Page 26 of Knot My Fault
The first few minutes are awkward because there are too many limbs and not enough rules. I order breakfast from the diner mostly to give myself something to do. Bishop takes the phone after I glare at the menu for too long and asks what I want without looking away from my face. “Pancakes,” I say, then regret existing when Hollis makes a tiny pleased sound from the nest.
Bishop adds eggs and coffee without asking before looking at the nest, then at at Hollis, and says, “Down, baby. Before you fall down.”
Hollis lowers himself carefully into the blankets, all giant limbs and wet hair, then freezes like he’s not sure he’s allowed to relax. I stand over him with my arms crossed. “You can lean back. The blankets have survived worse.”
“What’s worse than me?”
“Nelson borrowed one during a bus trip.”
Hollis gasps. “I’m honored.”
Bishop sits near the edge first, giving me room to decide. That helps and irritates me at the same time. I end up sitting because standing over them makes it weirder, and once I’m down, Hollis’ purr starts in low, uneven bursts. My body turns toward it before I decide to. Bishop sees it and only shifts enough that I can still see his face.
I curl against Hollis’ side with as much dignity as a person can have while crawling into his own nest with two men and diner pancakes on the way. His arm stays where it is until I tug it over my waist. “You can. Just don’t get smug about it.”
Hollis' breath catches. “I’m not smug.”
“You’re purring like a lawn mower.”
Bishop settles behind me, his chest near my back but not pressed there until I lean. “Tell us where you want us.”
I look down at Hollis' arm over me, Bishop’s hand resting open near my knee, the blankets bunched under my legs. “I don’t know.”
“Then start with what helps,” Bishop says.
I pause and then flop around until my back is against Hollis’ chest, my face pressed into Bishop’s chest where I can easily look up at him. “Like this, I think.” I snuggle closer before settling. “Just like this.”
A week ago, I would have balked at the idea of being with two men in my nest. I would have hated them pressed up against me, wondering when they wanted sex or when they’d be done with me. Now, I’m just hoping they don’t move.
Breakfast arrives twenty minutes later, and we eat in the nest with takeout containers balanced on blankets. Hollis gets syrup on his thumb and tries to hide it. Bishop catches him. I catch Bishop smiling. Nobody comments on the fact that my nest has become warm in a way it never has been before.
By the time they leave for afternoon classes, Hollis has napped for nine minutes with his cheek pressed to one of my hoodies, Bishop has folded the empty containers into a neat stack, and I’ve apologized three separate times for making the morning weird.
The third time, Bishop stops at the door and looks at me fully. “Jude. You wanted us here. We liked being here.”
Hollis, still half-asleep, adds, “A lot.”
My face burns. “Go to class.”
I text first after my afternoon lecture, which feels like stepping off a block all over again.
Me: Is the Victorian alive?
Hollis responds with a selfie from what looks like the dining hall, one thumb up, eyes half-closed over a water bottle.
Hollis: surviving bravely
Bishop: He ate two sandwiches and fell asleep for six minutes over his notebook.
Hollis: betrayal
I stare at the thread too long, smiling down at my phone in the middle of the walkway like an idiot. Then I see Bishop in the courtyard, sitting against a low stone wall with a laptop open on his knees and sunglasses pushed up into his hair. He looks up before I say anything. “Stalking me?” he asks.
“I live here.”
“Convenient defense.”
I sit beside him, leaving a careful inch between us. Bishop doesn’t close the laptop, but he turns his body enough that I can see his face. That simple adjustment still gets under my skin. “How was class?”
