Page 15 of Hard to Judge

“Want one?” I pour myself a finger of bourbon and toss it back before he answers, and then pour myself another.

“No.”

Once the burn of the first subsides, I toss back the second and pour another.

“Did you drive in today?”

“Fuck off,” I add another finger on top of the one already in the glass and close up the wall. “I’m not reckless enough to drink and drive.”

Apparently, he’s reckless enough to fall in love for the first time in his fucked-up life and chance it on… What? Foreign dick?

“Will you do it?”

I wheel on him. “So you can fucking hate me when things go sideways?”

“What could go wrong?” He breathes the words as if the quieter he says them, the less they could hit the fan.

“Oh, let’s see.” I tap my lips, pretending to think for one second about the multitudes of things that could explode in our faces. “She could resent you for sharing her. She could getembarrassed that we fucked and never want to lay eyes on me again.” I slap the air between us, flailing my hand around. “Or a hundred other things.”

“She’s asked for this, so she won’t resent it. Besides, you’ve already tongue-fucked her.” He stands. “She’s not the vindictive or embarrassed type. It would kill her to never see you again.”

Why would she care if she never saw me again? He’s the one she loves. He’s the one we both love.

Him. Him. Him.

Since the broken boy walked into my life, he carved an Arlo-shaped hole in me, where only he fits. He refused to step into it fully, leaving it a raw, gaping wound, even after all these years.

I slosh my drink so forcefully into the air that it spills over the side onto my hand. Explicitly, I lick it from my skin. I pin him with my gaze while I pull the liquid into my mouth.

He adjusts himself in the chair.

“She could prefer the way I eat her and fuck her pussy.”

Arlo licks his lips as though thinking about Hailey’s smooth, hot cunt. “Possibly, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“I could get her pregnant,” I counter.

“Hailey is on birth control.”

“Accidents happen.” My voice is caustic to my ears. I can hardly fathom that we’re having this conversation, and it’s riling me more than it should because I know my answer.

I love it and hate it in equal measure.

Arlo’s chest puffs with a heavy breath. He rubs a tender spot over his heart and exhales for a ten count.

As much as I’m thrilled he’s beginning to comprehend rational thoughts, I’m also bereft of the opportunity slipping through my fingers.

The chance to be close to them.

The chance to feel their eyes on me.

The chance to bring them pleasure and a little bit of pain.

“If that happened, it wouldn’t be an accident. The child would be a gift, and we would raise it as such.” Arlo speaks as clearly as he’s ever spoken. His voice seems to have miraculously healed for one moment in time.

Still, nothing is clear.

“We?” I choke.

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