Page 50 of Cross Check Daddies
That evening, I’m halfway through a quiet dinner with Jackson when my phone rings.
Aaron.
I stare at the name for two full seconds before answering. “What?”
“Hi, Brooke. I’m in town.”
My stomach clenches. “And?”
“And I want to see Jackson.”
“It’s seven.”
“I’m only here for a day or two. Can I take him?”
“You can’t just drop in like this. You always do this. Last minute, no warning.”
“I’m here,” he says again, flat. “So, can I?”
My jaw tightens. “You know what? Fine. But I swear to God, if you cancel last minute again?—”
“I won’t.”
He hangs up.
Exactly an hour later, his driver is at the curb. Jackson’s bag is packed. I kneel to hug him tight before watching him disappear into the backseat, waving at me through the tinted glass. The SUV rolls away, and the silence that follows is deafening.
I lock the door behind me and toss my phone on the couch. I don’t want to clean. I don’t want to work. I want to throw something. Instead, I crawl into bed with my laptop, prop it on my knees, and open Reddit.
Search bar:Is it normal to like more than one guy at the same time?
I scroll past the judgmental responses. Past the usual emotional triangle disasters. Then deeper. Into threads about polyamory. Non-monogamy. Open dynamics. But that’s not what this is. I’m not into labels or politics. I just... want.
I want Cam when he’s pushing me up against walls and demanding answers I can’t give. I want Tanner when he holds my kid’s hand and calls him buddy like he means it. I want Ace when he kisses me like I’m more than a distraction.
I lean back, exhaling slowly.
Three men. All tangled into my life like vines. I shut the laptop, the heat between my legs worse now than when I first opened the damn search tab. Tanner’s message still lives in my mind, bold and unrelenting.
9 PM. Beach. Or nothing.
My eyes flick to the clock.
8:34.
And every part of me knows I’m not staying in tonight.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Tanner
It’s9:15 and I’m close to packing up.
The sky’s ink-dark above me, clouds heavy, waves licking the shore in long, rhythmic pulls. My board’s already staked in the sand beside me, towel slung over a weathered post, and I’ve been staring at the dune path for what feels like an hour.
She’s not coming.
And that should be my cue to leave. Let it go. Lethergo.
