Page 83 of Triple Play
“And if you decide you want both of us?” Jordie’s grin turns wicked. “We’ll figure that out too.”
My ice cream is melting, forgotten. “You’re serious.”
“Dead serious.” Jordie reaches across the table, cups my face with one hand. “I like you, Elise. Really like you. And I’m not going to let Grant’s baggage ruin something good before it even starts.”
“Me neither,” Wyatt says.
I’m looking between them, these two beautiful, broken, complicated men who are offering me something I didn’t even know I could want.
“This is insane,” I say.
“Probably,” Jordie agrees.
“People are going to talk.”
“Let them.”
“Grant’s going to lose his mind.”
“He already has,” Wyatt points out.
They’re both watching me, waiting, and I realize they’re giving me a choice. Really giving it to me. No pressure. No expectations. Just possibility.
I could say no. I could walk away from whatever this is before it gets more complicated.
Or I could say yes to the insanity. Yes to wanting more than one person. Yes to figuring it out as we go.
“Okay,” I hear myself say.
Wyatt’s hand tightens on mine. Jordie leans across the table and kisses me, quick and sweet, tasting like birthday cake and promise.
When he pulls back, Wyatt is watching us with heat in his eyes that makes my stomach flip.
“My turn,” he says, and then his mouth is on mine, slower, deeper, full of all the things he doesn’t say out loud.
When we break apart, I’m dizzy and breathless and aware that we’re in public at an ice cream shop on a Tuesday afternoon.
“People are staring,” I manage.
“Let them stare,” Jordie says. “You’re ours now. They can deal with it.”
Ours.
The word should terrify me. Instead, it just feels right.
We finish our ice cream. Drive back to the townhouse. I’m wedged between them in the truck now, Jordie’s hand on mythigh, Wyatt’s arm around my shoulders, and it should feel crowded, but it doesn’t.
It feels like belonging.
Grant’s car isn’t in the driveway when we pull up. Still at the rink, probably. Working off his anger on the ice.
Part of me wants to text him. Wants to explain. Wants to make him understand.
But I’m tired of making excuses for wanting what I want.
If Grant can’t handle this, that’s his problem.
Not mine.
