whereas you look like you just rolled out of bed. Did you just happen to drop by coincidentally? Or are you stalking me?”
Asher shrugs. “You have your location on.”
I dig my phone out of my purse, pulling out my wallet and keys to find it. Asher plucks my keyring from the table, flipping through the large house key, the portable vial where I keep my emergency migraine meds, to the tiny, framed painting hanging from its own keychain.
“I see you got my package.” He holds up the painting. “Did you get the other thing I sent?”
The other thing. The vibrator I’d taken from the package and washed and charged but couldn’t bring myself to wear…until now. The one I haven’t been able to bring myself to turn on…yet.
My skin flushes impossibly warm. I need to cool off, so I take a gulp of water. Instead, a bead of water drips from the glass, tracing its way down my cleavage, icy cold against my overheated skin. “Maybe.”
“Maybe, what?” Asher whispers. We’re sitting too close. People are probably looking. Brayden said he’d be back in a minute, but maybe he’s watching us from around a corner, unseen.
I swallow around air, trying to come up with any words to deny that this is what I’m doing. Married to one man and wearing a toy given to me by another. A toy that’s firm and unyielding against my clit, just waiting to be turned on. I nod, hair coming loose from its style.
“Are you wearing it now?” Asher is practically growling, hands forming fists on the tabletop like he’s doing everything in his power to keep himself in control.
“Maybe,” I say, but there’s no use denying it. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
Asher eases himself back, smiling in that way I’ve only seen him do once before. He pulls out his phone, tapping a few times before repocketing it. “Do you know why I picked that particular one out for you?” he asks.
I shake my head. Sweat starts forming at my hairline in tiny dots.
There’s no way Brayden won’t know something is going on.
Then I get another sensation, softly at first. A vibration so low I think I’m imagining it.
A gentle buzz against my clit, something too quiet to be heard over the restaurant noise and yet I’m not sure I could really hear anything over the rush of blood in my ears.
“It comes with an app.” Asher taps his phone again. The buzzing comes faster, enough to tease but nowhere near what I need.
“Asher, I can’t— We can’t—”
“Do you want me to stop, princess?”
Yes. Except the word won’t come. No, don’t stop.
What I can’t quite say. “How am I supposed to survive dinner like this?” How am I going to survive the next few minutes like this?
I can feel myself getting wet, and that only makes the vibrator work better, a cycle that feels like I’m spiraling toward either pleasure or destruction and I’m not sure which.
I’m about to tell Asher to stop—that this is too much—when Brayden comes back.
He sits, glances between Asher and me. “Everything good?”