Page 163 of What We Brave
Reid holds up both hands. "Wouldn't dream of it."
But Blake's face goes tight, that worried crease between his eyebrows deepening. "Did I?—"
"No." I cut him off before he can spiral. "Don't even start. You didn't hurt me."
He doesn't look convinced, so I reach across the table and grab his hand. "Blake. Look at me."
Those gray eyes meet mine, still clouded with concern.
"I am not used to having this much sex." I say it plainly because apparently subtlety is lost on this man. "That's all. I enjoyed every single second of it. All of it. With both of you." I squeeze his fingers. "I'm just a little sore. In a good way. Averygood way."
The tension in his shoulders releases, inch by inch, and something like pride flickers across his face. He glances at Reid.
Reid grins.
They high-five each other across the table.
Over my head. While I'm sitting right here. On apillow.
I should be offended. I should say something pointed about maleego or caveman behavior or the general audacity of high-fiving over a woman's sexual soreness.
Instead a laugh bubbles up and I shake my head at both of them.
"You two are ridiculous."
"You love it," Reid says, shoving a taco toward me.
The thing is — God help me — I really do.
We got tacos. Or rather, Reid got tacos, because apparently he and Blake had an entire negotiation about it while I was unconscious. There was only one taco place, but Reid insisted there were "two versions" of that place, and the wrong version almost ruined his life last time, and honestly I stopped listening after that because Blake's face during Reid's taco monologue was the funniest thing I've seen in weeks.
The tacos are good. Really good. I'm on my third one and I'm not even a little sorry about it.
They've been like this all evening. Not pampering exactly — more like... gravitating. Reid refills my water before I notice it's empty. Blake keeps checking if I want more salsa. When I shivered once —once— Blake disappeared and came back with the wool blanket from the couch and draped it over my shoulders without a word.
It's almost overwhelming, being the center of this much attention.
Almost.Let's be honest. It's pretty great.
"You've got—" Reid gestures at my face. "Sour cream. Right there."
I swipe at my chin. "Gone?"
"Other side."
I swipe again.
"Still there." He's grinning now. Enjoying this way too much.
Blake reaches across the table and wipes it off with his thumb. Casual. Like he's been wiping sour cream off my face his whole life.
Oh. That's... something. The domesticity of it. The ease.
"Thanks," I manage.
He nods. Goes back to his taco.
Right. Normal. This is just normal now. A man I had earth-shattering sex with this morning is wiping condiments off my face at dinner. Totally normal.
