Page 242 of What We Brave
The room is dark—not pitch black, there's moonlight doing its thing through the curtains—and Blake's face is about three inches from mine. His eyes are half-open, watching me.
Creepy? Probably should be creepy. It's not.
God, I love this face.Even half-asleep, even with that permanent crease between his eyebrows that never quite goes away, even with stubble scratching against the pillow. All those rough edges I used to think meant he was broken beyond repair—turns out they're just part of who he is. Part of what makes him Blake. The guy who notices when I'm cold before I do, who fixes things without being asked, who carries so much guilt he can barely stand up straight some days but still manages to be the most decent person I know.
After I kissed him, I used to lie awake in my own bed, thinking about what it would be like to wake up next to him. Now I don't haveto choose between him and Reid, don't have to pick sides or leave someone out in the cold.
Blake's watching me like he's memorizing my face, and maybe he is. Because I find myself looking at both of them the same way.
"Hey," he whispers.
"Hey." My voice sounds like I gargled gravel. Sexy. "What time is it?"
"Late. Early. Somewhere in between."
"Helpful."
Behind me, Reid shifts. His arm tightens around my waist, and his breath is warm against the back of my neck. Still asleep, maybe. Or doing that thing where he's technically awake but refusing to admit it.
"Did I wake you?" Blake asks.
"No. Maybe. I don't know." I'm still trying to get my brain online. "Why are you awake?"
"Slept. Woke up." His thumb is tracing circles on my hip. Slow. Absent. I don't think he knows he's doing it. "Kept thinking about you being here. In this bed."
Oh.
"I'm here," I say, because it's true and I can't think of anything smarter.
"Yeah." His voice goes soft. Almost wondering. "You are."
He kisses me. Soft, barely there—a question more than anything. And I should probably care about morning breath, or middle of the night breath, or the fact that I definitely drooled on my pillow, but I don't. I lean into it, slide my hand up to his jaw, let it turn into something slower and deeper and?—
Behind me, Reid stirs. His arm tightens, pulling me back against his chest, and I feel the exact moment he wakes up properly. His breathing changes. His body tenses. His lips find that spot where my neck meets my shoulder.
"Starting without me?" Low and rumbly against my skin.
"You were asleep," Blake says against my mouth.
"I'm not now."
Reid's hand slides under the hem of my shirt. Just resting there, palm flat against my stomach, and I feel that toucheverywhere.
Okay. So we're doing this. At—I glance at the clock on the nightstand—2:47 in the morning. Sure. Why not.
"This okay?" Reid asks.
"Yes." The word comes out way more breathless than I intended. Get it together, Laine. "This is—yeah. Yes." This is so okay. More than okay. This is the okayest thing ever.
Blake pulls back to look at me. Checking. Making sure. And I love him for it, but also?—
"We can just sleep," he says. "If you want."
"Blake."
"We don't have to?—"
"Blake." I put my hand on his chest. His heart is pounding. "I want this. I've been thinking about this…about the three of us together for-freaking-ever!" Ever since that night on the couch, I've wanted this again. Okay, might not the whole time. There was time in between where navigating the three of us was a little overwhelming. Trying to be the best girlfriend ever to two men isn't easy. It's a lot to balance. So I guess I'm glad we didn't dive into this too fast. Because I love both my guys, and the one on one time I get to spend with them. But this, God, I want this too.
