Page 27 of Cuffed to my Roomies
“So, this is going to work for us,” Derek said, “We’re in this together. We keep it exclusive, no seeing other people for as long as this lasts. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” I said.
“Yeah,” Brett said.
“I think we should make a date to check in, make sure everyone wants to continue,” Brett said.
“That’s smart,” I said, “Although I feel pretty spoiled so it isn’t like I’m going to go, oh I’m bored with you two hot men.”
“Sunday brunch,” Derek said. Derek, the least likely human to ever say the word ‘brunch’. “We’ll have a brunch once a month and talk about whatever’s bugging us, just get in touch with each other.”
“I think there’s going to be plenty of touching,” Brett said.
“God, you’re the worst,” I laughed, “this is serious.”
“It’s new for all of us, and we need ground rules, but we need to make this our own, like us. Sometimes we act really stupid and laugh a lot,” Derek said.
“Fair enough,” I said, “Practice safe sex, keep it exclusive, be honest, meet for brunch,” I said.
“Yep, that sounds perfect,” Brett said.
Derek chose that moment to tickle me. I doubled over in his lap, my foot connecting with his jaw as I kicked and wriggled helplessly.
“Shit, okay she has boundaries. No tickling,” he said.
“Sorry,” I said, “I can’t control my feet when someone tickles me. It’s like fight or flight,” I said with a giggle. Derek hauled me against his chest, eyes darkening. I felt the tug of attraction in my stomach, and my arm went around his neck as he lowered his mouth to mine.
“Mmm,” I said as his tongue slid in my mouth, my hand threading through his silky hair.
I coiled into his lap, pressing myself against him, reveling in every sensation that bloomed inside me.
“Somebody’s thirsty,” Brett said sarcastically.
I was aware that he got up, that he leaned over the pair of us. He touched my back. I reluctantly broke my kiss with Derek to look at him.
“No pairing off, either,” he said. I nodded.
“That’s fair. I know how I’d feel if the two of you went off together and locked me out,” Derek said.
“Me, too,” I said, and Brett rolled his eyes.
“That won’t be a problem,” he assured me.
“I’m serious. I don’t want to cause trouble between you. I don’t want there to be jealousy,” I said carefully, although my nipples were hard and my whole body wanted to get back to what Derek and I had been doing—making out in the chair. His hand still cupped my backside, fingers stroking there absently in a way that set me on fire.
“Agreed,” Brett said, and Derek nodded. I got off Derek’s lap, scrambling to my feet without much grace.
“I’m going to go to bed. By myself. Now that we have cleared things up a bit,” I said
I stood on tiptoe to kiss Brett good night. I thought he might grab me possessively or something, but he accepted the gentle kiss and went to his room. I dropped a soft kiss on Derek’s lips as well and went to bed. I slept well, looking forward to spending more time with my guys, in and out of bed. And possibly a sectional couch.
15
I got called to Liz Markham’s office the next day. I was ready to defend my research like it was a dissertation. I knew my topic. I wanted to impress her with my knowledge, prove I could do more. I entered her office and took a seat. When she finished typing at her computer, she turned to me and removed her reading glasses. I tried to wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt. She was, after all, my supreme role model. I slanted my legs, knees together, hoping for the poise of Kate Middleton. A younger, clammy Kate Middleton.
“Now, Lynette, I reviewed your research before passing it along to the writer. She’s an excellent writer, incredible work ethic—she’s the pulse of our online content, in fact. She was very pleased with the depth of information you provided her. I was also pleased with what I read. Your summary was intelligent and well-written but brief. Of all things, I despise a flowery, overblown summary written by an intern who’s showing off. Your professionalism has paid off,” she said.
I sat there, glowing under her praise. Though her face was stern, it was not unkind. I tried to think of a mature and professional response to this, something other than clapping my hands, hugging her, and saying thank you a thousand times like a fangirl.
“I appreciate that,” I said, “What do you consider areas where I could improve? I would love to have constructive criticism from you if you have time.” I did not, in fact, want constructive criticism. I wanted her to spend the next hour repeating how fabulous I was and how my work was awesome. But it seemed like the right thing to say—like I was willing to learn and develop my writing to reach her standard. I wanted to sound the opposite of show-offy, like the ideal candidate for a paid position.
