Crying on the toilet felt like an accomplishment. Hell, just walking down the aisle into the bathroom was a victory, her legs shaking from nerves and anxiety and panic. If her heart rate was any indication of what those two men could do to her, she should be in an ambulance on the way to a cardiac center for immediate surgery to fix...to fix...
Whatever they'd broken in her heart.
This was not how she'd envisioned seeing them next. If at all. No, Laura. Stop it. She hadn't even gotten to the point where she could think about whether she wanted to see them again after what they did to her. With her. In her...
Gah! Now motormouth Josie was out there spilling all her secrets. She knew Josie well enough to know what was happening out there, and that it was useless to try to stop her. The tongue lashing those two were getting from her friend –
OK. Bad choice of words. The nagging lecture Mike and Dylan were likely getting would turn them off her anyhow. She chuckled through the tears. Served them right. They knew each other? Were double-teaming her in every sense of the word? Had planned this big threesome night without telling her the little, trivial detail that oh! hai! I can haz menage?
And they were together? But not gay? Neither had touched the other – not once – during their lovemaking. So how did that work? It was complicated enough to figure out one guy's needs, his wishes, his quirks and such. In a hetero relationship.
Two guys? Double the fun and double the trouble, and then the dynamic between them that would mean – what? – for her? If she were in some sort of permanent relationship with both men, would they always have sex together? Or would they pair off and rotate nights? Would it be like something out of Big Love but in reverse – with Laura the one they shared?
If she wanted to cuddle on the couch could she pick one and hang out, or would they always be three? Her head hurt and as she relaxed enough to pee she felt a stinging that took her by surprise. Oh. Yeah. That whole area was still sore from those two.
Who had lied to her.
Lied. Not told. Same thing.
Snot covered her face as she wiped her nose with the palm of her hand, misjudging how full her nose really was. Cheap, scratchy toilet paper cleaned her up but just made everything feel raw now. Would any part of her ever not feel raw, so shaky and vulnerable? As she finished up and washed her hands in the sink she found herself staring into the mirror, her eyes puffy and red from crying, the bloodshot whites in great contrast to the shiny color, the stained walls behind her covered in graffiti that probably extended back to Madge's youth.
Big sigh. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale – just as the automatic air deodorizer pushed out a little spritz, filling her lungs with some God-awful fake Lily of the Valley scent that mixed with the stench of the bathroom and made her gag.
Great. Like this couldn't get any worse. She fled the bathroom, gasping for fresh air, and the sight before her told her that why, yes, Laura. It could get worse.
Josie was whacking Dylan with a set of rubber balls.
Retreat! Retreat! Had they seen her? Ducking behind the coat rack, she crouched, feeling stupid and ridiculous. Mike sat down and introduced himself; she had a full view of the scene from behind someone's cigarette-soaked tan barn coat. He shook Josie's hand and then Josie yammered at him. From afar, the interaction was almost comical, Josie's mosquito-like buzzing a stark contrast to Mike's slow, steady existence. Dylan sat, cocky and comfortable, arms stretched out behind him across the top of the booth. Josie whacked him in the lap with the balls and Laura giggled. The way he folded in half told her it hurt.
Good.
Tears filled her eyes. Good? Jesus, Laura – Good? Now you're wishing harm on him?
No. Not OK. Time to go out there and – what? Confront them? Confront yourself?
Nope. Time to go back and have your cake.
And maybe finish eating it, too.
The more she talked, the calmer he got. Zen. Focus on what is. Just breathe. Let her existence interfere with nothing. What she said, she said. Who she was, she was.
When she whacked Dylan with the balls, it just was.
And it was funny as hell.
Mike pulled out every meditative awareness technique he could think of, with more than ten years of reading, practice, conferences, and seminars under his belt. Nothing seemed to work very well with Josie, though; she was spitfire and alllll reaction. Completely unaware of how she seemed to everyone else kinetically, she just moved through time and space as sheer energy.
He remembered a time when he was like that, years ago, a time when he was so exhausted all the time. So busy searching for something, judging everything, fiercely protective and loyal to his loved ones and scanning, yearning, sorting and journeying to find – what?
He hadn't known. Still wasn't sure, but he definitely understood now that slowing down, acting rather than reacting, and just being present helped him to find it.
All this back patting must be tiring, Mike, his inner voice said, clearing its throat. He sighed.
Touché.
Nothing about the night was going as planned. Plans. His plans; Dylan had been very kind back there, not blurting out the truth. Having Dylan surprise them at the cabin had been Mike's bright idea. Stupid stupid stupid, the voice said now, a taunting, lilting tone.
It wasn't supposed to look like they'd ganged up on her. He'd envisioned a different outcome, not the threesome they'd enjoyed but more of a quiet talk, some soul bearing, and a gentle discussion about possibilities.
Dylan had changed the plan, coming far later than planned and interrupting them at the most delicate of moments, then broaching the subject like a bull in a china shop. Delicacy and tact were never his strong suits, to say the least.
When she'd agreed, Mike had been as shocked as she probably was. Never in a million years would he have pegged her as someone who would, in the heat of the moment (and oh, what a hot one it had been...) make a snap decision like that and just jump. Leap. Go for it.
Have her fill.
The thought made the corner of his mouth shift up, not quite a smile, definitely not a smirk. Washing his face with his hands, he wondered how he and Dylan appeared to Josie. Were they freaks? Jerks? Guys who were somehow mindfucking her best friend?
From the look on her face right now he guessed the answer was All of the Above.
He made himself seem like he was paying attention to the conversation that unfolded before him between him, Josie, and Dylan, but all of his focus was on Laura. She'd gotten up and gone to the bathroom and her skin was still on his lips from that simple kiss. Why had he been so bold? She seemed moved to tears, unable to walk straight.
Maybe that was a result of something earlier. He made a face at the thought. Dylan frowned, watching him. “What?” he mouthed. Mike shook his head imperceptibly and resumed paying attention to Josie, who was giving them hints on how to handle Laura.
If being whacked over the head by their own stupidity could be categorized as a hint.
Right now, he'd take any advice if it had half a chance at working. Why did he know when to back off and give someone space, but was utterly clueless when it came to drawing close? Josie assumed they'd been stalking Laura, coming to Jeddy's at the same time, and he knew trying to explain that it was a weird coincidence – Jill would have called it “the universe speaking to us” – was futile.
Josie and Laura would believe what they wanted to believe, and nothing he and Dylan said or did would make a difference.
So why were they even trying?
Because.
Because.
That's all Mike knew. Because. Laura staggered back to her booth and Josie walked away. The old waitress made a lewd comment. Mike inhaled. Mike exhaled. Mike inhaled. Mike exhaled.
And then Dylan stood, eyes flashing and intense, body aimed for Laura's booth, and Mike stopped breathing.
“Fuck,” Laura whispered.
“What?” Josie asked, sucking the last remnants of ice cream from her spoon.
“Fuck me, Josie!”
“I don't do girls. Well, except for that one time in college when – ”
Laura grabbed Josie's arm, her fingernails sinking in. “They're coming over here.”
“And you're surprised?” Josie looked at Laura like she had three heads.
Three.
As if he owned the joint – no, as if he owned her – Dylan slid into the booth right next to Laura, arm stretching across the back of the booth, his chest against her shoulder. Mike had the decency to stand at the side and look awkward. Because he was awkward. This much, she knew.
And Dylan was being a strutting as**s because he was a strutting ass.
This she knew, too.
What she didn't know was why they had decided once again to come after her. One fuck. She had been just one fuck, right? They'd convinced her (you convinced yourself) to have her first threesome and she'd reveled in it. Still felt it on her skin, inside her, in her mouth, on her thighs – everywhere.
But this wasn't how she wanted it to go. Her guilt at dating two guys at once was bad enough. Learning they knew each other and were an item (sorta) that wanted her to complete them was too much to absorb at nearly 6 a.m. When she needed to go to work on zero hours of sleep. She still needed a shower, was starting to get a headache, and now six eyes stared at her with expectations that turned into a churning soup of hope and dread.
“Can you people pick one table and stick to it?” Madge croaked, refilling Laura's water glass. “Breakfast rush is about to start and I'll need the table.”
