32. Sage
THIRTY-TWO
SAGE
“That movie was evil,” Amy says as the lights come up, blowing her nose with the delicacy of a foghorn. “Why did we watch that? Why did I agree to watch children get possessed by a goat demon?”
“Because Sage wanted horror and you’re a pushover,” Jamie says.
“I wanted fun horror,” I argue. “Jump scares and fake blood. Not— not that.”
Amy gestures at the screen like it personally victimized her. “That child spoke Latin, Jamie. Fluent Latin.”
“Impressive, honestly,” I say, wiping my eyes. “I can barely speak English.”
We shuffle out with the rest of the audience, blinking in the fluorescent glare of the lobby.
My feet are sore from the pedicure chair—the massage setting was either broken or designed by a sadist—but my toenails are a deep burgundy that Amy picked and I love.
Jamie went with sage green, which he claims was not a pun directed at me, but I don’t believe him for a second.
I feel good. Light.
“Gosh, look at the time. I should get you back to your men,” Jamie says, checking his phone. “Before they send out a search party. Or a SWAT team. Or whatever the multi-boyfriend equivalent of a manhunt is.”
“A manhunt,” Amy says. “Literally.”
“Speaking of which—” Jamie slings an arm around my shoulder and steers us toward the exit. “I’ve been thinking. This whole harem situation. I feel like you’re understaffed.”
“Understaffed,” I repeat.
“Five guys is a lot of dick, Sage. And I respect that. But what you’re missing is balance. Variety. A different perspective.” He puts his free hand on his chest. “I’d like to formally submit my application.”
Amy snorts. “To do what?”
“To join. Obviously. I’ve never eaten pussy before, but I’m a fast learner and I’m very enthusiastic about new experiences. I have references.”
“References from who?” I giggle.
“People who would vouch for my enthusiasm. That’s all I’m saying.” He holds up a hand. “But look, I realize you’re already dealing with way more dick than vagina in this equation, so maybe having an extra bottom around would balance things out. I’m just putting that out there. Into the universe.”
“Oh my God.” I’m laughing so hard my ribs hurt.
“I’m serious! I could be the house twink. Every polycule needs one. I’d bring cultural enrichment and superior skincare routines.” He turns to Amy. “Hey—maybe you could take some of the dick for her too. Lighten the load.”
Amy’s face goes through about six colors. “I don’t—I mean—I’m not sure that’s my—”
“You don’t have to answer now. It’s an open offer. Just think about it.”
“I’m not going to think about it, Jamie.”
“You’re already thinking about it. I can see the wheels turning.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Or should I say the dicks spinning?”
Amy opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again.
“I’m not saying I’m not curious. Because I am.
A little. Conceptually. But the logistics still have me stumped.
” She turns to me. “Like, okay. I wasn’t going to pry.
But since Jamie brought it up I have to know—you can reasonably take three dicks, right?
” She points to her mouth then makes a downward gesture with two fingers to her lower body.
“But what are the other two doing while that’s happening?
Do you, like, jack them off in your hands?
” She gestures, jerking off air dicks. “Or are they just . . . standing there with their dicks in their hands? Do they watch? Do they take a number? Is there a queue system? Is there a waiting room? Do they get snacks? I need to know!”
“Amy—”
“Sometimes we suck each other’s dicks,” a voice says from behind us.
Every molecule of blood in my body relocates to my face.
I turn around. Eli is standing right there, arms crossed over his chest, with the patient, faintly entertained expression of a man who has been listening for a while.
“What the fuck, Eli?” I force out. “Is this how you show up? Eavesdropping on girl talk?”
Jamie and Amy stare at Eli.
Eli stands there, letting the horror percolate without so much as blinking.
He pins me with that look—the one that’s at once indulgent, exasperated, and hungry in a way that makes my knees want to audition for wet spaghetti.
“I—we should—” Jamie is looking between me and Eli as though he’s just realized the building is on fire and all the exits are behind the flames. “This was my idea. All of it. The mall, the movie, sneaking out—I talked her into it. She didn’t want to, I pushed.”
“Jamie, don’t—”
“No, seriously. Sage said no like four times and I basically dragged her out the back door. It’s entirely my fault and I accept full responsibility.
I would also like to state for the record that I think you’re all doing a great job with the .
. . ” He waves his hand vaguely. “The watching thing. You’re all very thorough. ”
“Apparently not thorough enough.” Eli’s gaze stays on me. Unmoved.
“Amy,” Jamie says, already backing toward the doors. “We should go. Give these two some space.”
Amy is still frozen, staring at Eli like he might start speaking in Latin like the demon child from the movie. “Yeah. We—I’ll—see you later, Sage.” She shoots me a look, equal parts panic and pleasure, like she can’t believe my boyfriend just confessed (bragged?) about ménage etiquette.
Then she herds Jamie past the ticket counter, the two of them nearly tripping over each other in their haste to escape.
I can hear Jamie mumbling, “Did you see his arms? They don’t make arms like that on regular people,” as they vanish.
Eli waits until they’re gone. In the suddenly empty space, he sighs. Runs a hand through his hair. For a full five seconds, we’re silent.
I fold my arms. “How long were you following us?”
“Since you left the diner. You weren’t exactly subtle, Sage.” His tone is flat, but I know that cadence—the measured control he deploys when he’s trying not to yell. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because all you do is say no.”
“With good reason,” he snaps before reining it in. “We’re not doing this here.”
“Oh, we’re absolutely doing this—”
“Not. Here.” His voice drops, low and final. “Car. Now.”
I want to argue. Every fiber of me wants to plant my feet and have this out right here, right now, in front of the concession kid and the mop bucket and the cardboard standee of whatever Marvel movie is coming out next.
But Eli’s already walking, and my feet are already following, because apparently my body decided to cooperate even when my brain is screaming mutiny.
We don’t speak in the car. The silence is thick and pressurized, the kind that makes your ears pop.
Eli drives with both hands on the wheel, eyes forward, jaw set.
I sit in the passenger seat with my arms crossed and my burgundy nails and my fury and I stare out the window and think about all the things I’m going to say to him the second we stop moving.
I don’t recognize the route until we turn onto my street.
“This isn’t the way to Holden’s,” I say.
“No.”
“Why are we going to my apartment?”
He pulls into the lot behind my building and kills the engine. Sits there for a moment, hands still on the wheel.
“You obviously want your space and don’t give a fuck about risk,” he says, looking at me for the first time since the cinema. “And while we’re here, you and I need to have a talk about boundaries.”
The word boundaries coming out of his mouth while looking at me like that does something to my insides that has no business happening when I’m this angry.
“You want to talk about boundaries?” I say. “You? The man who watches my every move, and stalked me through a mall?”
“Yes.”
“That’s rich, Eli.”
“I know.”
“You’re a hypocrite.”
“I know that too.” He gets out. Comes around to my side. Opens the door. “Upstairs.”
I should tell him to fuck off. I should slam the door and walk to Holden’s and let him sit in this parking lot, alone with his audacity. That’s what a sensible person would do.
But I’ve never been sensible. And the way he’s looking at me—dark-eyed, coiled, barely contained—is the way he looked at me the morning at the club. Right before he broke open.
I get out of the car.
He reaches into the back seat and pulls out a duffel bag I didn’t notice before. Dark canvas, heavy enough that the strap digs into his shoulder when he lifts it.
“What’s in the bag?”
“Upstairs,” he repeats.
I follow him into the building and up the stairs, stomach a tight ball of rage and curiosity and—traitor that it is—want.
I’m hyperaware of every step, every breath, every thud of my heart against my ribs.
He steps aside when we reach the landing, and I unlock the door.
The apartment is empty—Amy’s still at the mall with Jamie, and the silence inside is absolute.
Eli closes the door behind us. Locks it. Then he sets the duffel on the kitchen counter and unzips it slow, deliberate, like he’s giving me time to watch. Inside, there’s a coil of soft rope. Silk, not nylon. Black.
“I’m going to say this once,” he says, and his voice has dropped to that register that makes my knees unreliable.
“You snuck out of a building I was watching. You left without telling anyone. As far as you knew, you spent four hours with no protection, no backup, nothing between you and whatever is out there except a man with a backpack and good intentions.”
“Jamie is my friend—”
“I know who Jamie is. That’s not the point.” He steps closer. “The point is you ran. And you did it because you thought I’d say no.”
“You would have said no.”
“You didn’t give me the chance to say yes.
” Another step. We’re close enough now that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
“That’s the part that matters, Sage. Not that you left.
That you didn’t trust me enough to even clue me in.
There’s no way you would have pulled this shit on the others. ”
“What’s it to you, Eli? You’re the one who wanted me gone. The one who hated that he wanted me. The one who tried to send me away!”
“You’re right,” he says, so soft it barely registers. “I was a coward about it. And I’m fucking sorry for that. But if you think I’m going to let you take risks with your life because I can’t keep my own shit together, you’re out of your mind.”
I open my mouth to shoot back, but he moves—quick, purposeful, cutting off my words with a hand at the back of my neck. His fingers tighten just enough to let me know who’s in control. Not dangerous, but deliberate.
“Tonight,” Eli says, “we’re playing by my rules.”