Chapter Ten—Riley
Day twelve. The first thing I notice is a chest against my back.
A heartbeat I shouldn't be able to count but can.
Awareness hits before my eyes even open.
I already know exactly where I am.
My body finished the inventory while my brain was still waking up—the deep ache in my thighs, the tenderness at my hips where fingers gripped too hard, skin that still feels hypersensitive from every touch.
The bedroom is grey with early light. Liam sleeps on my other side, face soft and unguarded in a way it never is when he's awake. Ethan is already gone—the sheets on his side noticeably cooler. Andrew's arm stays heavy around my waist, certain even in sleep.
Sixty seconds. That's all I allow myself. One slow breath after another.
Then I sit up carefully, trying not to wake the man I have no idea how to face in daylight. My feet hit the cold floor. A robe hangs on the back of the door. I pull it on and tie the belt with hands that don't quite feel like mine.
My bathroom is clean, white, and temporarily mine.
The shower is obscene—endless hot water, rain showerhead. I crank it as hot as it goes and stand under the steam until my lungs fill with nothing else.
Those thoughts still come anyway. Liam's laugh in my ear. Ethan's hands mapping my ribs. Andrew saying my name like it still meant something after seven years.
For eight straight minutes I insist I'm not thinking about any of it.
The tile presses cool against my forehead. Water roars loud in my ears. Eventually the shaking eases.
I stay until the water runs clear.
* * *
They're already in the kitchen when I come out.
All three of them. Dressed, or close enough—Liam with his shirt untucked, Ethan buttoned to the collar, Andrew with sleeves rolled and a coffee cup going cold in his hand. A conversation I wasn't part of stops when I walk in.
Ethan looks up first.
Like he's been awake for hours. Like last night has already been neatly categorized and filed away.
The others haven't.
Liam's shoulders carry a tightness that doesn't belong there.
“Morning,” Ethan says.
One word. That's how we're doing this.
“Morning,” I reply.
The coffee maker finishes its cycle. No one moves for it.
Ethan sets his cup down.
“We think—” He stops. Starts again, cleaner. “Last night was a mistake. Connor can't know. It doesn't happen again.”
It lands like a door slamming shut.
Nobody speaks right away.
Liam's jaw works, like he's biting back whatever wants to come out. His usual easy grin is nowhere in sight. Andrew stares into his untouched coffee, knuckles white around the mug. The silence stretches. Everything none of us are saying fills it.
I pull the robe tighter around myself, suddenly aware of how little fabric stands between me and the memory of their hands.
“You're right,” I say, too quickly. “It was a mistake. It won't happen again.”
My body doesn't agree with a single word.
I can still feel the ghost of Andrew's arm still around me, how Liam's laugh had vibrated against my neck, the precise way Ethan had watched me come undone. My thighs ache with the reminder. My skin still feels too sensitive, like every nerve ending is waiting for the next touch.
Ethan nods once, crisp and final.
Liam finally looks up. His eyes find mine, raw and direct. “Was it?” he asks quietly.
The question sits between us.
Not for the room. Just for me.
Then it dies.
“Riley—” he starts, voice unsteady, like he doesn't actually know what comes next.
“I know,” I cut in. “It won't.”
No one argues.
No one moves.
We talk about nothing. Morning light, small sounds, three men pretending this is just another ordinary day while the space between us crackles with everything we're refusing to name.
When they finally drift toward their rooms, I stay in the kitchen a minute longer. Three half-finished mugs sit on the counter. Chairs remain angled from where we'd been standing. The coffee maker light still glows. No one turned it off.
Then I go back to my room.
I sit on the edge of the bed.
The sheets are still warm.
None of it actually ended.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
Connor.
I stare at his name for two full rings before I pick up.
“Hey.” His voice is warm, loose around the edges—he's been in the sun all day. “You alive over there?”
“Barely,” I say. “Vegas hours.”
He laughs, genuinely, annoyingly good, and spends the next five minutes telling me about the resort, some snorkeling disaster that turned funny, how Sarah got a sunburn shaped like a starfish. I lean back against the headboard and listen while I stare at the wall.
The bed still holds the shape of last night.
I don't move.
“Okay, so.” His tone shifts—small gear change. “I wanted to check in about the Harrington stuff.”
“Everything's fine,” I say. “Dinner went well.”
“I know, Ethan gave me the rundown. Riley, honestly—they love you. Harrington's assistant emailed afterward. You came up by name.”
I don't say anything.
“These dinners run every two weeks through the end of the deal,” Connor continues. “I know I dropped a lot on you. Using you as the family piece—that wasn't totally fair. But you've made a real difference. These guys respond to family, and you've been… exactly what I needed you to be.”
Down the hall, someone opens a cabinet. A coffee cup clinks. Liam saying something too quiet to make out.
Normal morning sounds. Three men pretending nothing changed.
“I need you to see it through,” Connor says. “To the end of the deal. Can you do that?”
I close my eyes. It's not the dinners.
“Sure,” I say.
“Yeah?”
“I'll see it through.”
Connor exhales, warm and relieved, with no idea what he just asked me to carry. “You're the best. Seriously. Sarah says hi, by the way. She wants to do a proper dinner when we're back.”
“Tell her I'd love that.”
We say goodbye. I set the phone face-down on the bed and stare at the wall.
My Portland landlord has called twice. I keep meaning to call back. The lease is almost up. I’ve been not calling him back for the same reason I’ve been not calling him back every year except this time I actually don’t know the answer.
I don't know what I'm going to tell any of them.