Chapter 5
Maya
Griffin moved in on a Saturday.
I watched him carry boxes through the front door, his muscles flexing beneath his gray t-shirt, and I tried to feel only happiness. I did feel it, genuine, warm, real. Griffin was here. Griffin was staying. This was what I wanted.
And still, some part of me was listening for a motorcycle.
"That's the last of the heavy stuff," Griffin said, setting down a box labeled KITCHEN in thick black marker. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "I think we've earned a break."
"Beer?"
"God, yes."
I leaned against him, and his arm came around my waist naturally, easily. This was good. This was right.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I stepped back inside to answer. "Maya Chen."
"Maya, it's Diane from Hartley." Her voice was clipped, all business. "We've got a situation."
My stomach clenched. The Hartley rebrand was the most complex contract I’ve had. It was a complete visual identity overhaul for a boutique hotel chain expanding into four new markets.
"What's happened?"
"The board moved up their quarterly meeting. They want to present the new brand package to investors. Which means we need final deliverables in two weeks."
Two weeks. I'd planned for six.
"That's..." I caught myself before impossible came out. "Ambitious."
"It's the timeline we've got. Can you do it or not?"
"You're cutting my timeline by a month."
"I'm aware."
"I'll need the photography assets by Wednesday. Not Friday."
"Done."
"And approval turnaround in twenty-four hours, not seventy-two."
A pause. "I can make that happen."
"Then I can do it."
"Good. I'll send over the revised timeline. We'll need you onsite at some point, probably the week before delivery. I'll confirm."
The call ended. Two weeks. Christ.
Griffin appeared in the doorway. "Everything okay?"
"Hartley just moved up their deadline by a month."
He winced. "Can you do it?"
"I told them I could." I rubbed my temple. "I might be living in Photoshop for the next two weeks."
"Then I'll keep you fed and caffeinated. Whatever you need."
"You're going to regret that offer when I'm crying over color palettes at 2 a.m."
"I'll bring tissues and coffee."
I let myself lean into him for a moment. This was why Griffin was good for me. Steady. Supportive. Present.
"Come on," I said. "Let's finish unpacking before I lose the rest of my weekend."
* * *
The week passed in a blur of work and worry, and not just about the Hartley deadline.
The Whitmore deck was due in five days. I hadn't opened the file since Tuesday.
I thought Ivan would come back. Griffin had seemed so certain. If he loves you as much as he says he does, he will come back.
But days passed. No visits. No motorcycle rumbling down my street.
Part of me felt relieved. This was simpler, just me and Griffin, no complications. Part of me felt hollow in a way I didn't want to examine too closely.
"You're still thinking about him, aren't you?"
I looked up from my scrambled eggs. Griffin was watching me from across the island, coffee in hand.
"Is it that obvious?"
"You've been pushing those eggs around for five minutes."
"I just wish he'd never shown up." I set down my fork. "It would have been easier."
"Easier isn't always better."
"Easier is definitely better. Easier means I'm not sitting here feeling like a terrible person for wanting two men."
"You're not a terrible person."
"I feel like one."
"At least you know the reason why he was so distant during your relationship."
"And now that I know, it makes me feel worse." I stared at my plate. "He was falling apart and I left him."
"You didn't know."
"I should have. I should have asked more questions."
"Maya." Griffin reached across the island and took my hand. "He didn't let you ask. That's on him."
I nodded, but I didn't feel absolved.
"Come on." He squeezed my fingers. "Let's finish unpacking my things. At least that'll keep your mind occupied for a while."
I looked around at the remaining boxes. "You just want someone to help you with all this."
"Obviously. But the quicker we get it done, the fewer boxes you'll trip over on your way to the coffee maker."
"Fine." I slid off my stool. "But if I find anything embarrassing in these boxes, I'm keeping it as blackmail material."
"Define embarrassing."
"Anything that proves you're not as cool as you pretend to be."
"Then you're going to be very disappointed." He grinned. "I'm exactly as cool as I pretend to be."
I rolled my eyes and followed him to the living room.
We were just starting on a box of books when I heard it.
The rumble of a motorcycle.
My breath caught. My hands froze on the book I was holding, some thriller with a cracked spine.
Griffin heard it too. His head turned toward the window, then back to me.
The engine cut off.
Silence stretched between us, just the sound of my heartbeat, impossibly loud in my ears.
Then: a knock at the door.
"Well," Griffin said quietly. "Go answer it."
I set down the book. My legs felt unsteady as I walked to the door, every step weighted with anticipation.
I pulled it open.
Ivan stood on my porch. He'd shaved since I saw him last, the stubble gone, his jaw sharp and clean. His dark hair was pushed back, slightly damp like he'd showered before coming. He was wearing a fitted black henley that made his green eyes stand out even more.
Behind him, the black Fat Boy gleamed in the morning light.
"I thought I'd never see you again," I said.
A faint smile lifted the corner of his mouth. "Not a chance."
I held his gaze until I felt Griffin appear behind me. Ivan's eyes shifted, registering Griffin's presence, but this time there was no hostility. No territorial warning.
"Could we talk?" Ivan asked, looking at both of us. "All of us."
I nodded and stepped aside to let him in.
We settled in the living room, me on the couch, Griffin beside me, Ivan in my father's old recliner. He looked wrong there, too large for the chair, too present in a space that had felt like a museum for so long.
He rubbed his palms on his thighs. I'd never seen Ivan nervous before. Not like this.
"I've given myself some time to think," he began. "About what you said. About what you wanted."
Everything in me paused.
"And?" Griffin asked.
"To be honest, I didn't think I'd be back here." Ivan's shoulder went rigid. "When I left, I was so sure I was right. That my pride mattered more than..." He stopped. "Than anything else."
Griffin shifted beside me but didn't speak.
"I told myself I couldn't share you with anyone." His voice softened. "But the truth is, I was afraid. Afraid that if I agreed, I'd be admitting I wasn't enough for you on my own."
My chest ached. I understood that fear. I'd lived with it myself, the terror of not being enough, of needing too much, of wanting things that didn't fit into neat, acceptable boxes.
"What changed?" Griffin asked.
Ivan looked at him. "I spent a week trying to convince myself I could walk away. I can't."
"You tried to move on," I said. Not a question.
"I tried to date someone else." He met my eyes. "Got as far as dinner before I realized every woman I looked at wasn't you."
My eyes burned. I hadn't expected this, this raw honesty from a man who'd always kept his walls so carefully maintained.
"So what are you saying?" Griffin's voice was steady, but I heard the edge beneath it. Caution.
"I'm saying I'm in." Ivan leaned forward. "I've thought about this. Long and hard. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes, as long as I get to be with you, Maya. However that looks."
He said the words I'd asked him to say. And I realized I hadn't believed he would.
"Are you sure?" Griffin asked. "Because once this starts, there's no going back to pretending it didn't happen."
Ivan turned to him. Their eyes met and held.
"I'm sure." Ivan's voice was hoarse. "Just tell me how we'll make this work."
They both looked at me.
"Griffin's already living here," I said, finding my voice. "You could come over. Or I could come to your place. We'll figure out the logistics as we go."
"That's it?" Ivan asked. "No rules? No schedule?"
"We'll make rules as we need them," Griffin said. "The only one that matters is honesty. No secrets. No lies."
Ivan nodded slowly. "I can do that."
"And you're fine with this?" Ivan looked at Griffin. "Really?"
"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."
"That's not an answer."
Griffin held his gaze. "Yes. I'm fine with it. Really."
Ivan exhaled slowly. "Alright then." He stood. "I should get to work. But I'll be in touch."
I stood too, and before I could think better of it, I crossed the distance between us and wrapped my arms around him.
Ivan's arms came around me, pulling me against his chest. He was warm and solid and smelled like cedar and bergamot, that same cologne that had haunted me for a year. I pressed my face into his shoulder and breathed him in.
"I missed you," I whispered.
"I know." His arms tightened. "I missed you too."
When I finally pulled back, he cupped my face in his hands. His eyes were soft in a way I'd rarely seen.
I kissed him.
I didn't plan it. My body moved before my mind caught up. One moment I was looking at him, the next my mouth was on his, hungry and desperate, taking back everything I'd been denied for the past year.
Ivan responded instantly, his tongue sliding against mine, his hands tightening on my waist. Desire rushed through me, between my thighs, across my chest, up my neck. My nipples tightened beneath my shirt. When his fingers grazed the bare skin at the small of my back, I gasped and broke the kiss.
I'd forgotten Griffin was there.
I turned, face flushing, and found him standing by the couch. But he wasn't angry. He was watching, eyes slightly darkened, a faint flush climbing his neck.
"I should go," Ivan said, his voice rougher than before.
For a moment, they just looked at each other. Two men who should have been rivals. Two men who were agreeing to share me.
Then Ivan extended his hand.
Griffin hesitated, just for a breath, before he took it.
Their hands clasped. Their eyes held.
The air between them changed. A charge, a tension that wasn't hostile but wasn't nothing, either.
The handshake lasted a beat longer than necessary. When they finally released, neither of them looked at me.
And I didn't mind.
Ivan walked to the door. I watched from the porch as he mounted the Fat Boy, as he pulled on his helmet, as he kicked the engine to life.
He looked back at me once, just once, before he disappeared down the street.
"Are you okay?" Griffin asked when I came back inside.
"Yeah. More than okay." I turned to him. "Are you?"
He nodded slowly, but there was something thoughtful in his expression.
"That was quite the kiss."
I bit my lip. "You loved watching."
He stiffened, caught. "I did. I didn't expect to, but I did."
"And the handshake?"
"What about it?"
"It lasted a while."
Griffin's jaw muscles ticked slightly. "I noticed."
I didn't press. But I filed that reaction away.
* * *
A week later, Ivan came to pick me up for dinner.
I was still getting ready when the doorbell rang, half my makeup done, hair twisted up in a clip, dress unzipped in the back. I heard Griffin answer the door, heard the low rumble of male voices downstairs.
I should have hurried. Instead, I found myself moving slower. Curious what they'd say to each other when I wasn't there to mediate.
I lingered at the top of the stairs, listening.
"...not what I expected," Ivan was saying. "When I first saw you, I thought you'd be the kind of guy who'd fight."
"I thought about it."
"What changed your mind?"
A pause. Then Griffin: "I'd rather know than be deceived."
"That's an interesting way to look at it."
"It's the only way I can look at it. After what happened with my ex."
"Maya mentioned something about that."
"Eight months." Griffin's voice was flat. "Eight months of lies. Everyone knew but me."
Silence. I held my breath.
"That takes a certain kind of confidence," Ivan said finally. "What you're doing."
"Or a certain kind of fear."
"Fear of what?"
"Being the last to know. Again."
I didn't hear Ivan's response. But the silence that followed felt heavy with understanding.
When I came downstairs a few minutes later, I found them in the living room, Griffin on one end of the couch, Ivan on the other. Each holding a beer.
They were sitting closer than I'd expected.
Griffin noticed me first. "There she is."
Ivan stood, his eyes traveling down my body. "Worth the wait."
"What were you two talking about?" I asked.
They exchanged a look.
"Work," Griffin said.
"Motorcycles," Ivan said at the same time.
I raised an eyebrow. "Both of those things at once?"
"We multitask," Griffin said, and Ivan actually laughed, a low, surprised sound.
I didn't press. Whatever had passed between them, whatever a certain kind of fear meant, it was theirs. For now.
I should have felt jealous. Instead, I felt something like hope.
"Ready?" Ivan asked, offering me his arm.
I took it. At the door, I turned back to see Griffin watching us.
"Have fun," he said. Then, quieter: "I'll be working late tonight."
I understood what he was offering. Space. Permission.
I kissed his cheek before I left.
* * *
After dinner, Ivan dropped me back home. He had an early meeting, couldn't stay. The kiss he gave me at the door was long enough to leave my lips swollen, short enough to leave me wanting.
Griffin was still awake when I came inside, laptop open on the couch.
"Good dinner?" he asked.
"Very."
"Just dinner?"
"He had an early meeting." I dropped onto the couch beside him. "But I think I want to see him tomorrow. My body's all revved up from everything and I just want..."
"You want it all," Griffin finished for me.
I nodded.
He closed his laptop and turned to face me. "Then invite him here."
"Here?"
"I'll be working late tomorrow night anyway. Won't be home for a while."
I searched his face. "Are you sure?"
"You keep asking me that." He smiled. "If there were a single thing I was unsure about, you'd be the first to know."
"Okay."
Griffin cupped my face, running his thumb along my bottom lip. "Tomorrow night, let him come inside you. And wait for me."
My breath caught. "What?"
"There's something about the idea of fucking you when you're still full of him." His voice went low. "I want that."
"Griffin..."
"Too much?"
"No." My pulse was racing. "I just, I'm already burning up. You saying things like that is only adding fuel to the fire."
"Imagine how I feel." He leaned closer. "I could fuck you right now. Ease this throbbing I'm feeling. But I think we should wait. Save it up for tomorrow."
"That's cruel."
"That's anticipation." He kissed me, slow, deep, a promise. "It's been a while for you and Ivan. I want you desperate for him. And then desperate for me."
"You're something else."
He smiled against my lips. "So I've been told."