Jack
I wake to the sensation of Mia's warm body pressed against mine, her dark hair splayed across my chest. Blake's arm is draped over her waist from one side, and Noah's hand rests on her hip from the other.
The three of us form a protective cocoon around her, and for a moment, I just lie there absorbing the surreal reality of what we've become.
Did we really do that? Did I actually share a woman with two other men? Two other colleagues? Did I share Mia with Noah and Blake?
Last night replays in my mind with vivid clarity.
The way Mia looked at each of us with equal desire.
The sounds she made when Blake entered her.
The way Noah whispered her name like a prayer.
My own desperate need to claim her even while sharing her with two other men.
It all seems so unreal, as if it was a dream instead of a reality.
The arrangement should feel wrong. Every rational part of my brain insists it's wrong.
I'm forty-five years old, a school principal, and a man who's built his reputation on propriety and control.
Yet watching Mia's peaceful face in the early morning light, her lips slightly parted in sleep, I know with absolute certainty that I'd rather have part of her than none of her.
The possessiveness I expected to feel has transformed into something more complex. Yes, I want her to be mine. But I also want her to be happy, fulfilled, and loved in all the ways she deserves. If that means sharing her with Blake and Noah, then so be it.
A car door slams outside.
The sound cuts through the quiet morning like a gunshot. My eyes snap open fully and I notice Mia's do too. She stiffens against me, her blue eyes wide with alarm.
"What was that?" she whispers.
I turn my head toward the window and my stomach drops straight through the mattress. Emma's silver BMW sits in my driveway, gleaming in the morning sunlight like an accusation.
"Shit." The word comes out strangled. "It's Emma."
Mia bolts upright so fast she nearly headbutts Blake. "Your daughter? Here? Now?"
"Apparently." Panic floods through me, cold and sharp. I shake Blake's shoulder roughly. "Wake up. Get up!"
Blake groans and rolls onto his back, his eyes still closed. "Five more minutes."
"We don't have five seconds." I lean across Mia to shake Noah. "Get up. Both of you. My daughter's here."
That gets their attention. Noah's eyes fly open behind his glasses, which are somehow still on his face despite everything we did last night. Blake sits up so quickly the sheet falls to his waist, exposing his muscular chest.
"Your daughter?" Blake's voice is rough with sleep. "The one who hates Mia?"
"That would be the one." I'm already scrambling out of bed, searching frantically for my pants. Where the hell did I throw them last night? "She has a key. She's going to walk in here any second."
The sound of a key turning in the front door lock downstairs echoes through the house.
"Oh God." Mia clutches the sheet to her chest, her face pale. "Oh God, oh God, oh God."
"Clothes," Noah says, his usual calm completely shattered. "We need clothes. Now."
What follows is the most chaotic thirty seconds of my life.
Blake lunges for his jeans, which are somehow tangled in the bedside lamp cord. He yanks them free and the lamp crashes to the floor with a sound like a small explosion.
"Smooth," Noah mutters, diving off the opposite side of the bed in search of his own pants. He glasses fall off his head and go skittering across the hardwood floor. "Damn it!"
Mia scrambles to find her clothes but they're scattered across the room like evidence at a crime scene. Her bra hangs from the ceiling fan. And just how the hell had that happened? One shoe is on the dresser. Her jeans are in a heap by the door.
"Dad?" Emma's voice drifts up from downstairs. "Are you home?"
"Just a minute!" I call back, my voice cracking like a teenager's. I finally locate my pants under the bed and yank them on so fast I nearly fall over. No time for underwear. No time for anything.
Blake hops on one foot trying to get his second leg into his jeans while simultaneously reaching for his shirt, which is draped over the headboard. He loses his balance and crashes into Noah, who's crawling across the floor searching for his glasses.
"Get off me!" Noah shoves Blake away.
"I'm trying!" Blake windmills his arms, still hopping, and knocks over a water glass on the nightstand. It shatters spectacularly.
"What's going on up there?" Emma's voice is closer now. She's at the bottom of the stairs.
Mia makes a sound like a wounded animal and grabs the first piece of clothing she can reach, which happens to be my dress shirt from last night. She pulls it on over her naked body, her fingers fumbling with the buttons.
"Bathroom," I hiss at Blake and Noah. "Hide in the bathroom."
"Hide?" Blake looks at me like I've lost my mind.
I physically push him toward the en-suite bathroom. "Both of you. Now."
Noah finally finds his glasses and shoves them on his face. One lens is cracked. He grabs his pants and shirt and stumbles toward the bathroom after Blake, both of them trying to dress while moving.
Blake's foot catches on his jeans and he goes down hard, taking Noah with him. They land in a tangle of limbs and half-buttoned shirts.
"This is ridiculous," Noah groans from underneath Blake's considerable weight.
"Tell me about it." Blake rolls off him and they both army-crawl the last few feet to the bathroom.
I slam the bathroom door shut just as I hear Emma heading for the staircase.
Mia stands frozen in the middle of my bedroom wearing nothing but my shirt, which barely covers her thighs. Her hair is a wild mess. Her lips are swollen from kissing. She looks thoroughly ravished and there's no way to hide it.
"Go," I whisper urgently, pushing her toward the door. "Act natural."
"Natural?" Her voice is high and panicked. "How am I supposed to act natural?"
"I don't know. Just go."
I throw on the first shirt I can find and rush downstairs, my heart hammering against my ribs. I intercept Emma in the foyer, positioning myself between her and the staircase.
She stops short when she sees me, her gray-blue eyes narrowing as she takes in my appearance. My shirt is buttoned wrong, my hair is sticking up in every direction, and I'm pretty sure I have a hickey on my neck.
"Dad." Her voice drips with suspicion. "What's going on?"
"Emma." I force my voice to sound casual even though my pulse is racing. "You should have called first."
"I did call. Three times. You didn't answer." Her gaze travels over my bare chest showing through the gaping holes where I missed the buttons, my hastily buttoned pants, my disheveled state. "Were you sleeping?"
"Yes. I was sleeping." The lie tastes bitter. "It's Sunday morning. People sleep in on Sunday mornings."
"It's almost nine." She crosses her arms over her chest. "You're never in bed past seven."
"Well, I was tired." I run my hand through my hair, trying to smooth it down. "Long week."
Emma's eyes narrow further. "Are you alone?"
"Of course I'm alone." Another lie. I'm going straight to hell. "Why would you ask that?"
"Because there are three cars in your driveway, Dad. Three. And one of them is a beat-up Honda Civic that I'm pretty sure belongs to Mia Wilson."
My stomach drops. I'd forgotten about the cars. Of course she noticed the cars.
"I can explain that."
"I'm sure you can." Emma's voice turns cold. "Is it true? The rumors about you and her?"
"Emma, this isn't the time."
"Then when is the time?" Her voice rises. "When were you planning to tell me you're sleeping with your employee? With the woman I competed against in high school? With someone young enough to be your daughter?"
"She's twenty-seven years old. She's not a child."
"She's eighteen years younger than you!"
"Emma, please." I hold up my hands. "Can we discuss this later? Somewhere private?"
"Why? So you can come up with a better lie?" She narrows her eyes. "Your house isn't private enough?" She pushes past me toward the stairs. "I left my laptop charger in the guest room last time I was here. I'm just going to grab it and go."
"Wait." I catch her arm but she shakes me off and storms up the stairs. My heart pounds so hard I think it might burst through my chest. I follow her, trying to think of something, anything, to stop what's about to happen.
Emma reaches the top of the stairs and freezes.
Mia stands in the hallway outside my bedroom, wearing only my white dress shirt. The fabric barely covers her thighs. Her legs are bare, her feet are bare, and there's no mistaking what she's been doing in my bed.
Behind her, through the open bedroom door, Blake and Noah are clearly visible. Blake is shirtless, his muscular chest on full display, trying to button his jeans. Noah has his shirt on inside out and backwards, his cracked glasses sitting crooked on his face.
The four of us stare at Emma.
Emma stares back at us.
The silence stretches so long I can hear my own heartbeat thundering in my ears.
Emma's face cycles through shock, disbelief, disgust, and finally something that looks almost like vindictive satisfaction. Her mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
"Well," she says, her voice deadly calm. "This explains a lot."