53. Lars
I shrug into my shirt and finish buttoning it as I step out of the bedroom, back in the same clothes from last night.
Neomi sits at the island beside Gabriel, finishing her coffee while I move through the living room collecting the evidence of last night.
Her dress lies pooled near the edge of the rug, the delicate straps twisted from where she tugged them down her shoulders, and her lingerie is abandoned beside the piano where we left it.
Gabriel’s slacks are folded neatly over the back of a chair—far too orderly for a man who lost control only hours ago.
I scoop Neomi’s things into my arms, a grin tugging at my mouth.
Fuck, what a night.
Waking up with both of them tangled around me should feel reckless. Instead, it felt far too good. I spent so many years not being able to wake up next to someone and feel peace. Now, not only have I found Neomi, but Gabriel didn’t cause the voices in my mind to grow loud or restless.
Then, this morning, he moved easily through his kitchen—barefoot, in nothing but boxer briefs—educating Neomi about the only acceptable way to brew coffee. Something about bloom time and water temperature and beans imported from Guatemala that cost more per pound than some men’s monthly rent.
There’s one thing that won't leave my mind, though. This apartment with its view, the understated furniture that I know must be expensive, it screams money. And when I passed his pants earlier, I saw the Brunello Cucinelli label stitched inside the waistband. He has subtle, quiet wealth. And I don’t know where it comes from.
I sling Neomi’s dress over the back of the couch and join them at the island. Neomi drains the last of her coffee and sets the mug down with a satisfied sigh.
“I’m going to go get dressed.”
She rounds the island and presses a soft kiss to my cheek before brushing her fingers over Gabriel’s shoulder on her way past. I track her without meaning to, watching the sway of her hips beneath the robe.
She disappears down the hallway toward the bedroom, and the air shifts the second it’s just him and me.
This is the part that usually unravels. The morning-after etiquette.
The careful distance men create when the heat cools and reality settles in.
But Gabriel doesn’t retreat, instead, he reaches across the counter and glides a single finger over my exposed forearm.
The touch is testing, his eyes lifting to mine.
“Last night was a lot of fun,” he says, voice quiet while I hold his gaze.
“It was,” I answer. “These situations can go south fast with the wrong person—someone who’s selfish or has a misplaced ego. But you handled it all perfectly.”
A faint smile pulls at his mouth. “Somehow, it all felt natural.”
I study him more closely now. The way he’s able to say what he feels is refreshing.
My world is cold, and for so many years I’ve kept things strictly casual with partners.
No morning conversations, hell, more often than not, I didn’t even stay long enough to interact with the person or people I shared a bed with.
I always slipped out after the deed was done, keeping my distance, staying safe.
But here I am, with the woman I’ve come entirely too close to telling I love her and a man that ignited a fire in my skin that I’m not sure I can explain yet. The way his shoulders stay relaxed, but his eyes stay sharp, he’s a man comfortable in pleasure and control.
He shifts, fingers curling around his mug. “Is it too bold of me to say I don’t want this to be a one-night thing?”
The question hangs between us.
I lean against the counter. “I can’t make decisions like that alone,” I say. “I would need to discuss that with my wife.”
“I know,” he replies. “I just wanted to make sure you know that last night left a deep impression on me. I would like to get to know you and Neomi better.”
“If we were to see you again,” I continue, “it wouldn’t be in a bedroom.”
A flicker of amusement touches his eyes. “Oh, yeah?”
“We’d have dinner,” I tell him. “At a public place where we could have a proper conversation and no expectations.”
“I’d like that,” he answers, and this time the relief in his voice is faint but I still recognize it.
I nod once. “I’ll take your number.”
I set my mug down, pick up my phone and type in his phone number as he recites it.
“I’ll talk to her,” I tell him. “If she’s comfortable, I’ll text you details to meet up again.”
He inclines his head. “I hope to hear from you, Lars.”
Footsteps echo down the hallway before the moment can stretch any further. Neomi reappears, dressed now, hair brushed, that soft glow still lingering on her skin. She pauses when she sees us standing close but not touching.
“What did I miss?” she asks lightly, eyes curious.
I push off the counter and slip my phone back into my pocket.
“We were talking about how sexy you are,” I say without missing a beat.
Her brows lift. “Oh, were you?”
Gabriel’s mouth curves, but he doesn’t contradict me. “Extensively.”
She laughs, shaking her head, and walks toward us. I reach for her waist on instinct, drawing her into my side.
“We should get going,” Neomi says after a moment, glancing once more toward the piano.
Gabriel nods. “I’ll walk you out.”
The three of us move toward the door together. It feels different than leaving a hotel room or a stranger’s apartment ever has. There’s no scramble or awkward nervousness. Surprisingly, the only thing I feel is the want for more time.
Neomi reaches him first.
She steps into his space, her hands sliding up his chest before looping around his neck. The kiss she gives him isn’t heated, it’s slow, her lips lingering on his. His hand settles firmly at the small of her back, and when they part, something unspoken passes between them.
Neomi steps back and watches as he moves toward me.
The first brush of his mouth against mine is restrained.
I let it linger a second longer than necessary before deepening it just slightly, enough to feel his breath change.
His hand comes to my jaw, thumb pressing lightly along the edge as if anchoring himself.
When I pull back, I work to steady my pulse.
“Be safe,” he says, voice lower now.
“Always.”
Neomi slips her hand into mine as we step into the hallway. I don’t look back until we reach the elevator, and when I do, he’s still standing there, watching.
The doors close, and the elevator descends.