Page 47 of My Cowboy Trouble
He shrugs. "I do not. But I do use sunscreen. So I think that makes me partially metrosexual. Ya know?"
I rummage through the makeup bag on the counter, anything to avoid looking at him. I shake my head. "Ametrosexual cowboy. Now I've heard everything," I mumble.
His spots my birth control pills, dammit, and he chuckles against my neck. "These are very responsible of you."
"They're for cramps," I lie.
He bursts out laughing. "You know how many women claim their birth control pills are ‘just for cramps’?" he asks, using air quotes.
"Whatever. We are not having this conversation."
"We probably should, though." He turns me around, keeping me trapped against the counter. "If we're going to keep doing what we did last night."
"We're not going to keep anything. Last night was a one-time thing."
"You keep saying that." His hands grip the counter on either side of me. "But your body's saying something different. I can see your pulse racing. Your pupils are dilated. And if I touched you right now..."
Trent walks in, takes one look at us, and his expression darkens.
"Am I interrupting?"
"Yes," Asher says at the same time I say, "No!"
Trent steps into the bathroom, and the temperature rises. Or maybe it’s me. "Well guys, it looks like you're about to fuck against the bathroom counter right there."
"Ya know, just organizing," Asher says innocently, but he hasn't moved away.
"Is that what we're calling it?" Trent moves closer, and now I'm trapped between both of them.
"Guys—"
"Your room," Trent says, his eyes locked on mine. "Your rules. But you should know that if you start something with one of us again, we all want in. We talked about it this morning."
"You talked about me?"
"Extensively," Gavin says from the doorway, because apparently this is a party now. "Specifically about how good you taste and how we all want another turn."
"That's not—we can't just?—"
"Why not?" Trent asks, stepping even closer. "We're all adults. We all want each other. You're here for twenty-two more days. Why not make them count?"
"Because someone's going to get hurt," I whisper.
"Someone's already hurt," he says, his hand coming up to cup my face. "Might as well make it worth it."
Before I can respond, he kisses me. It's nothing like the desperate kisses from last night. This is slow, deliberate, a promise of things to come. When he pulls back, I'm breathing hard.
"Think about it," he says, then walks out like he didn't just scramble my brain.
"I call next," Gavin says, but Asher's already turning me around, capturing my mouth in a kiss that's all heat and demand.
When they finally leave me alone, I'm standing in my bathroom, lips swollen, body aching in old waysand new, wondering what the hell I've gotten myself into, and whether my bedroom door has a lock.
I can't sleep.
It's past midnight, the storm is still raging, and I've been lying in bed for two hours trying not to think about the fact that I'm surrounded by the three men who gave me the best night of my life. Gavin's room is to my left—I can hear his TV playing something with explosions. Asher's to my right, soft music drifting through the wall. And Trent's across the hall, silent, but I know he's awake because I saw the light under his door.
Every time I close my eyes, I'm back in bed with all of them. Every time I shift positions, my body reminds me exactly what we did. And every time I think about tomorrow, about twenty-four more days of this proximity, this tension, this want, I feel like I'm going to combust.
