Page 81 of Triple Play
“Uh-huh.”
“And maybe appreciating the view.” Jordie winks. “Sue us.”
“I’m wearing jeans and a t-shirt.”
“And making them look really good.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help smiling. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since Grant accused me of sleeping with them both, and here I am, on what definitely feels like a date with two guys who are very openly interested.
I should feel guilty. Conflicted. Something.
Instead, I just feel… happy. Light. Like I can breathe properly for the first time since Grant stormed out this morning.
Wyatt wins by three strokes. I come in last by a truly embarrassing margin.
“Ice cream’s on me,” I announce.
“Damn right it is,” Jordie says cheerfully.
The ice cream shop is attached to the mini golf place, one of those trendy spots with flavors like lavender honey and bourbon vanilla. I get salted caramel. Jordie gets something called “birthday cake explosion” that looks like diabetes in a cone. Wyatt gets plain chocolate and refuses to be peer-pressured into anything more adventurous.
We end up at a picnic table outside, the afternoon sun warm on my face, and for a few minutes, we just eat ice cream in comfortable silence.
Then Jordie breaks it. “So. We should talk about this morning.”
My stomach tightens. “Do we have to?”
“Grant was out of line,” Wyatt says quietly. “What he said to you—”
“Was true.” I lick ice cream off my thumb. “I did sleep in your bed last night. Hours after I was with Jordie at the party.”
“All we did was sleep,” Wyatt points out.
“Grant doesn’t know that. And honestly?” I look between them. “From the outside, it looks like exactly what he thinks it looks like.”
“Which is?” Jordie asks.
“That I’m sleeping with both of you.” I say it plainly, refusing to soften it. “Maybe not at the same time, but—”
“Would you want to?” Jordie interrupts.
I choke on my ice cream. “What?”
“Sleep with both of us. At the same time.” He’s looking at me with complete seriousness now, the playful mask dropped. “Is that something you’d be interested in?”
My face is on fire. “I—that’s not—we can’t—”
“That’s not a no,” Wyatt observes.
“That’s not a yes either.”
“But it’s not a no,” Jordie presses.
I’m staring at my ice cream like it holds answers. “I don’t know what this is. Any of this. I like you both. Obviously. But I don’t—I’m not the type of person who—”
“Who what?” Wyatt’s voice is gentle. “Wants more than one person?”
“It’s not normal.”
