Page 170 of What We Brave
Why the guest room though?
Not Reid's bed. Not Blake's. The neutral zone. Switzerland.
That was thoughtful. Probably. Giving me the choice. Not assuming I'd want to sleep in either of their beds after?—
But also I woke up alone. With nothing but white walls and my own brain for company. And my brain this morning is... a lot.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. 8:47 AM. Text from Jamila, sent twenty minutes ago.
Jamila
How's the sleepover going?
I stare at the message. My thumb hovers over the keyboard.
How's it going? Well, Jamila, yesterday I had sex with Blake for the first time. Multiple times. One of which broke his dresser. Then both of them made me come on the couch while an action movie played. Then someone carried me to the guest room like a sleeping toddler and now I'm lying here cataloging my sore muscles like a post-game injury report.
So. Fine. It's going fine.
Okay. I'm not fine. I'm panicking. Last night was a lot. Really a lot. The whole weekend has been. Sex was awesome. The guys were awesome. So why the heck am I spiraling?
You free for breakfast?
Three dots appear immediately.
Jamila
Always. Sunrise Diner? 30 min?
See you there.
I drop the phone on the bed and exhale. Breakfast with Jamila.Normal friend activity. Totally normal. Nothing to process. Everything's great.
Get up, Mitchell. Shower. Clothes. Human face. Go.
I grab my toiletry bag and peek into the hallway. Voices drift up from downstairs. Reid's laugh — that bright, easy one that carries through walls. Blake's lower response, too quiet to make out the words.
They're just... down there. Being normal. Making breakfast. Existing as two men in a kitchen while my entire internal landscape has rearranged itself overnight.
I dart across the hall to the bathroom. Lock the door. Turn the shower as hot as it'll go.
The water helps. By the time I'm dressed — jeans, sweater, nothing complicated, nothing that screamsI had so much sex this weekend that I need a pillow to sit down— I almost feel like a functioning human.
I check my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Hair still damp. Eyes a little wild. Faint mark on my collarbone peeking above my sweater.
I look like a woman who's been having a lot of sex. Can people tell? Is there a vibe? Some kind of post-coital glow that strangers can detect?
Stop it. You look fine. You look normal.
I tug my sweater up half an inch. There. Normal.
Go downstairs. Say good morning. Leave. You can do this.
The kitchen smells like coffee and bacon. Reid's at the stove, spatula in hand. Blake sits at the table scrolling his phone. They both look up when I walk in.
Reid crosses to me immediately, cupping my face and kissing me soft and slow. "Morning."
"Morning." My voice comes out weird. Too high. Like I'm answering a question in class and I haven't done the reading.
