Page 271 of Better When Shared
I paused, beer halfway to my lips. “It’s been six years of late nights talking. Of sharing everything. Of building trust. The physical part is new, yeah, but the rest?” I shook my head. “They know me better than anyone except you. They’ve seen me at my worst and still want me.”
“Because you’re worth wanting,” she said fiercely, all teasing gone from her voice. “You’re the best man I know, Ryker. They’re lucky to have you.”
I felt a lump form in my throat. “Thanks, Aims.”
“But if they hurt you, I’m flying to Washington to kick both their asses. I will end them.”
I laughed, the tension breaking. “I’ll let them know.”
“Good.” She stole my beer, taking a swig before handing it back. “So, two weeks, huh? That’s not much time to pack up your life.”
“I don’t need much,” I said, realizing as I spoke how true it was. “Most of this stuff...” I gestured around the apartment I’d lived in for five years. “It’s just stuff. What matters is already waiting for me on that island.”
“God, you’re disgustingly romantic.” She rolled her eyes, but her smile was genuine. She stood, taking the cheese with her. “I can’t wait to meet them. Now go call them and tell them, because they’re freaking out. You need to learn to communicate!”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I said, but the smile on my face was huge as I pulled out my phone.
Chapter 17
Skylar
I pressed my face against the jet window, watching the clouds part beneath us like curtains opening on a theater stage. Three weeks. Twenty-one days. Five hundred and four hours until Ryker would be permanently back in my arms. Not that I was counting—except I absolutely was, the numbers circling in my head like vultures, picking at the raw edges of my longing. Kiaan’s hand found mine across the gleaming mahogany table between our leather seats, his fingers warm and solid, a welcome anchor to reality.
“You’re thinking about him again,” he said, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “Your forehead gets this little crease right here when you miss him.” His thumb brushed the spot between my eyebrows.
“Is it that obvious?” I pulled back from the window, embarrassed at how transparent my emotions had become since our triad formed. Before Ryker and Kiaan, I’d prided myself on beingunreadable, my anxiety safely hidden behind walls of sarcasm and technical jargon.
“Only to me.” Kiaan’s smile was soft, intimate. “And probably to him when we land.”
The thought of seeing Ryker in less than an hour sent a flutter through my stomach—excitement and nervousness tangled together in a knot I couldn’t unravel. Three days apart felt like an eternity after two weeks of constant contact, the three of us learning how our bodies fit together, how our hearts aligned.
“This jet is absurd,” I said, changing the subject as I glanced around the cabin. The thing was basically a flying penthouse—all cream leather and polished wood, with a bedroom in the back that Kiaan had already hinted we might put to good use on the return flight.
“You love it,” he teased, squeezing my hand.
“I tolerate it,” I corrected, though the corners of my mouth twitched upward. “There’s a difference.”
“This champagne is divine!” My grandmother’s voice cut through our moment, loud and delighted from her seat across the aisle. Hui sat with her legs crossed at the ankle, one hand raised imperiously as the flight attendant topped off her flute. “You must try some, Skylar. It will settle your nerves.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m fine, Nainai.”
“You are not fine. You have been fidgeting since takeoff.” She took another sip, then nodded approvingly at the attendant. “The 2008 was an excellent choice. Mr. Malhotra has impeccable taste.”
“Why did we invite my grandmother?” I hissed.
“We didn’t, she invited herself.” Kiaan beamed at the compliment, the shameless praise-whore. “Thank you, Mrs. Shen. The Dom Pérignon rosé is one of my favorites.”
“Call me Hui, please. We are practically family now.” She waved her hand dismissively, the gesture somehow both graceful and commanding. “And bring some of those little canapés for my granddaughter. She needs to eat something before she sees her firefighter boyfriend. Can’t have her fainting from low blood sugar in front of such a handsome man.”
“Nainai!” I hissed, mortification heating my cheeks. “I am not going to faint.”
She ignored me, turning back to the attendant. “The ones with the smoked salmon, please. And perhaps a few of those little pastries.”
The attendant—whose name tag read Justine—nodded with the practiced smile of someone used to handling demanding passengers. “Right away, ma’am.”
I sank lower in my seat, caught between embarrassment and amusement. “I can’t believe you invited yourself on this trip,” I muttered to my grandmother once Justine was out of earshot.
“Someone needs to make sure you three don’t make any rash decisions,” she replied primly, adjusting the red frames of her glasses.
