Page 93 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
“I need you to be sure,” Asher says quietly.
I hear the rustle of sheets. He moves across the bed, sliding up behind me. He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. He buries his face in the curve of my neck, inhaling deeply.
“Do you regret being with me?” he asks, stressing the last word.
I lean into him. I can’t help it. He feels solid. Safe. Which is ironic, considering he is one-third of the reason why my life is about to implode.
“No,” I admit softly. “I don’t regret being with you, Asher. You were… incredible.”
He kisses my shoulder. “Then the rest is just logistics. We can solve logistics.”
“It’s not logistics!” I pull away, standing up and grabbing my robe from the chair. I wrap it around myself tightly, tying the belt like a tourniquet. I turn to face him. “It’s feelings, Asher.It’s loyalty. It’s your brothers. It’s my job. It’s the fact that I am essentially the Yoko Ono of the Phantom Trio.”
“They know,” he says.
I stop dead. “What?”
“I texted the group chat last night,” Asher says calmly. “I told them the status quo was unsustainable. I told them we needed to talk.”
“You did what?” My voice rises to a screech. “You told them?”
“I didn’t give them the details,” Asher says, standing up and retrieving his clothes from where he dropped them on the floor last night. He steps into his boxers with maddening calm. “But they know I was with you. Owen knows. Ethan knows.”
“Oh my god.” I press my hands to my face, pacing the small strip of rug between the bed and the door. “I can’t go in there. I can’t walk into that office. Ethan is going to kill me. Or fire me. Or both.”
“You have to,” Asher says, pulling his t-shirt over his head. “The global launch is in forty-eight hours.” It’s the day the app officially goes live to the public. The day everything is supposed to peak.
“I don’t care about the launch! I care about the fact that I have slept with all three of you, and now you’re all talking about it in a group chat like it’s a bug fix!”
Asher stops dressing. He looks at me. His expression softens, the analytical mask slipping just enough to show the man underneath.
“We aren’t talking about it like a bug fix,” he says quietly. “We are talking about it like a crisis. Because that is what you are to us, Tessa. You are a crisis we don’t know how to manage.”
He walks over to me. He reaches out, tucking a stray hair behind my ear. His touch is gentle, reverent.
“I won’t let Ethan fire you,” he says. “And I won’t let Owen pressure you. But you have to face us.”
“I can’t.”
“You can,” he says. “You are the strongest variable in this equation. You proved that when you stood up to Ethan in the boardroom. You proved it when you played split-flipper with me.”
He kisses my forehead.
“I’ll leave first,” he says. “I’ll go to the office. I’ll handle them. I’ll stabilize the environment before you arrive.”
I stare at him. He thinks it’s that simple. He thinks because he has calculated the outcome, it will be fine.
He thinks logic can solve this.
But he’s wrong. He thinks he can just write a check and fix it. He offered to pay the bonus for me last night.
But if I take his money, I’m just trading one debt for another. I’m trading Ethan’s trap for Asher’s charity.
Asher finishes dressing. He picks up his keys.
“See you at the office,” he says.
He walks out of my bedroom. I hear the front door click shut.
