Page 53 of Crushing Clover

The office at Cygnet was spotless, and Lucky had helped me hang the colorful streamers, although he’d drawn the line at blowing up balloons. I’d had to do those myself.

“Why are we doing this here instead of at home?” Lucky asked.

“I had time to decorate the office while you guys were working. If I’d waited until we’d gone home, it would have taken me forever, and everyone would have fallen asleep.”

“Why go to so much trouble with the decorations?”

I paused, holding the stem of the balloon I was blowing up so it wouldn’t lose the progress I’d made. “What would you have done if I wasn’t here to organize this for him?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Buy a keg of beer? Order pizza? That’s what I did this time. You’re just making it look nicer.”

“You’re seriously getting pizza delivered to the restaurant? Won’t they kill you?”

“They like to make fancy shit, but they still enjoy pizza once in a while—especially when they’ve been drinking.”

In all my months with them, I’d never seen any of them drunk. Hopefully, they wouldn’t get any dangerous ideas.

“I think going to this trouble will make him feel special. He goes out of his way to take care of us. We can do the same for him sometimes.”

“He may not appreciate the effort as much as you hope he will.” He grimaced apologetically.

“I’m not looking for compliments. I want him to know we appreciate him.”

“The house and the office already look a thousand times better than when you moved in,” he said, as though he didn’t help me with everything. “Once we’re done paying off Cygnet, maybe we can buy a new couch for in here.”

I shrugged, trying to act nonchalant even though it sounded like he thought I’d be here to use that new couch.

Had they been talking about me when I wasn’t around, or was he simply assuming?

For weeks, I’d been dreading hitting the six-month mark when they could send me back to Warren, and now it was only weeks away.

Every day, I tucked away memories with them, hoping my life wasn’t about to become grim and horrible. Soon, I might only have memories to cling to.

Maybe I meant enough to Lucky and Rush that they’d try to change Saint’s mind. Even if they did like me, though, keeping me would be a huge commitment. They’d have to feed me, clothe me. If they got bored or decided they didn’t like me after all, then what? They couldn’t simply break up with me.

It was devastating to think, but they’d be better off without me.

I tied a yellow balloon to the top handle of the filing cabinet.

If things got too bad with the next people who bought me, there was always a way out. A permanent one.

“What did you get Rush for his birthday?” I asked Lucky, trying to shake off the feeling of impending doom.

“I can’t tell you. It’s a surprise!” he said, wrinkling his nose and not making eye contact.

“It doesn’t have to be a surprise from me.”

“It’s bad luck to see a bride before the wedding.”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t think that saying applies to any part of this evening.”

“Probably not.”

“Unless…is it a ring?”

He coughed. His blush was cute. As much as they acted like a bunch of emotionally repressed dudes, Lucky was still wildly in love with Rush, even after years of being together.

“What?” I asked innocently. “Saint is completely devoid of human emotion, but that doesn’t mean you have to be. You’re allowed to be in love with Rush.”

He gave a one-shouldered shrug and grabbed a balloon and a roll of tape. “We don’t talk about things like that.”

“That’s some bullshit toxic masculinity, my friend. I think you should tell him you love him as often as you want to. Be completely unhinged about it. We only get to live this life once. Wouldn’t you rather say it, instead of trying to act cool about it?”

“Rush and I have never had the kind of relationship I would categorize as romantic.” He moved to tape a balloon to the wall, then paused. “Do you think this paint is cured enough for this?”

“I wasn’t going to say anything, but it’s probably still too fresh.”

I still couldn’t believe they’d let me pick all the new paint colors for the house and the office and had trusted me to do the painting. The rooms were much less austere now than their original builder’s white.

“Why not tell me? I’d hate to wreck your hard work because you were too shy to say so.”

“It’s not my office, like the house is not my house.”

He scoffed. “You care more about the house than we do—how it looks, at least. It’s so much homier in here now, too. I’d never really thought about things like table lamps and throw pillows.”

“Glad you like it. I’m not sure anyone else cares.”

“Even if they loved it, do you think either of them would remember to tell you? They are who they are.”

We both laughed.

“This is ridiculous,” Saint grumbled as he ambled into the office. He turned all the way around, taking in the full effect of the birthday decorations. “What time do the clown and pony show up? Did you remember to hire a magician?”

“It’s Rush’s birthday,” I said sweetly. “Who’s going to make a fuss over him if we don’t?”

“The only person in this family who gets a fuss made over them is Lucky. You should see his family birthday parties. His mom sends us home with fucking goodie bags.”

Lucky looked annoyed but kept his temper in check. “God forbid one of us has a loving set of parents.”

“Your parents are saints, but you have to admit that giving goodie bags to grown men is pretty fucking weird.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. I’ve watched you eat those chocolate bars, and I’ve caught you playing with those fidget toys on more than one occasion.”

To my surprise, Saint laughed. The flash of white teeth and the grin made my knees weak.

“Fine, fine. I won’t make fun of Willa’s goodie bags for at least another week.”

I frowned. “I wish I’d thought of goodie bags.”

Saint rolled his eyes. “Does your mom know we’ve shacked up with her long-lost daughter?”

Lucky threw a roll of streamer at him. “We could do a hell of a lot worse than a woman as kind and thoughtful as my mom.” He called his parents every day for at least a few minutes and dropped by to visit all the time.

I couldn’t remember when I’d last spoken to my sister and it hadn’t turned into an argument because I had no money to give her.

Saint sprawled into his desk chair and started rooting through his snack drawer.

“The keg is chilling, and the pizza will be here in about five minutes,” Lucky said irritably. “Don’t start looking for snacks now.”

Saint shut the drawer and gave Lucky a dirty look. “I hope you ordered from somewhere good. The pizza was disgusting last time.”

“You refused to taste it, so how would you even know?”

“How can you have an opinion about whether I added enough truffle to a recipe, yet happily eat pizza that tastes like cardboard?”

“I also swallow your cum on a regular basis. I’m a man of many talents.”

The two of them sniping at each other was one of my favorite things to listen to.

I cleared away the scissors and tape, then checked the room to make sure everything else was perfect.

“Why are you so squirrely about this?” Saint grumped. “It’s not like we have guests dropping by. You literally know what time of day the man shits.”

“Everyone deserves to have a fuss made over them on their birthday. Even adults with extraordinarily regular bathroom habits.”

“Most of the world doesn’t get fussed over on their birthday.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Lucky said, readjusting one of the couch’s new throw pillows.

Saint scowled. “You were born with a fucking horseshoe up your ass but that doesn’t mean the rest of us need this.”

“But we can do this for him, so why not?” I asked.

“Because you wouldn’t do it for me,” he said hotly, looking as surprised to say it as I was to hear it.

He was jealous? That was preposterous.

“Did I miss your birthday?” I asked carefully.

“No,” he admitted. “But still. You guys wouldn’t do this for me.”

“If you’re getting rid of me as soon as you pay off the restaurant, then I won’t be here to do this for you.”

He frowned. “You don’t even like me.”

“You’re not completely loathsome when you’re not going out of your way to be a dick.”

He tried to look absorbed in examining a cut on his finger. “Whatever.”

He fucked off into the hallway, and Lucky raised his brows at me in speculation. I shook my head, not wanting to say anything else in case he was lurking around the corner listening. Knowing Saint, I wouldn’t put it past him.

Saint’s strange outburst circled my mind, like a shit refusing to be flushed.

Just over an hour later, the pizza had been eaten (even Saint had approved), the candles were blown out, and I’d helped Lucky serve the cake he’d baked himself. It was surprisingly good, even though he was rarely allowed to cook.

Apparently, Rush and Saint had a gentleman’s agreement not to give each other gifts.

Lucky’s parents were out of town visiting an elderly aunt, but they’d sent over a box of fancy artisanal chocolates all three guys dissected with rhapsodic enthusiasm.

“You’re going to like what I got you,” Lucky said, grinning evilly as he handed Rush a plastic bag that had been rolled into a not-so-festive, football-sized wad.

When he’d told me his gift was already wrapped, I should have asked a few clarifying questions.

“Wait. Open the one from Clover first,” he insisted.

“Oh, this should be good. What on earth did our little beggar get you?” Saint chugged the rest of his glass of beer and grabbed Rush’s glass to refill. “Let me guess—is it from a dollar store?”

“Don’t make fun of her!” Lucky grumbled. “She put in more effort than you did.”

“Did I or did I not reimburse you for the beer?”