Page 50 of The Grumpy Vet
"What was that for?" Dario asks with a grin when I step back.
"For showing up," I say, my eyes flicking between them. "For you guys being here for me."
"We're always here for you, Linus," Ryde says, and then he does something awkward. But cute. But very awkward. But very cute.
He throws a weak punch at my shoulder, and it's clear as fucking day he's never done that before by how limp a gesture it is.
Dario clocks it.
I clock it.
And Ryde's wince tells me he's clocked it, too.
None of us says anything for a few long seconds, and then…
We burst out laughing.
"Sorry. Don't know why I did that," Ryde wheezes. "That was so random."
"It really was," Dario agrees, wiping tears from his eyes.
And it's right now, in this very moment, with the evening sun casting an amber glow over the three of us, that itreallyhits me how much they both mean to me. I knew I liked them. I knew I cared for them. But this is something deeper than that. I want this thing between us to grow. To stay. I want to be with them.
Both of them.
Not because the sex is out-of-this-world hot, or because they're the perfect antidote to the loneliness in my life, but because this is the real fucking deal. And I know it is because it's unlike anything I've ever felt before.
I'm falling in love with Ryde and Dario.
13
Dario
The scent of beer, warm chips, and chicken parmy wafts in the air. Sounds of laughter and glasses clinking echo across the bar as Ryde and I make our way back through the crowd to the corner table we managed to snag, which Wilby jokes is reserved for him because he's a VIP—Very Important Poofta.
He had to explain to his husband whatpooftameant, a derogatory Aussie term forgaythat he's proudly reclaiming. Col looked half shocked, half amused, which tracks for how I feel around Wilby most of the time. If my personality is big, his is Mount Fucking Everest.
I crash into Ryde's back when he makes a sudden stop, barely managing to avoid spilling the drinks onto him. "What the?—?"
Two women barrel past us, Ryde's quick thinking ensuring we don't get trampled to death. "That's my fuckin' parmy you fuckin' moll," one of the women screeches to the other who's clutching a half-eaten chicken parma in her hand, holding it up like it's a trophy and pissing herself laughing as she tears through the packed pub.
"Just another glamorous night out in Scuttlebutt," Ryde says, smiling over his shoulder.
I take advantage of the closeness and press my chest into his back, inhaling the fancy cologne he put on for tonight. "You smell good," I murmur.
He bites into his lower lip. "It's a new bottle, and it spilled out fast. I think I put on a bit too much."
"You did."
"I'm not sure if I like it. It smells too synthetic."
I step in even closer. "It does."
He spins around, eyeing me with amusement. "Then why'd you say I smelled good?"
"So I had an excuse to get closer to you."
His blue eyes soften. "You didn't need an excuse. You can be as close as you like."
