“Not being able to touch you the way I want…” Cole runs a finger along my butt crack. “Seeing the way you look at him, splitting my time with you over the next six months—none of this is easy.” He caps the ointment and sets it aside, lowering his voice. “But it’s worth it.”
My chest constricts, and I reach a hand toward him. He grips my fingers and stretches on the bed beside me, resting on his side with his head on the pillow.
Beneath me, Trace doesn’t move, his eyes closed and lips curved downward. As the silence drags on, they seem content to just lie here without talking. But not me. Silence makes me analyze, and over-analyze, and it won’t be long before I start belaboring everything we’ve already discussed.
I stroke my thumb across Cole’s knuckles. “I hate when it goes quiet and my brain is like, ‘Hey, you should say something annoying just to fill the void.’ But I’ve already said all the annoying things I want to say today.”
“I’ll never tire of listening to you talk.” Trace peeks at me from beneath hooded eyelids.
“I was going to suggest we watch a movie.” Cole rolls to his back. “According to you, there’s only one movie in existence, and you know all the lines. So you can talk until your voice is raw.”
His suggestion makes me want to jump up and down with excitement, except he knows all the lines, too, and Trace doesn’t. Is that why he suggested it? To one-up Trace? My stomach sinks. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like watching Dirty Dancing.
“Don’t freak out,” I say, trying not to freak out, “but what do you think about choosing a different movie? What do you guys want to watch?”
“I feel like that’s a trick question,” Cole says.
Trace studies me with tapered eyes.
“We’re here to grow and learn and figure out the future, right?” I stretch over him and snatch the remote off the night stand. “I can’t do that unless I expand my horizons.” I set the device on his chest and settle on the bed between them. “Might as well start with a new movie genre.”
As Trace powers on the TV and surfs through the channels, I grip his free hand, still holding tight to Cole’s in my other.
If being with one or the other is a choice, when did I decide to love them both?
I didn’t.
Love happened twice, and I have no regrets, even if the situation feels impossible, even if the looming decision makes me believe I will never survive it. As much as I fear the future, it isn’t going away until it shows me what I need to do.
I fell in love with two men and lost myself.
I’ll stay in love with one and find myself again.
I wake the next morning to find Trace staring down at me, shirtless, hair tousled, and blue eyes illuminated by the sunlight crashing rudely through the windows.
I groan. Too early. Need sleep.
Cole’s side of the bed is empty. Maybe it’s later than I thought. I peek at the clock on the nightstand.
6:57 AM. Seriously? Why can’t mornings happen after noon?
“Word of advice.” I roll over and bury my face in the pillow. “If you’re waking me, it better involve morning sex, coffee, or Beyoncé. Preferably all three.”
Trace yanks the pillow out from beneath me and flips me onto my back.
His dominant energy precedes him. He doesn’t even need to open his mouth to communicate his intention of controlling every breath I take today. His gorgeous face and steady glare kick my heart against my ribcage. Add to that, the memory of yesterday’s punishment, of his drugging kiss swirling with his bold masculine taste, and I could be coaxed out of bed. Or rather, into bed.
“Morning.” He smiles a barely-there smile that shines with more intensity than anyone should be capable of at this hour.
“You know what rhymes with morning?” I stretch, yawning. “Fuck off.”
He lifts a mug from the nightstand and brings it to his lips, sipping with a smirk.
Coffee! I lurch to my knees, reaching for his cup. He lets me have it, but a glance at the pitch-black contents has me passing it back with a grimace.
“You should know,” I say grumpily, “I totally judge you on the way you take your coffee, you un-creamy freakshow.”
“Someone left the bag of whiners open this morning.” He drinks the coffee, eyes dancing.
“You opened it,” I huff, “with your lack of creamer and flirty eyes and… Wait. You just made another joke.”
“Get up.” He stands and strides toward the closet, his crisp khaki slacks hanging deliciously low. “Your creamy coffee is waiting in the kitchen, princess. We have things to do.”
I tilt my head, watching him slide on a starched collared shirt. “Where are we going?”
“Walmart.” His fingers move deftly over the buttons. “We need groceries.”
An hour later, I sit in the front seat of Cole’s Range Rover as Trace drives along the winding road through the woods. Cole took the boat out to go fishing this morning, and I’ve yet to see him.
Slurping coffee from a travel mug, I watch Trace out of the corner of my eye. “Did Cole make himself scarce for a reason?”
“We’re dividing up our time with you.”
“Care to enlighten me on the schedule?”
“No.” He adjusts the heat controls, directing those captivating eyes at the road.
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll obsess over it.” He scratches his clean-shaved jaw, gaze straight ahead. “I only want you obsessing about one thing.”
I don’t need him to draw a picture. He wants me thinking of him and nothing else. I want that for him, too, and I hate myself for not being able to give it to him.
“Why are you putting yourself through this?” I stare at the windshield, voice quiet. “There are so many other ways to go about it, including not bothering with me at all.”
“If I don’t bother with you,” he says in a biting tone, “I shouldn’t bother pursuing anything in life.” His nostrils flare, and his hand clenches on the steering wheel. “Or maybe my heart is too stubborn for the kind of woman who thinks her lover shouldn’t fight for her.”
Oh, for Christ’s sake, I didn’t mean to piss him off. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then do a better job of explaining yourself.”
Heat flushes my face. “You’re the type of man who doesn’t wait around for a woman to make decisions about your future. I’m just wondering why you’re not demanding I kick Cole to the curb. Or why you haven’t thrown me in your car, driven me back to your penthouse, and made the decision for me.”
“I refuse to force your hand on this.” His eyes, cold and hard, shift to me before returning to the road. “I’m patient, Danni. When you choose me, I want the realization clawing at your insides without coercion or doubt or the pressure of time. I want your heart to beat for me and only me, not because I command it, but because we’re meant to be.”
He wants pure, undeniable love. He deserves that and so much more.
An ache tightens my chest. “I’m afraid one day you’ll realize I wasn’t worth it.”
“I’m afraid one day you’ll ask me to leave.”
A vehement denial jumps to the tip of my tongue, but I trap it there. I can’t make promises I don’t know how to keep.
I used to think forever was the only thing I wanted. Then I met Trace, and my heart filled with tiny moments, each one worth so much more than the whole of a lifetime.
But how can I cherish every moment written with his touch while my veins continue to burn for Cole?
I don’t care if they orchestrated this arrangement. It feels like cheating, and the gravity of that is heavy enough to crush my bones. I can’t drag this out for six months. My sanity won’t survive it.
As if Trace senses my tension, he reaches over the console and rests a hand on my thigh. The heat of his palm penetrates my leggings, warming me, comforting me, until the anxiousness fades away.
“Tell me something about you.” I lace our fingers together. “A truth you never share with anyone.”