28. Inspiration Granted #2
“You had a devil’s three-way with Cami and Griffin.”
“Technically—”
“Don't technically me.”
I press my lips together.
This is better than television.
Dex spreads both arms. “What the fuck am I?”
Silence.
Ronan stares at him.
Dex stares back.
Micah looks down at the island because he's absolutely trying not to laugh.
Ronan finally says, “Sexual access is not distributed according to equitable holiday gifting.”
Dex points at Ronan. “See? This. This is exactly the kind of bullshit I am talking about.”
“It is not bullshit.”
“I am the only unfucked member of your personal adventuring party.”
I lose it.
Completely.
I bend over the counter laughing.
Ronan ignores me. “You have been fucked extensively.”
“Not by you.”
“An important clarification.”
Micah's shoulders shake.
Dex looks at him. “You're supposed to be my primary.”
“I am.”
“Then advocate for me.”
Micah lifts his coffee. “I think you’re doing great.”
“Traitor.”
Ronan picks up the kettle again.
For one second, I think that's it.
Just comedy.
Then Ronan speaks again. “Dex.”
Something in his voice changes.
Not exactly Dom voice or Dungeon Master voice.
But it’s still serious.
Dex catches it and his expression shifts.
Ronan sets the kettle down a second time. “You are not being excluded.”
Dex opens his mouth.
Ronan keeps going. “I am attracted to you.”
Well, the kitchen is suddenly less funny.
Dex's eyebrows lift.
“I know we have joked about that, but I am saying it without a joke now.”
Dex is impossibly still.
Ronan's gaze doesn't leave him. “I trust you. I care about you. I am interested in exploring what exists between us.”
Dex doesn't say anything.
Which may be medically concerning.
Ronan continues. “I have not slept with you yet because I do not want to approach it as an item I am required to complete for parity.”
Dex swallows. “Oh.”
“When I do something with you, I want it to be because I have thought about what would work for both of us. Including the timing.”
There is something in that sentence.
Something that makes me wonder if Ronan already has.
Dex's mouth opens.
Closes.
Then, finally, “So I'm not the ugly one.”
Micah groans.
Ronan looks briefly toward the ceiling. “You are exhausting.”
“But fuckable.”
“Yes.”
Dex beams. “Happy Valentine's Day to me.”
Ronan picks up the kettle again. “I regret sincerity.”
“No, you don't.”
“I am beginning to.”
Dex rounds the island and kisses his cheek.
Ronan visibly startles but masks it quickly.
Dex catches himself immediately. “Sorry.”
Ronan pauses.
Then wraps his fingers around Dex's wrist before he can move away.
“Accepted.”
Dex goes soft around the edges.
Then immediately ruins it. “So maybe in March?”
Ronan lets go. “No.”
“April?”
“No.”
“Can I submit a scheduling request?”
“No.”
“Google Calendar invite?”
“Dex.”
“Understood.”
I grin into my coffee.
Micah waits until after breakfast.
Dex has already given me the stuffed axolotl, candy, flowers, and a novelty pair of socks covered in tiny dice.
He also gave Micah new colored pencils and watercolor markers he'd been eyeing, two records, candy, and something in a tiny black box that made Micah kiss him hard enough I politely looked elsewhere.
Ronan received coffee beans from a roaster Dex researched specifically because they process everything to an apparently obsessive degree.
Ronan pretended not to be impressed.
Nobody believed him.
Eventually Micah disappears upstairs and returns with two small boxes.
One goes to Dex.
One to me.
Dex looks between them. “Did you coordinate gifts after witnessing my fiscal collapse?”
“No.”
“Suspicious.”
Micah hands me mine.
“Open them.”
Inside is a bracelet.
For a second I think it's a replica of the one he already made me.
Then I realize it isn't.
It goes with it.
Same general style.
But different etched in drawing.
There is one darker element worked through the center.
I look at Dex.
He's staring at his own.
His matches mine.
Not identical.
His is darker overall.
Mine catches more light.
But the sketch is the same is the same.
My throat closes. “Oh.”
Dex looks up at Micah. “Did you make us couple bracelets?”
Micah shrugs. “Kind of.”
“Throuple bracelets?”
He shrugs again.
“They are absolutely throuple bracelets.”
I laugh, but my eyes sting.
Micah takes mine from the box and places it on my wrist beside the first.
Together, they look deliberate.
Like they were meant to live next to each other.
Dex holds his arm beside mine.
His bracelet lines up differently, but the shared detail is obvious once you know to look.
“This is disgustingly cute,” he says.
Micah looks mildly uncomfortable.
Which means he knows exactly how cute it is.
I reach for him. “Come here.”
He lets me pull him into a hug.
Dex joins from the other side.
Micah sighs. “This became a group event.”
“You made symbolism jewelry,” Dex says into his shoulder. “These are the consequences.”
Over Micah's arm, I catch Ronan watching us.
He meets my eyes.
Then glances at the bracelets.
His mouth softens slightly.
He gets it.
Micah, Dex, and I have our own shape.
That doesn't threaten what Ronan and I are.
Or what Ronan and Micah are.
Or what any of us might eventually become.
Equality is not sameness.
Sometimes equality looks like letting something belong to people without needing a matching version of it for yourself.
Ronan waits until the afternoon to give me anything.
This is probably intentional.
Dex's Valentine's explosion has mostly been contained.
The balloons are now tied to the back of his chair because Ronan threatened to puncture the dinosaur.
Micah is at the shop for a flash tattoo sale.
Dex is getting ready for work.
Griffin has texted between calls.
I am in my bedroom trying to outline content for the next week when Ronan appears in the doorway holding a box.
A large box.
My eyebrows raise. “I thought Valentine's Day was manufactured romantic capitalism.”
“It is.”
“You have a box.”
“The two facts are not mutually exclusive.”
He brings it in and sets it on my desk.
I turn it around.
Then blink.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Ronan.”
It's one of those ridiculous creator stands I've watched videos about approximately one-hundred times and never bought because I kept telling myself my current tripod works fine.
Auto-tracking.
Rotates with you.
Gesture control.
Adjustable height.
Integrated light.
The kind of thing that follows you while you move around instead of requiring sixteen takes because you wandered partially out of frame.
I look up.
“How did you even know I wanted this?”
“You spent four hours one night doing research on them.”
I stare at him.
He shrugs. “I was in the room.”
“That does not answer the question.”
“You also complain every time your tripod loses tension.”
Okay.
“And you have used a stack of books to raise your phone a dozen times this week.”
“Why do you know that?”
“Because I live here.” He says it like this should explain everything.
Maybe it does.
I look at the box again. “This is expensive.”
“It is a business expense.”
I narrow my eyes.
“You cannot claim my Valentine's gift on your taxes.”
“I did not say it was my business expense.”
I laugh.
He looks smug.
“I researched several options. That one has the best tracking performance, and the light temperature is adjustable.”
Of course he did.
“And the mount will accommodate your current phone case.”
Of course it will.
“And because your Laugherty work is expanding, it seemed reasonable to reduce friction in your workflow.”
Not flowers.
Not jewelry.
Not a grand speech.
Ronan looked at what I do.
Noticed what annoys me.
Researched it.
Fixed it.
My eyes start burning for the third fucking time in twenty-four hours.
He takes a deep breath. “Please don’t.”
“You bought me a robot tripod.”
“It is not a robot.”
“It follows me.”
“That does not make it a robot.”
“I love it.”
His expression softens. “I thought you would.”
I stand, and he watches me.
I wrap my arms around him.
He settles his hands at my waist.
And the words are there.
Suddenly.
Entirely.
Fuck.
I love him.
Obviously I love him.
Maybe I've known that without putting the sentence around it.
But there is no confusion in it now.
Just Ronan—the man who counted how many times I stacked books under my phone.
My heart starts pounding hard enough that I can feel it against his chest.
His brows pull together. “What?”
“I—”
My courage almost fails.
Which is ridiculous considering the things this man has done to me naked.
Apparently three words are worse.
I swallow.
“I love you.”
Ronan goes completely still.
Fuck.
He doesn’t recoil, but his hands remain exactly where they are at my waist.
His eyes search my face.
For one horrible second, my brain tries to convince me I've fucked this up.
Then he whispers, “Say that again.”
My breath catches.
“What?”
“Please.”
I tighten my arms around him. “I love you.”
Something shifts in his face—small but devastating.
His eyes close for one second.
When they open again, his voice is quieter. “I love you too.”
My chest caves in.
Not literally.
Probably.
“You do?”
“Yes.” The answer is immediate.
Then his expression tightens like he has realized the answer is insufficient. “I need to clarify something.”
Of course he does.