Page 128 of Necessary Roughness
We bought them a calendar, which Logan described as, “the physical equivalent of a spreadsheet.”
*
The first week in March, Knox and Logan traveled to the NFL draft combine in Indianapolis. Roman and I celebrated by having lots of sex around the house. His favorite position was bending me over the couch, jackhammering into me with reckless abandon before pulling out and coming all over my ass.
“This was the first time I saw you,” he panted afterward. “When I walked in on you and Logan. Fuck, you were so hot.”
“Were, past tense?” I teased.
He gave my ass an appreciative smack. “Don’t twist my words. You know how goddamn sexy you are to me.”
Then he proved it by fucking me a second time without any break.
We spent that afternoon watching highlights from the combine, cheering whenever they showed Knox or Logan. And since it was such a beautiful evening, Roman made us a picnic of sandwiches and expensive white cheese, which we ate on a Westview Wildcats blanket in the middle of the campus lawn. We even had some nice white wine to go with it, discreetly poured into tumbler glasses since technically this was supposed to be a dry campus.
“I hope Logan gets drafted,” I said while we laid out on the blanket after finishing our meal.
“Just Logan? Not Knox?”
“Unless aliens come down and abduct him before the draft next month, Knox is guaranteed to be drafted in the first or second round,” I answered. “But Logan’s future is more uncertain. Right?”
He grimaced, then nodded.
“What are his chances?” I asked.
“Not good. Nowadays, the experts all post their predictions online. Logan isn’t on any of the lists.”
“Damn.”
“You never know, though. He might impress some teams at the combine.”
“I hope so,” I whispered.
“Sloane,” Roman asked, “are you happy?”
The question caught me off guard so much that I immediately sat up. “What?”
“Just a gut check. Are you happy?”
“I have a belly full of wine and cheese, and a devilishly handsome man at my side. How could I not be happy?”
He stared at me. He was waiting for a real answer.
I folded my legs underneath myself and turned to face Roman. “I’m so happy that sometimes I can’t even believe it. Like this is all a dream I’m going to wake up from, suddenly losing the three of you in the blink of an eye. I’m happy when I go to bed, and I’m happy when I wake up, and I’m happy in between. Except when you make me clean the kitchen.”
“I do all the cooking, which means someone else does the cleaning,” Roman began to argue, but I stopped him by pressing my finger against his lips.
“I’mso happy, Roman. I never realized anyone could be this happy, let aloneme. And I’m happy that I don’t have to choose between the three of you, happy that you all accept that you have to share me. Because if you all sat me down and tried to make me choose, I’d probably move across the country and stay single for the rest of my life. There’s no going back to a normal relationship for me. Not after I’ve hadthis.”
A cloud shifted and the warm evening sun hit us as we kissed.
“You make such amesswhen you cook though,” I said. “You got pasta sauce on the wall last week!On the wall, Roman!”
He roared with laughter, causing a cluster of students who were walking across the lawn to glance over at us. Roman kept on laughing, holding his belly like it ached from so much mirth.
And then he said, “I love you, Sloane.”
The sudden burst of warmth that filled my body had nothing to do with the sun. “I know. I love you too, Roman.”
