28. Wren
WREN
We must have dozed off at some point, because the next thing I know, I’m waking to the buzzing of a cell phone.
“Uggghh,” Lucian groans, sounding half asleep. “Make it stop.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s your friends who are blowing up my phone.”
“Your boyfriends,” he retorts, eyes still closed. I pause, mid-reach for my discarded pants.
Boyfriends? Is that what they are?
Another buzz interrupts my thoughts, and I fish my phone out of my pocket, checking the screen. There’s a whole load of messages.
Ronan
Where the hell are you two?
Silas
Please tell me Lucian didn’t do something stupid.
Silas
We heard what went down in comms.
Ronan
We’ve checked the rink, gym, and locker rooms.
Ronan
Is he okay??
More texts come through as I read.
Silas
Are YOU okay??
Ronan
Just let us know where you are, and we can come take him off your hands.
Lucian scoffs at that one, having bothered to open his eyes to read each message over my shoulder.
I glance over at him. “Is it okay if I tell them where we are?”
“Sure,” he says, shifting to stretch out his muscles. “But don’t think they are dragging me out of here.”
Smiling to myself, I type back.
Me
We’re at my place. Decided to take the afternoon off.
Ronan
On our way.
“Crap,” I curse, holding the blanket to me as I get up from the sofa. “I need to jump in the shower before they get here.”
Uncaring that his package is now on full display, already semi-hard, Lucian follows me up. “I could join you. Help speed things up by washing your back.” He wags his eyebrows suggestively.
“Ha. Yeah. Speed things up.”
Shaking my head, I leave him to get dressed as I hurry into the shower.
I make it back into the living room just as there is a knock at the door.
“Did we interrupt something?” Ronan asks with a knowing smirk, taking in my damp hair. Not answering him, I step aside so they can enter the apartment.
“You good?” he asks when he spots Lucian, giving him a concerned once-over.
Lucian nods once. “Yeah.”
Silas gives him a long stare before turning his attention to me, seeming to ask the same question as Ronan.
“We’re fine,” I reassure them both. “It was a shitty class, but we’re okay now.”
There’s a beat of silence, thick with things unsaid, but then Silas kicks off his shoes and drops onto the floor in front of a bucket chair as if it’s an everyday habit.
Ronan does a slow walk around my apartment, taking everything in.
His gaze drags over the pristine white walls, the sleek, minimalist furniture, the expensive art prints hung in perfect symmetry.
“Nice place,” he says eventually, hands in his pockets as he eyes the framed abstract piece over the TV. “Although it doesn’t really feel like you.”
I blink, startled. “What do you mean?”
He shrugs, but there’s intent behind the movement. “It’s just…kinda sterile. Polished. Like a realtor staged it.”
“It was decorated by my mother,” I admit with a sigh, returning to the sofa and curling my legs beneath me. “Her tastes and mine don’t quite…align.”
Cocking my head, I question, “What is me?”
He grins, his expression challenging. “Color. Texture. Chaos.”
That makes me laugh. “Chaos?”
“Half the time we see you, you’re wearing bright red glasses frames,” he points out. “And there’s always a streak of something—purple in your scarf, orange on your socks, that rainbow-colored phone case you carry everywhere.”
“Why shouldn’t functional things also be pretty?” I defend.
He lifts a brow, like he’s making a point. “Even when you’re trying to be professional, you’ve still got something a little messy going on. It’s good; I like it. It feels genuine. Authentic.”
There’s that word again.
I tilt my head. “You’ve been paying that much attention to what I wear?”
He just shrugs, unapologetic. “I pay attention to everything you do.”
There’s no sting in it, just a simple, quiet truth.
Silas, seated on the floor with his notebook in his lap, lifts a pen and scribbles something before raising it for me to read.
You should repaint.
My throat tightens. “Back at BSU, my apartment was a mess of colors. I painted every wall a different shade. Nothing matched. The couch was this hideous velvet thing I got at a yard sale for twenty bucks. But it was mine.” My lips twitch in nostalgia. Damn, I miss that apartment.
Coming over, Ronan wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into him, like he can hear everything I’m not saying.
“You should do that again,” he says. “Make this place feel like yours.”
Silas nods in agreement.
“We’ll help,” Lucian offers easily, like they don’t already have enough on their plates between hockey and classes.
The simplicity of it, the ease with which help is offered, almost undoes me.
Before I can come to any sort of decision, Lucian’s stomach growls loud enough to have all of us looking his way.
Amused, I tease, “Was that a cry for help?”
Ronan turns toward the kitchen, entirely at home as he opens the fridge.
“Jesus,” he curses, recoiling. “What the hell is this crap? This isn’t food.”
What is it? Silas quickly scrawls before showing it to me, since Ronan is still staring into the fridge’s interior in horror.
“More green juice than any sane human needs, kale, spinach, possibly a Greek yogurt. My mom stocked it,” I explain when both Silas’s and Lucian’s faces scrunch in disgust. “She’s convinced all I need is rabbit food.”
Ronan pulls out a bag of kale with a level of caution like it might bite him. “Is she trying to kill you?”
“More like she’s terrified I’ll gain weight,” I mutter bitterly. “Carbs are a sin and sugar is the Devil, and both make me bloat, apparently.” I roll my eyes.
That earns a collective groan.
“Your mom’s insane,” Ronan declares.
Has your mom even seen you?
Silas writes with an incredulous look.
“You’re any man’s fantasy,” Ronan continues, heated gaze roaming up my body and making me blush. “And anyone feeding you kale is committing a crime worthy of prison time.”
“You’re perfect exactly as you are,” Lucian growls, a thread of warning beneath his words.
I feel the heat rise in my cheeks. It’s the way he says it, like it’s not a compliment but a fact. Like anything else would be a lie.
Ronan, who’s leaning back against the kitchen counter, eyes me for a long beat. “He’s not wrong.” His gaze flicks over me, lingering without shame.
You’ve got curves that would have any man doing your bidding.
Silas’s note actually makes me laugh.
“Is that right?” I tease with a hint of flirtation as I get off the sofa and walk toward him. “Are you saying you’d do anything I asked, Silas Monroe?”
He nods, gaze raking over me with a raw hunger as I grow closer.
“What if I asked you to kiss me here and now in front of your teammates?”
I don’t know what has come over me. Maybe it’s the effect of their compliments. Or Lucian’s mention of boyfriends earlier. Or maybe he’s dickmatized me.
Either way, I feel sexy and free for the first time in…ever.
In answer to my question, Silas pulls me down.
My hands land on his strong shoulders as my legs fall to either side of his hips, knees pressing into the plush Scandinavian rug he’s sitting on.
There is zero hesitation as he draws me closer, his hand fisted in the front of my hoodie.
When his lips meet mine, I melt into him like chocolate left out too long in the sun.
Kissing Silas is like coming home. It’s cozy winter nights curled up on the sofa. It’s movies and hot chocolate. It’s lazy summer days baking beneath a hot sun.
I give myself over completely to him, forgetting entirely that we have an audience as his tongue slides across mine. His lips are soft, his touch gentle yet firm, confident as he pulls my hips to his, so I’m pressed over his crotch.
Lips clashing in a whirlwind of need, I grind down on him. Heat washes over me, desire stronger than anything I’ve experienced before. No man has made me feel the way these three do.
I’m lost in Silas’s touch, in the way his hands mold around me, the press of his chest against mine, and the heat of his muscular thighs beneath me, when I feel a presence at my back.
Pulling away, I turn my head to find Lucian crouched behind me. He gives me a salacious smirk before leaning in to press a kiss to the sensitive skin behind my ear. “Keep kissing Silas, baby. If you want me to stop, just say the word.”
I hold his gaze for a moment longer, but I trust these men implicitly. I trust them with something I haven’t trusted a soul with in years—my body.
Turning back to Silas, I thread my fingers through his hair as I slide my lips along his.
I give his lower lip a sharp nip before sinking into his kiss.
Comfortable with Lucian’s touch, I don’t flinch when his hands slip beneath my hoodie, caressing my abdomen as his tongue trails a searing path down the column of my neck.
“You’re so fucking hot, baby,” he groans. I can feel his hard length pressed against my ass. He rubs himself against me while I grind down on Silas, the three of us getting caught up in heady debauchery.
Aware that someone is missing, I flick my eyes open to find Ronan watching us intently. He has taken Lucian’s spot on the sofa, legs spread wide, and body relaxed as he takes in every point of contact between me, Lucian, and Silas.
“Ronan loves to watch,” Lucian rasps in my ear, his fingers trailing tantalizing paths over my skin. “How about we put on a show for him?”
I’m watching Ronan close enough that I catch the flare of his eyes. Oh yes, he likes that idea. Feeling surprisingly confident, I nod. I like the idea of Ronan getting off while watching his best friends drive me wild.
With a raspy chuckle, Lucian purrs, “Raise your arms above your head, Little Moth.”