Page 195 of What We Brave
He pulls back enough to look at me, his eyes dark and wanting. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I kiss him again, quick and demanding. "Hurry. I might start thinking again."
He doesn't need to be told twice.
Reid carries me down the hall toward his room, and I'm giggling like an idiot because he keeps pretending to drop me, letting me slip just enough that my stomach lurches before his arms lock tight again. His door gives way with one kick, and then we're falling onto his bed in a mess of tangled limbs and breathless kisses that don't quite land where they're supposed to.
This is my life now.
Reid's weight settles over me, his fingers already working the button of my jeans, and it still doesn't feel real. Two men. All the sex I could want. Being taken care of better than I ever have been in all my other relationships combined.
I'm going to figure my stuff out. Because I don't plan on letting this, letting us, go.
36
REID
Life is good.
That's not something I let myself think very often. Feels like tempting fate, like the universe is just sitting there with a fly swatter going oh yeah, buddy? Watch this. But right now, sitting in the rig with Tony, sun coming through the windshield, coffee still warm in my hand?—
I'm doubling down on that shit.
Life is good.
Laine's been basically living with us for three weeks now. Morning breakfasts and tangled sheets and Blake actually smiling like he means it. Not the tight-lipped, I'm-fine-don't-ask-me smile. The real one. The one that makes his whole face go soft and a little dumb and I will never tell him that because he'd murder me.
We've fallen into this rhythm that shouldn't work but does. Laine sleeping in my bed some nights, Blake's others. The three of us on the couch watching terrible reality TV while she critiques the contestants' life choices with surgical precision and Blake pretends he's not invested even though he absolutely called Jenny a liability last Thursday. Out loud. With conviction. I have witnesses.
Normal. Or whatever passes for normal when you're in a relationship with your best friend and the same woman.
"You're doing it again."
I glance over at Tony. He's got that look on his face—the one that says he's about to bust my balls about something.
"Doing what?"
"The smile thing." He gestures at my face. "You've been grinning like an idiot for the past hour."
"Maybe I'm just happy to be working with you, partner."
"Bullshit." But he's smiling too. Sort of. There's something off about it, though. Something that's been off all shift.
Six hours in. Fender bender, diabetic emergency, a guy convinced his heart was exploding but who turned out to have really bad gas. Standard Tuesday stuff.
But Tony's been quiet. Not his usual running commentary about everything from sports to his kid to whatever's pissing him off about station politics. Just... quiet. And Tony being quiet is like a dog not eating. Something's wrong.
"You good?" I ask.
"Fine."
"That's convincing."
He doesn't respond. Just stares out the window at passing strip malls.
I let it sit. Tony'll talk when he's ready. Push too hard and he clams up tighter than a drum. Give him space and eventually it all comes out.
We pull into the Quik Stop for a bathroom break and more coffee. Tony stays in the rig while I run in. When I come back, he's still got that weird expression—like he's working up to a root canal.
