Page 77 of Triple Play
I’m staring at all three of them, trying to piece this together, and the picture forming makes my blood pressure spike.
I want to murder and destroy and start wars and raid villages.
“So let me get this straight.” My voice is cold, controlled, because if I let the anger out it’s going to burn the house down. “You—” I point at Elise “—hooked up with Jordie at the party last night.”
Jordie’s spatula stops mid-flip.
“Then you spent the night in Wyatt’s bed.”
Elise’s face goes pale.
“And you two—” I gesture between Jordie and Wyatt “—are just… fine with that?”
“Grant—” Elise starts.
“We signed a contract.” I’m slamming drawers now, pulling out silverware I don’t need just to have something to do with my hands. “A fucking contract that explicitly forbids this exact situation.”
The kitchen goes silent. Dead silent.
Jordie’s smile has vanished completely. Wyatt’s jaw is tight. Elise looks like I just slapped her.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says quietly, and there’s hurt in her voice that would gut me if I wasn’t so pissed.
“Don’t I?” I’m in her space now, crowding her against the counter, and I know I should back off but I can’t seem to make myself. “You had that satisfied glow last night. Jordie came downstairs with his hair fucked up. Now you’re leaving Wyatt’s room at dawn. What am I missing?”
“Everything.” She doesn’t back down, doesn’t flinch away even though I’m radiating fury. “You’re missing everything. But that’s your specialty, isn’t it? Missing what’s right in front of you.”
The words hit like a punch.
“Elise—” Wyatt’s voice carries a warning.
“No.” She’s not looking away from me. “He wants to make assumptions? Fine. Let him. But I don’t owe him explanations. I don’t owe him anything.”
She’s right. She doesn’t.
But that doesn’t make this easier to watch.
Doesn’t make it easier knowing that everyone in this house is getting pieces of her except me.
Doesn’t make it easier watching Jordie’s protective arm around her or Wyatt’s grateful eyes or the way they both look at her like she’s something precious.
“Carol would flip her shit if she knew,” I say, because it’s the only card I have left to play.
“Then don’t tell Carol.” Jordie’s voice is sharp now, the golden boy facade completely gone. “Stay out of it, Grant.”
“Stay out of it? I live here too.”
“Then act like it.” Wyatt stands, crossing his arms. “Stop being an asshole to the one person in this house who’s actually trying to help people.”
“Help people.” I laugh, bitter and sharp. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
Helping extract the come from their useless cocks?
Cool.
“You don’t get it.” Jordie sets down his spatula with force. “You don’t want to get it. Because if you admitted that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t about sex or contracts or whatever bullshit you’re telling yourself—if you admitted that she’s actually just a good person who gives a shit about people—then you’d have to face why you’re really so pissed.”
“Enlighten me.”
