Page 164 of What We Brave
After dinner we migrate to the living room. Reid drops into thecorner of the couch first and pats his lap. I curl up with my head there and my legs stretched toward the other end, where Blake settles and immediately pulls my feet into his lap like he's claiming territory. Reid throws the blanket over me — well, over most of me. My feet are sticking out on Blake's side because the blanket isn't designed for a three-person couch arrangement either.
Blake tucks the edges around my ankles anyway and my heart does a little happy twist in my chest.
"What are we watching?" I ask.
Reid already has the remote. "Something with explosions."
"That's not a genre."
"It's absolutely a genre. It's the best genre."
"Blake?" I appeal to the reasonable one.
"Explosions are fine."
I glare at him, but he just smiles.Traitor.
Reid queues up something with a lot of cars and guns and a plot I'm definitely not going to follow. His fingers find my hair and starts scraping through it absently — this slow, rhythmic thing that makes my scalp tingle and my thoughts go soft around the edges.
Blake's thumb traces circles on my ankle. Small. Steady. His other hand rests warm and heavy on my shin.
I should be watching the movie.
I am absolutely not watching the movie.
My brain is doing that thing where it replays the day in fragments. Not in order. Just... flashes.
Blake's hands gripping the edge of the dresser. The sound the drawer pull made when it snapped. His voice sayingI love youlike it was being torn out of him while he tried to leave the kitchen. The way he shook when he pushed inside me — actually shook, like his body couldn't contain what was happening.
God.
And then there's last night. Reid. Completely different. Reid hums during sex. Like, actually hums. Little sounds against my skin that are half melody, half vibration, and it should be ridiculous but instead it made me want to crawl inside him and live there. Reid made me feel weightless. Held. Like I could let go and he'd catch every piece.
Blake made me feel like gravity just tripled. Like every atom in my body was being pulled toward him and resistance was not an option.
So different. So completely, absurdly different. And I want both. I want the hum and the silence. The weightlessness and the gravity.
I'm in love with two men who could not possibly be more different in bed and I want them both forever.
Which is probably the most dangerous thought I've had all week. And there's been some stiff competition.
On screen, a helicopter explodes. Neither of them flinches. Military boys.
"That's not how helicopters work," Blake mutters.
"Shh," Reid says. "Art."
"That's not art. That's not enough money spent on research."
"Blake. Shh."
I smile into Reid's thigh. This. This right here. The bickering over bad movies while someone plays with my hair and someone else holds my feet. This is what I was so afraid of losing when I was lying in Blake's bed this morning, staring at the ceiling, wondering how any of this could possibly work.
It works like this. Tacos and blankets and arguments about helicopter physics.
Okay but eventually we have to leave this couch.
The thought pokes at me. I try to shove it away. It comes back.
