Page 28 of Triple Play
“Fine.” Grant doesn’t turn around.
Jordie clears his throat. “Good. It was, uh… good.”
“Great.” I grab a glass, fill it with water, and take my time drinking it.
The silence is delicious.
“So.” Jordie is the first to crack, unable to help himself. “You settling in okay?”
“Mostly. Still getting used to sharing a bathroom with three guys.” I set my glass down and meet his eyes. “Hope that’s not weird for you.”
His gaze flicks away, then back. “Nope. Not weird.”
“Good. Because I’m not really the type to hide my stuff, you know?” I lean against the counter, feigning innocence. “I figure we’re all adults here.”
Wyatt makes a sound that might be a cough.
Grant’s knuckles are white on the sink edge.
“Totally.” Jordie’s voice is slightly higher than normal. “Adults. Yep.”
“Glad we’re on the same page.” I push off the counter and head for the stairs. I stop, look back. “Oh, and I’m doing laundry later. If you need to use the machines, just let me know.”
I don’t wait for a response.
Back in my room, I allow myself to grin.
Round one: Elise.
I wait until after dinner—pizza that Jordie ordered, eaten mostly in silence—to move my laundry to the dryer.
All three of them are in the living room, pretending to watch some hockey game on TV.
I make sure to walk past them with my laundry
basket, ensuring the black lace thong is right on top.
Nobody says anything.
But I can feel them looking.
I can sense the weight of their attention like a physical presence.
I take my time, setting my basket right in the center of the living room floor before heading to the kitchen.
When I come back out, Wyatt’s eyes are fixed on the TV as if it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.
Jordie’s scrolling through his phone—aggressive and focused.
Grant’s jaw is so tight that I’m surprised his teeth don’t crack.
“Laundry takes forever here, huh?” I settle into the armchair, pulling my knees up. My sleep shorts ride higher than I intended, the fabric pulling tight between my legs and outlining everything.
I should adjust them—pull them down, cross my legs differently, do something.
But I don’t.
Three sets of eyes track my movement, drop, lock on, and then snap away as if they’ve been burned.
