Page 53 of Inked Daddies

Sam hesitates like he doesn’t want to say what’s on his mind. “I don’t know what she’s thought about. Or why she wanted…what she wanted.”

“Well, she’s been reading about this kind of thing for years, so it’s not like she’s completely new to something like this.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Her books,” I say, grinning. “Every time I go to the library, she’s got one of those dirty romance novels in her hand. The ones with a group of shirtless dudes on the cover and titles likeForbidden DesiresorThree’s a Crowd, But I Like It.”

“Thinking of asking for a book recommendation?” he teases.

“You think I don’t notice what my crush is reading when I’m flirting with her at the checkout desk? Wake up, genius. Books like that are a window into their fantasies.”

Sam blinks, his frown softening. “You’re sure those are dirty books?”

“Downright nasty, if the reviews are to be believed. Group stuff, kinky stuff, you name it. Cat Blackstone must be her favorite. She’s got a stack of them behind the desk. She’s into it, man. Like,reallyinto it.”

He grabs his phone, scrolling. A moment later he mutters, “I’ll be damned. Those are filthy books.”

I chuckle. “Told you. Our girl isn’t just a shy, sweet librarian. She has an inner wild side, and it’s our job to respect every part of her.” I pause at that, considering the options. “Or disrespect every part of her, that’s her choice. I’m down for whatever kinky shit she wants to try.”

Sam leans back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest as he processes what I’m saying. I can tell he’s starting to come around, but there’s still a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “I just don’t want to screw this up,” he says quietly. “For her. For us. For Preacher. I meant what I said about the town too. She could lose her job—the job she loves—over something like us.”

“Not legally.”

He shoots me a “get serious” look. “Because the polyamorous are a protected class in this country? Come on.”

He has a point, and I don’t want to admit it. “Okay, fine. But we can work out the money stuff?—”

“Just not the career satisfaction stuff.”

I huff. “Yeah, but still. She knows better than we do what kind of expectations there are for women here, and she still wanted us. That has to count for something.”

He nods, thinking. “Fair enough. But screwing up her life?—”

“You won’t,” I say firmly. “None of us will. But if we keep treating this like it’s something we have to feel guilty about, we’re going to mess it up before it even has a chance to go anywhere. She chose us, Sam. Now, we need to choose her.”

His jaw is tight, his shoulders tense. But after a long moment, he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

I grin, leaning back again. “That’s all I’m asking, boss. Just think about it.”

As Sam gets up to refill his coffee, I wonder what Hugo would say if he saw Sam now. We talked last night about this—him talking to Preacher to feel him out, and me talking to Sam on our behalf. He’d probably congratulate me, if he were here. It takes a lot to get through Sam’s thick skull. Too much overthinking means you gotta weasel your way in there to make him change his mind.

Inside, my chest feels lighter than it has in weeks. As much as I love messing with Sam, this isn’t just about teasing him or getting my way. This is about Marie. And I’m not about to let her slip through our fingers without a fight.

22

MARIE

It’s been weeks.Weeks since that night. Weeks since I felt their hands on me, their lips, their overwhelming presence that made me feel like I was at the center of the universe.

And I’ve missed them. More than I want to admit, even to myself.

It’s been killing my writing. I can’t get back into the groove, so Scarlett’s been preoccupying herself with work and friends, and when she goes out, she ignores the men in the club. If I were making a movie, I’d be shooting B-roll.

It’s boring as hell, but at least I’m not destroying my dad’s life. I told myself it was the right thing to do. The smart thing. The safe thing. And I keep telling myself that. Because it’s true.

So why do I feel so miserable?

I sit in the back of the library, my chair creaking slightly as I flip through the pages of a shiny new romance novel from this week’s shipment. It smells like fresh ink and glue, and normally that’s my favorite thing in the world. But today, the scent churns my stomach.

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