Mike sighed, his lips buzzing as the air left him and he and Dylan buried themselves in the menu. “God damn, Dylan. We need to figure all this out.”
The last notes of some Meatloaf song faded out and then the all-too-familiar first chords of AC/DC's “You Shook Me All Night Long” filled the air. The blond's head began tapping out the beat and the ratty little brunette with her looked like Will Ferrell playing a cowbell. Could that really be Laura?
Nah.
Why did the brunette keep staring at him? She huddled with the blonde, who fake-scratched her head and tried to do that sly thing where you look behind yourself without making it obvious.
“Chipotle maple sausage and a five-scoop sundae for me,” Mike announced. “Fried green tomatoes, too. Double order.”
“Swear to God, Mike. Look at her. It's Laura.” Just then, Madge appeared, dragging the warlock waitress with her. Julian Sands seemed to be judging their meal choices.
“The third in your threesome,” Madge announced grandly. The frat boys at the other table all did a spit-take in unison, bursting into good-natured laughter.
And then the brunette froze. The blonde turned slowly, the folds of her neck reluctant to complete the motion, her arm reaching back as if through water, her body needing to know but so –
Yes. It was Laura.
And boy was she pissed.
“Motherfucker!” she hissed. “They're following me?”
“So that is them? Holy shit, Laura, they're more scrumptious in person than online.” Josie actually licked her lips and said, “I wish they were on the menu.”
Threesome? Had Madge actually said something about a threesome with them? Were they that open with everyone but her? Why on earth would a dried-up old octogenarian speak openly about their sex life like this?
“Warlock Waitress here wants you to take her home. Have your way with her. Give her the complete sex change she's entitled to,” she heard Madge joke, a raspy smoker's laugh rumbling after.
“You mean make Julian into Julia?” Dylan dished back. All three laughed.
They had no right to laugh! Not when everything in Laura's mouth turned to sawdust and Josie stared at her like something in an insane asylum under twenty-four hour watch.
“I'll make a scene and you can crawl out through the kitchen,” Josie suggested.
“What?”
“And then I'll go over there and hang with them and we can be besties and I'll,” she licked her lips again, “get my own taste of Superhero Sandwich. I can be the meat.”
“You are a sick woman.”
“I got the fever and they got the cure.”
“I know you're joking, but this isn't funny anymore.”
Josie dropped the act instantly. “Sorry. You're right. What can we do?”
Crawling on hands and knees was starting to look like a great option, except she would have to abandon the rest of her cake. Was saving face worth leaving this luscious, green-tinted pistachio chocolate mound of salvation?
With ice cream? And the untouched homemade mint whipped cream?
No. She would stand her ground.
For the sake of gastronomical integrity.
Someone had to. And she would make that sacrifice. Determined, Laura took another enormous bite of cake, ice cream, whipped cream and all dipped in peanut butter sauce.
The moan that escaped her body rivaled anything she'd made in bed with those two.
Which is why they both turned in unison, she imagined, staring as she devoured her true love. Thor could have his hammer. Dylan looked enough like a short Christian Bale to be Batman. Right now, though, she was going green, getting her most important hole stuffed by the Hulk.
Peanut Butter Hulk Smash cake allowed her to be the avenger now.
Could those two be any weirder? Following her here to Jeddy's, where she still had their funk on her. In her. In places no man had ever been before on her body. Places she suspected no one except maybe, once, the gynecologist had touched during a routine “Hi! Welcome to 25!” exam.
Was it getting warm suddenly? “Are you hot, Josie?” she asked through a mouthful of cake.
“No. But they are – hey! One of them is coming over. Thor,” she drooled.
“Not funny.”
“It is when I'm not you, hon.” She nodded behind Laura. Shit. Mike really was walking over here. Covered in food splotches from haphazardly digging into the delights, she wondered if the rest of her was as disheveled. Barely able to look, she forced herself to anyhow. The ratty old sweats that seemed like a good comfort choice at home made her look like Tori Spelling after giving birth. Her hair was shoved into a knotted mess and makeup – what makeup? It had been smeared off long ago. Hell, some of it was probably still on Mike's torso.
Her mouth watered. And not from the food.
“Hey.” Why did his voice have to have this reaction on her, like a warm breeze on wet skin, her every pore attending to his presence before she even looked back? Why did his tone make her body inhale sharply, every part of her lungs ready to sigh with pleasure at the very thought of his presence?
And why, for the love of all that is holy, was Josie goggling at them both like this was some sort of side show at a carnival?
Oh. Because it was.
“Grab his balls!” Josie's words made Laura glare, wide-eyed and wild.
“What?” she hissed.
Jumping up, Josie skittered around Mike as if he were a pillar holding up the restaurant. “Hey! Grab his balls!” She ran over to the cardboard cutout and began chatting up Dylan. All Laura heard was a handful of words from Dylan's sweet mouth:
“...I know, I...”
“...no, the balls weren't my...”
“...four? No, we never considered...”
and Josie's rat-a-tat-tat machine-gun fire conversation. Don't look at him, she told herself, though she could feel him, inches away, the hair on her skin like hundreds of thousands of little clitoral hoods, all aching for him, for release, for this yearning to go away, no matter what.
But especially via his touch. As if on command, his hand touched her shoulder. Involuntarily, she flinched. He pulled back. This dance? Really?
It sucked.
“Hi, Mike,” she said reluctantly. Couldn't ignore him.
Fluid grace poured into his limbs as he deftly slid into Josie's space, his movements belying his size. How could he – oh, she knew. Hands eager for connection, she pulled them into her lap, then sat on them, her as**s pinning errant fingers in place, knowing damn well what she'd do if she didn't.
Wait. No. She was supposed to be angry with him. Them.
Everyone.
“Hi.” The shy act wasn't going to cut it tonight. She went for the throat.
“Stalking me? Isn't that Dylan's specialty?” He flinched and winced, then arched one eyebrow and took a deep breath. Target hit. So why didn't she feel victorious? Instead, her stomach roiled and nausea crept in. Why did he and Dylan have to ruin this? Her one refuge – food and Josie, together – and now what had been the beginning of sorting through threads entangled between the three of them had turned into even more enmeshment, confusion, and hurt.
“No – we – uh – ” He gave up, not making eye contact. Eyelids fluttered shut and he splayed his palms on the grooved table top, his right index finger worrying someone's carved name. Jane. Who had Jane been? Could have been Madge's mother, for all they knew.
Or one of Mike and Dylan's lovers.
Using his arms as leverage, he slowly stood, back curling and shoulders flaring, leaning in toward her. When his face tipped up his eyes locked with hers.
“Whatever you think right now, you're wrong. And when you're ready to talk, we'll be there.” One hand reached for her, steady and firm, the touch like tissue paper against a rose petal. An apologetic smile twitched in his lips and the skin beneath his eyes softened.
“We won't come after you, Laura.” He glanced over at Dylan, who was laughing at Josie, who had removed the warlock waitress's balls and was teabagging in front of an audience of golfers and hungover college boys. Mike rolled his eyes. “OK, I won't. Can't guarantee what Dylan will do.”
“He and Josie seem to have hit it off.”
“Is she twelve inside?”
That made Laura laugh. Bingo. His thumb stroked the underside of her cheekbone and she went liquid, all muscles melting and everything warm became wet. Mike leaned in and softly kissed her temple.
“When you're ready.”
Was Mike seriously kissing Laura right now? Right now, as Dylan was stuck with her friend, who was mouthing the very balls thousands of people had manhandled for the past decade? The very balls Jill had grabbed and stuck on the warlock in what now felt like another life?
Cool.
Whatever it took to thaw everything, to get Laura to believe that they wanted her, that they wanted a we that no one else really understood. Hell, they didn't even understand it. Who could blame Laura for feeling conflicted and fearful and –
Oof. This Josie chick just whomped him in his very real balls with those very fake balls.
“Hey! You paying attention there, Thor's sidekick?”
Thor's what? “My name is Dylan. Who is Thor?”
She laughed, rubbing the plastic testicles against her cheek, like stroking a kitten. “Like I don't know your name. You and Mike are all Laura talks about.”
“Really?” So they call Mike 'Thor'?
She shot him a look. “Really? Like you don't know. You aren't exactly conventional. I haven't seen Laura eat that much food in one sitting since Ryan left her. Some wicked show you two got going on.”
