Chapter 8 #2
The kiss wasn't gentle. It was desperate, his hands in my hair, his body pressing me back into the pillows.
I grabbed his shoulders and held on, trying to pour everything I couldn't say into the contact.
You're not a backup. You're not second place.
I want you. I want both of you, and I don't know how to hold that without breaking.
When we finally broke apart, both of us breathing hard, he pressed his forehead to mine.
"I watched you with him," he said. "I wasn't just turned on. I was terrified. Terrified that I'd see the way you looked at him and realize you'd never looked at me that way."
"Did I?" The words barely made it out. "Look at him differently?"
He considered. "I don't know. Maybe."
The honesty hurt worse than a lie would have.
"But I'm still here," he said. "I'm not going anywhere. I just need you to tell me we're real. That this isn't you hedging your bets."
"We're real." I cupped his face, made him look at me. "Griffin. We're real. I'm not hedging. I'm terrified too, terrified of needing too much, wanting too much, being too much. But I'm not going anywhere either."
He turned his head and pressed a kiss to my palm. The gesture was so tender, so un-Griffin, that my throat tightened.
"We're both disasters," I whispered.
A ghost of his usual smile crossed his face. "Perfect disasters."
He pulled me close, and I buried my face in his shoulder. His arms wrapped around me, tight, almost too tight, and I let him hold on.
"Griffin?" I traced a finger along his jaw. "Are we okay?"
He was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was honest in a way that scared me.
"We're getting there."
* * *
Ivan came back that evening.
I heard the Harley in the driveway and met him at the door. Griffin was in the shower. Before I could say anything, Ivan’s mouth was on mine, his hands in my hair, walking me backward until my shoulders hit the wall.
We barely made it to the couch.
After, I lay sprawled across his chest, tracing lazy circles around his left nipple. The living room smelled like sex and cedar, his cologne everywhere.
He smiled, pulling me tighter against him. “I wish I had the stamina to go all night.”
“You already made me come three times.” I propped my chin on his chest. “Four if you count that thing you did with your fingers.”
“Next time, I’ll make it five.” His thumb traced my spine. “I’ve missed this. Missed you.”
“I missed you too.” The words came out softer than I intended.
We lay there for a moment, his heartbeat steady under my ear. Then Ivan shifted beside me, his muscles tensing, breath catching.
“So how’s this gonna work going forward?” His voice was careful. “Are we just going to share space when we want to fuck? Because I want more than that, Maya.”
I eased up to meet his gaze. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want to be here. The way I used to be.” His green eyes held mine. “I want to wake up next to you. I want to make you coffee in the morning. I want...” He stopped himself, voice roughening. “I want to be part of your life again. Not just a visitor.”
My chest seized. “You want to move in? Here? With me and Griffin?”
“Would that be such a bad idea?”
“No.” The word came out before I could second-guess it. “I just didn’t think you’d want to.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’d be living with the man who watched you fuck me last night.”
“I can’t mess this up again.” He cupped my face, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. “I’m not going anywhere. Not this time.”
“And you’re sure you don’t mind Griffin?”
He was quiet for a moment.
“I did at first. Couldn’t stand the thought of another man touching you.” He exhaled slowly. “But things are different now. All I want is to be with you. To make you happy. If he’s part of that equation, then...” He shrugged one shoulder. “Then he’s part of that equation.”
“What changed?”
“I realized I’d rather share you than lose you.”
I kissed him softly, my heart too full for words.
When we broke apart, he was already shifting toward the edge of the couch. “I should get going. Talk to Griffin. Tell me what he says.”
“I will.”
I stayed sprawled on the couch while he dressed, too boneless to move. My eyes tracked every movement, the flex of his back as he reached for his shirt, the way his jeans hugged his thighs, the tattoo on his forearm I’d traced a thousand times before.
He caught me staring and smirked. “Keep looking at me like that, and I won’t be able to leave.”
“You’ll hear no argument from me.”
“Tempting. But if I stay, we’ll never leave this room.”
“And that’s a problem because?”
He laughed, buttoning his jeans and walking back to me. When he leaned down to kiss me, his lips lingered. Slow. Thorough. A promise.
“I’ll see you?”
“You definitely will.”
He winked, actually winked, the bastard, and then he was gone. I heard his footsteps cross the living room, the front door opening and closing. A few seconds later, the Harley rumbled to life outside.
I sank deeper into the cushions, my body still humming. Ivan was back. Ivan wanted to move in. Ivan wanted this to be real.
The shower stopped. Griffin’s footsteps padded down the hall.
He appeared in the living room doorway, towel around his waist, hair dripping. His eyes moved over me, wrapped in the throw blanket, clothes scattered across the floor.
“So,” Griffin said. “Are we doing this?”
“You heard?”
“Enough.” He leaned against the doorframe. “He wants to move in. You said yes.”
“I should have asked you first.”
“Probably.” But he was smiling, slow and real. “I’m in.”
* * *
Two days later, a small moving truck pulled up outside the house.
Saturday morning, nine AM. Ivan had insisted on doing it himself, no movers, no hired help. Just him and his boxes and his stubborn pride.
I stood in the doorway with coffee in my hands, watching Griffin and Ivan unload the truck together. They'd fallen into an easy rhythm, Griffin taking the lighter boxes, Ivan handling the furniture.
"That one's heavy," Griffin said, nodding at a box near the back.
"I can handle it."
"Suit yourself."
Ivan hoisted the box and immediately grunted. "Jesus. Forgot how heavy my vinyl collection is."
Griffin raised an eyebrow. "You still collect records?"
"Some of us have taste."
"I have taste. It's called Spotify."
"That's not music. That's background noise."
"Says the guy who probably owns the original pressing of every Led Zeppelin album."
"Three of them, actually."
"Of course you do."
I grinned, watching them. "He's joking. Probably."
Ivan smirked. "Am I?"
It was strange to see them like this. Working together. Not circling each other like territorial dogs.
"Need help?" I called out.
Ivan looked up, his t-shirt already damp with sweat. "Just keep that coffee warm for me."
"What about me?" Griffin protested.
"You can have water."
"Favoritism already. I see how it is."
Ivan smirked, hoisting a box marked VINYL — FRAGILE. "Get used to it."
"I'm starting to regret this already," Griffin muttered.
"Too late. No refunds."
I watched them work, my heart too full for words. Two men who should have hated each other, carrying boxes up the driveway. Learning how to exist in the same space. For me.
Maybe for each other too, eventually.
Griffin passed Ivan on the walkway, and their shoulders brushed. Neither of them flinched. Neither moved away.
Progress.
When most of the truck was empty, Ivan jogged up to the porch where I was standing. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his chest heaving with exertion.
"Cold feet?" he asked, that familiar smirk playing at his lips.
"I've never wanted anything more," I said.
"Good answer."
I rose on my toes and kissed him. Right there, in the front yard for anyone to see. He tasted like salt and coffee and Ivan, and when his arms wrapped around my waist, I melted into it.
The kiss was supposed to be brief. It wasn't.
"Get a room," Griffin called from the truck.
"We have three," I called back. "Pick one."
When we finally pulled apart, Ivan glanced toward the street with a half-smile.
"That was nice," he said.
I laughed. "I’d say more than nice."
He chuckled as he picked up a box and headed inside.