Page 14 of Triple Tidings
“That why you’re here? In the market for a pretty, young girlfriend?” There’s a bit more of an edge to his voice now, and it strikes me that he may be afraid of the same thing I am. The only question is whether he’s worried about losing out on Lacey or losing out on us both.
“I don’t know why I’m here,” I admit, at long last, looking away from him to stare at the snowflakes swirling out on the street. “For a while there, I got a little… disconnected.” This statement prompts another deep, uncomfortable tug of guilt at the reminder of how shitty a brother I’ve been lately.
Wells' voice comes from behind me, harder than before. “Disconnected, huh? Well, do me a favor and leave Lacey alone while you’re in town.”
I turn to look at him, experiencing a bizarre combination of irritation and arousal at the stern, protective look on Wells’ face. “Is this concern for your sake, or Lacey’s?” I muse, tilting my head to the side, studying him without apology.
A muscle in Wells’ jaw ticks. “How long are you in town? A few days? You’ve got one hell of an ego,DoctorVogel. What makes you think you could make an impression in that kind of time frame?” It’s clear from his tone that he doesn’t think much of my professional title.
His words have touched a nerve, but I’m careful not to let him see that as I allow my gaze to drop, perusing his body and coming to rest on the unmistakable bulge in his jeans.
My own cock throbs. Jesus, I’m attracted to him. Despite being comfortable with myflexibilityon the sexuality spectrum, I’ve dated and slept with more women than men. It’s becoming clear, however, that those connections were decidedly void ofthe raw desire that was always so potent in my short-lived relationships with Wells Davis or Lacey Lovette.
Taking my time, I lift my eyes to look at him again, and my lips curve. “It looks like I already have.”
Six
Lacey
“Ow!”
I collapse back onto the inn’s hardwood floor, clutching my throbbing forehead, and glaring up at the responsible party: The Chestnut’s two-hundred-year-old wood reception desk.
Sure, the thing weighs about a thousand pounds and hasn’t moved an inch in living memory, but I’m still going to blame it.
Ordinarily, I don’t make a hobby of hanging out on the floor of the lobby, but as our only two guests haven’t been seen all afternoon… I purse my lips, turning my attention to the snowflakes fluttering down from the darkening sky outside the nearest window.
It’s not my business where Wells or August spent the day.They’re guests. Typically, guests come and go without me worrying about their whereabouts.
Typically, I also don’t know what guests look like naked, either, but here we are.
I’ve beenoffall day, anxious and fidgety since witnessing Wells and August’s tense reunion over my grandmother’s scones this morning. It’s not every day that you realize that yourtwo wildly hot—albeit very inappropriate—hookups are both bisexual and used to have sex with each other.
Maybe I was asking for drama, sending August after Wells, but the way they were looking at each other… It really felt like there wassomethingthere. In that moment, I hated the thought of them at odds.
Even if doing so felt a little like sabotaging my own chance at—at what? A relationship? August is only in town for a few days, and from what I’ve seen of Wells, he’s pretty stuck in his ways. Last night, he made it very clear he’s only here because the alternative was freezing to death. However sweet he was to me this morning, I can’t forget he lives and works right down the road but hasn’t made any effort to see me after this summer.
The best thing that could come out of this weekend is me maintaining some semblance of professionalism and mending some of the resentments that have been stewing between my two guests for far too long.
Rubbing the spot, I’m just on the point of getting my butt up when the bell on the front door sounds. It’s Wells. He freezes when he sees me, his hand on The Chestnut’s doorknob as I shoot him an embarrassed little smile, pushing back to my feet.
His gaze finds my forehead, and then he’s striding forward with a low curse, jaw tight and brow creased in worry. “Jesus, are you okay?” he demands as he comes to a halt right in front of me, narrowing his eyes on the throbbing lump just above my brows.
I let out an unconvincing laugh, gesturing to the desk. “Yes! Of course. I dropped a pen and knocked my head on the corner when I bent to get it. Totally fine.”
Apparently unconvinced, Wells hovers at my side, prepared to intervene in the event of fainting, as I cross to the nearest armchair. He watches, looking incredibly serious, as I sink down. “You’re sure? I can give you a ride to the doctor...” He trails off, like this is something I should really be considering.
What is it with these guys? They’ve both been sweeter to me in the twenty-four hours they’ve been here than any other guest has in the past decade. It can’t all be because of the sex, can it?
“I’m totally fine,” I assure him with a laugh, and it isn’t a lie. The forehead throbbing has decreased significantly, and I’m not even a little woozy.
Wells doesn’t look so sure about that, but steps back, sinking onto the empty armchair across from mine, the one upholstered in little pink roses. He looks preposterously big for it, his broad shoulders sandwiched between the wavy sides, all frowny and concerned beneath his tousled mop of gray hair.
Cute. He looks cute.
I don’t say that, of course. While not specifically stated in my college’s hospitality classes, it’s definitely implied you’re not supposed to tell guests—ones over the age of six, anyway—that they’re cute.
“Can I get you anything? Hot chocolate? Coffee?” I offer, eager to steer us back into more professional waters before I do something horrifying like verbalize that particular sentiment.
