Page 169 of What We Brave
Reid presses his face into my hair. "Holy shit," he breathes. "Holyshit, Laine."
"Stop talking," I mumble.
"I can't. That was—Blake, did you?—"
"Yeah." Blake presses a kiss to my inner thigh—soft, almost careful—then looks up. His eyes find Reid's over my body. His chest is heaving. "I know."
"Because that was?—"
"Iknow."
"Like, I've seen a lot of things in my life, and that was?—"
"Reid." Blake's voice is wrecked but there's a flicker of amusement in it. "Shut up."
"Right. Shutting up. Absolutely. Shutting up right now." He presses another kiss into my hair. "You're incredible," he whispers. "Just so you know. Incredible."
He's not going to stop. He's never going to stop. I'm going to be hearingabout this on my deathbed.
Something passes between them when their eyes meet. I can't read it exactly, but it's real. It's theirs. And instead of feeling left out of it, I feel held by it.
Blake crawls up the couch, kissing my knee, my hip, the hem of my shirt. Somehow we all rearrange until I'm sandwiched between them. Reid behind me, his chest warm against my back. Blake in front, his forehead touching mine.
"Okay?" Blake's voice is rough.
"More than okay." I can barely get the words out. "That was..."
"Yeah." He kisses my nose. "It was."
Reid's arm drapes over both of us, his hand finding Blake's shoulder and resting there. "So on a scale of one to ten?—"
"Reid," Blake and I say together.
"Fine. But it was at least an eleven. And we need a bigger couch."
32
LAINE
Iwake up in the guest room.
Guest room. White ceiling. Beige walls. The window that faces the backyard.
For a disoriented second I have no idea how I got here. Last thing I remember is the couch. The movie. Being sandwiched between them after — after.
Oh god.
My face goes hot just thinking about it.
Okay. Reconstruction. I fell asleep on the couch. Someone carried me upstairs. Which one? Blake, probably. Reid would've woken me up by accidentally banging my head on the doorframe. Blake would've done it like carrying a piece of antique furniture — careful, silent, slightly overthinking the angle.
Was I drooling? I was definitely drooling.
I shift under the covers and my body immediately reminds me of the weekend. Not painfully — just... thoroughly. Muscles I forgot I had are making themselves known. My inner thighs. My abs, which is honestly insulting because I don't use my abs for anything voluntarily and apparently sex is the exception.
This is what happens when you go from zero physical intimacy to anentire weekend of — whatever that was. A sexual triathlon. The Laine Mitchell Invitational.
I press my palms over my eyes and laugh at myself. Alone. In the guest room. Like a normal person.
