Page 136 of Piece Us Together

He blinks. “Fine with dinner? With my friends?”

“Sure!”

“Why not?” Maison adds. “You already endured ours. I’d be shocked if your group can pull off the same level of dysfunction.”

“I wouldn’t call us dysfunctional, no.” He smiles a little ruefully. “Nosy, though. They’ll press. You’re more than welcome to turn them down, but they’ll try. I just don’t want them to upset either of you.”

Maison brushes nonexistent debris off the handle of the shopping cart. “I won’t be like I was last night. I won’t—I’ll keep my head on straight. I won’t drink, either. I’ll make a better impression this time.”

I can see a battle in Hunter’s expression, the man caught between relief and the guilt that relief brings. He places a hand over Maison’s. His expression softens before Maison ever sees what I did, nothing but love in it now. “All I want is for you tobe yourself. They’ll love you. The both of you. But I want to be selfish today. Please? I just got the two of you. I want to finish shopping and go home and talk about our future and watch superhero movies and have really great sex.”

Someone gasps. We all turn to look at a scandalized young woman. She doesn’t seem scandalized in a bad way, more like someone who has read a lot of spicy romance novels and is really fucking pumped to have stumbled upon such a situation in her reality. I wonder if it matters that we’re gay. I wonder why I’m even thinking about that when Hunter just offered superhero movies—yes, Bucky, fucking finally!—and great sex.

Maison has much better priorities than me because he’s already starting to push the cart down the aisle. “We better hurry, then.”

The recipe I’m dying to make needs to go in the slow cooker for a few hours, so I have to start making it right away when we get to Hunter’s. I didn’t think ahead to ask if he even has one, but thankfully he does. It’s full of dust. I only tease him a little about that before telling him that I plan to use it often, which he seems to like the idea of a lot. I don’t mind it myself. I like the thought of making myself at home in his kitchen. In his house.

Hunter is still unpacking the bags as I start prepping ingredients. He pauses when he pulls the bottle of red wine out,frowning. “This is no good. I have a Merlot that’s supposed to be amazing, if you’d rather?”

“Why does it not surprise me that you’re a wine snob?” I tease. Then, before I can get into trouble for being a little bratty, I add, “It’s just for the recipe, so quality doesn’t matter. It’s all cooked out in the end anyway. Though, I bet that Merlot would pair amazingly with the dish later.”

“I think you’re probably right.”

“Wait, so—can we really never have sex if we have a drink? Like if we have a single glass of wine at dinner, or a beer with the football game, that’s it? No sex?”

Hunter starts folding his tote bags. “That’s actually a perfect place to start, if we want to discuss that kind of stuff right now. Some rules will absolutely change now that we’re…something more.”

“A relationship, Hunter,” Maison says quietly, picking up on how Hunter had stumbled over the wording. He still doesn’t feel secure in this. I hate that for him. I don’t know how to fix it. Not when there’s a voice in the back of my mind telling me it’s too good to be true anyway. Maison’s always been good at fixing, though, even if he spends most of his time beating himself up over the times he wasn’t able to. “We’re in a relationship now. You’re our sexy professor boyfriend. This isn’t a vaguesomething more, okay? We’re all in.”

Hunter drops his chin, looking surprisingly affected as he exhales. I wanted relief or a huge grin, but I’m starting to think it’ll take some time for him to believe us. It’s only fair. We were established already when we added him in. There were a lot of bold, bright lines drawn that we’re just expecting him to waltz over now.

Before Maison can push the issue past a comfortable point, I swoop in to steer away from Hunter’s insecurities. “What kinds of things will change?”

This is when the relief I expected comes out, his shoulders softening as he steps into his dom shoes. “Well, like you brought up, the alcohol limit will change. I’d say I feel comfortable enough with the two of you now to trust that one drink would be okay if we kept the kink minimal. I wouldn’t do bondage or any significant pain play. I definitely wouldn’t explore limits. But yes, a drink sometimes would be okay. Though…” His discomfort comes back as his gaze drifts toward Maison. He seems to consider something before saying very carefully, “I’m not entirely sure alcohol is a good idea for you. At all.”

Maison’s jaw flexes.Oh boy.

“I’m not making it a rule,” Hunter says. It’s not quick, not like he’s backpedaling at Maison’s shift in demeanor. It’s just him continuing his thoughts, his voice remaining calm and kind. “I’m just saying it’s something you should maybe think about. I’ve never seen you happy after a drink. Can you tell me the last time you had a good night with alcohol involved?”

Maison looks away from both of us, toward the front door. I’m not sure if he’s remembering last night—him showing up here, drunk, upset, yelling and threatening and then sobbing on the floor—or if he’s thinking about running. Neither is an option I enjoy the thought of.

I glance at Hunter, heart in my throat. His arm is resting on the breakfast bar, but he lifts his hand at the wrist, a subtle “hold on” gesture. I trust him enough to wait.

“No decisions need to be made today about that. About anything, even.” Hunter moves his other hand slowly, but not hesitantly. He knows Maison enough to know he can’t go grabbing for him without warning. Especially when Maison is lost in his head. Something warm curls in me at that. He’s going to take such good care of him. Of both of us.I can’t wait.

When he has his hand on Maison’s arm, Maison’s eyes locked on to where they’re touching, he says, “Do we want to keeptalking about these things now or would we like to put it on hold?”

I look at Maison, knowing the question is really for him.

He swallows before carefully putting his hand over Hunter’s. His shoulders soften the moment he does, his breath coming out a little shaky. “Can we—this is probably stupid, but can we use our words, while we talk?”

I don’t understand.

Hunter does.

“Yes, Maison. In fact, our safewords can be active at all times, if you’d like. Any yellow or red will always be respected, even if all we’re doing is sitting on the couch watching a movie.”

I hide a smile, then remember I don’t have to. There’s no reason to hide how happy things like this make me. How glad I am for him to let himself be vulnerable with Hunter. How relieved I am that Hunter understands him so well. It’s not a secret anymore. Not something to tiptoe around.

---