Page 54 of Crushing Clover

He headed for the keg, where he filled both glasses.

Getting a keg had seemed excessive when Lucky had told me about it, but the three of them were putting a decent dent in it.

I was feeling no pain, myself, laughing at their stupid jokes, and finding that I was more relaxed than I had been in what felt like years.

I’d never had money to spend on alcohol when there was food and rent to pay for.

That also meant I didn’t have much of a tolerance.

I got up from where I was sitting between Lucky’s knees and grabbed the gift bag Lucky had bought for me. I handed it to Rush, who accepted it with a grin.

“You didn’t have to get me anything, Clove,” he said, pulling me into his lap and settling me there. “Should I be afraid to open this?” He grinned, and I kissed his cheek, his big Viking beard soft against my face.

“It’s just something I made,” I said ruefully.

“Did she make you a macaroni necklace?” Saint asked. “Make sure you wear it to the next parent-teacher conference.”

“I’m not that much younger than the three of you.”

“You might as well be, considering how you act.”

I ignored him, focusing my attention on Rush, who seemed genuinely pleased I had made the effort to make him something. When he’d entered the office and seen the decorations, I could tell he was touched.

He reached into the bag and pulled out the project I’d been working on for almost a month. All of them had seen it under construction, but none of them had known what I was making.

“This looks familiar,” Rush said, slowly drawing it out of the bag. The navy-blue yarn hadn’t been difficult to work with, but my own inexperience had been a problem. I could see where I’d made mistakes, but I was proud of it anyway. It had been fun to make.

He shook it out and held it up in front of us, then turned it to look at the back.

“Holy shit! You made this?”

I nodded. “Lucky bought me the yarn and the crochet hook and stuff, though. He bought me the pattern, too.”

“I love it, baby girl! Thank you so much.” He hugged me, and I snuggled into him, his beard snagging my hair. He kissed the side of my face, then turned my chin toward him so he could kiss me on the lips. “Get up for a minute, so I can try this on.”

Nervously, I watched as he pulled off his T-shirt and slid on the sweater.

It fit loosely, but it looked great on him.

The little holes where I had fucked up made it look distressed rather than shitty.

He did a little turn in front of me then went to look at it in the entryway mirror.

The fact that it was thin meant it hugged his chest and shoulders in a way that made me long to drape myself over him, too.

“This is fucking cool.” He walked over to where Saint was sitting at his desk, tapping his fingers on his glass. “Did you see?”

“It’s okay,” Saint said somewhat snidely, giving a one-shouldered shrug. “If you like that sort of thing.”

“Who wouldn’t like this? If you ask nicely, I might even let you borrow it sometime.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

“I would ask why you’re being a dick, but you and I both know why.”

“Oh, and why is that?”

Rush stopped short of saying more, but a silent conversation was happening between the two of them, yet again. They did that a lot.

“Okay, Sigmund Freud.”

“You know it’s true. You just don’t want to admit it.”

“Admit what?” Lucky demanded, looking as perplexed as I felt.

How could gifting Rush a shitty homemade sweater make Saint so pissy?

“Oh my god, man. Use your words. Your little mantrums were cute when we were teenagers, but you need to actually tell people things if you want your life to be good.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He took Saint by the shoulders and turned him so his chair swiveled toward me. “What Saint wants to say is that the sweater is very cool, and he wants you to make him one.”

That could not be what was happening.

“Are you…making fun of me?” I asked, confused.

Saint was looking at the corner of the room, avoiding my gaze.

“No. He wants one, and he’s jealous you made me one first.”

“Oh.”

Saint scoffed. “See? No matter what I do, everyone likes you more.”

“If people like me more it’s because I don’t go out of my way to be a gigantic jackass ninety percent of the time.”

Lucky almost choked on his drink. “To be fair, ninety percent feels like a lowball number—if you’re looking for feedback.”

The two of them exchanged crooked grins before Rush turned his attention back to Saint. “If you use your polite asking words, maybe she’ll give you what you want.”

“If she doesn’t want us to give her back to Warren, you’d think she’d be working those little fingers off trying to keep us happy.”

“Jesus, Saint. Try to read her expression once in a while? She doesn’t do cute little things for you because on top of treating her like shit, you scare the living fuck out of her. If you want people to like you, you need to be nice to them,” Rush said in a patient, daycare-adjacent tone.

Saint twitched his shoulders, shaking off Rush’s hands. “It is a nice sweater,” he conceded.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, not sure what to make of the mumbled complement. I didn’t trust that it wasn’t going to come back to bite me in the ass later. He didn’t go so far as to ask me to make him one, and I didn’t offer.

Rush came to me and kissed my forehead, then thanked me again before handing me my refilled glass and settling back on the couch.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Rush?”

“Why would he bother getting us drunk when he can have us anytime he pleases?” Lucky hoisted his glass as though toasting me.

He had a point.

“My turn.” Lucky reclaimed the tattered plastic bag his gift was in and handed it to Rush. I got up to make room for him beside Rush, but he hovered rather than sitting.

“Are you going to sit on my lap while I open yours, too?” He dragged Lucky down onto him without waiting for an answer, and beer slopped over the side of Lucky’s glass. Saint took the glass before more beer was spilled and set it on the desk.

“Why am I sitting on you?”

“You’re so fucking cute,” Rush replied, pinching his cheek.

Saint made a gagging sound.

“Ignore him,” Rush recommended. “The metaphorical stick he has lodged up his ass is chafing today.”

I bit my lips together to stop from laughing. The last thing I wanted was for Saint to feel like he was the butt of the joke. He never appreciated being teased, although he could dish it out.

Saint didn’t reply, but he did come over to see what Rush was unwrapping.

We stood there watching as the two of them teased each other. Saint reached for something behind me, and I felt the tickling sensation of pieces of my hair being gently pulled. Was he playing with the ends of my hair?

Fuck, if him touching my hair was making my belly flutter, that was a bad sign.

Clover, don’t you fucking catch feelings for these men. Especially not for the one standing next to you.

From the bag, Rush pulled out an assortment of translucent, silky garments.

“Aww. Did he buy you sexy undies to wear for him?” Saint asked dryly, crossing his arms as though he’d realized he was touching my hair.

Rush raised a brow at Lucky. “Is this for you to wear?” he asked, grinning. He drew out the next piece and the next, and soon there was a multi-colored pile of suggestive lingerie on the empty seat of the couch.

“It’s so you can dress up Clover, then cut it off her.”

What?

He was kidding, right?

Rush’s gaze moved from Lucky to where I stood beside Saint. “You bought it specifically so I could ruin it?”

Lucky’s grin held fiendish anticipation. “I know what you like.”

Rush slid his hand into the back of Lucky’s hair and pulled him down for a searing kiss that made my toes curl even though I wasn’t involved.

Saint slid a glance my way. “I hope you’re not afraid of knives.”

“Are you serious?”

“Rush used to be pretty obsessed with knife play back when we were in college. Couldn’t get off without it.”

“I still have the first pair of jeans he shredded off me,” Lucky said reverently.

“Hold up, now. What exactly is happening with the knives?” I asked nervously.

“Exactly what it sounds like,” Rush said with far too much glee for my mental wellbeing. “We dress you up, and then I do a few delicate alterations.” He slid his gaze over me.

Instinctively, I stepped behind Saint. It wasn’t like he would protect me from Rush, even if Rush decided to murder me, but still.

“If that’s going to happen, we should probably wait until everyone is sober, right?” My words came out faint rather than firm.

“Yeah, Rush. Playing with knives when you’re drunk isn’t safe, sane, or consensual.” Saint was smirking as he said it, which I knew without even looking at him.

“But it’s my birthday.”

Lucky rose from his lap and pulled him to his feet.

“Besides, I haven’t had that much to drink.”

Now they were all grinning at me like hungry jackals. My stomach fluttered with sick anticipation—half arousal, and half fear. They tended to have that effect on me.

Slowly, I shook my head. “This is a bad idea. What if Saint gets carried away and murders me?”

“I’m only feeling vaguely homicidal tonight,” he assured me. “The beer has dulled my loathing for you.”

Exactly what this moment needed—a fucking comedian.

I backed away, my mind racing and my heart beating so fast it felt like my blood wasn’t pumping right.

“We could play spin the bottle instead. Strip poker? Truth or dare?” My suggestions were met with amusement. “Hell, we can skip the preliminaries, and I could give you all blowjobs. I’ve been practicing.”

“Cutting clothes off the hot girl is the best game,” Lucky said, rubbing his palms on his jeans, as though he was as eager as Rush.

“Maybe knives are a hard limit for me.”

“The best part about you, is your reluctance to be turned on by our kinks, and your inevitable screaming orgasms. Such a twisted little thing.” Saint grabbed for my arm, but I stepped out of reach.

“Yeah? Well maybe I’ve been faking those,” I shot back.

They seemed to find that hysterical, unfortunately.

“You squeeze so tight when you come, I’m surprised it hasn’t changed my dick’s circumference.”

I tried not to laugh. “Shut up.”

“Don’t fuck me so hard. You’re too big. It hurts,” Lucky said in a taunting falsetto. “Then her orgasm hits, and she’s shaking and crying and frothing at the mouth.”

“I don’t sound like that, and I’ve never frothed at the mouth!”

Rush hummed with anticipation. “Let’s see how much she hates my knives.”

I trusted all of them not to damage me, but playing with knives felt like the kind of thing I should object to. “How about we imagine knives in the privacy of our own heads, and call it a night?”

“Somebody grab her before she—fuck!” Rush didn’t get to finish his warning before I bolted for the door.

Cackling, I streaked through the kitchen and into the restaurant, weaving through the tables with their upturned chairs. Behind me, I could hear them following.

As I banged through the front door and out into the night, I felt someone catch at the back of my hair, but I tore free.

“Get back here, woman,” Saint growled, but I kept running toward the road, across the grass which was cool and damp against my bare feet.

I could feel them behind me—bigger, faster, eager to catch me.

Streetlights bathed the road in golden light and cars zipped past, making my skirt ripple.

The sidewalk was warm and gritty, and I wished I was wearing shoes. I briefly considered flagging down a passing car and letting a stranger drive me off to a new life, but with my luck, it would be someone who planned to cook me and eat my eyeballs.

I dodged a set of hands—Lucky’s?—and ended up caught by someone else. They were breathless and laughing, and brought the smell of beer with them.

An old land-yacht of a car slid to a stop next to us.

“Hey, girl! You okay?” an elderly woman called through her open passenger window. She was barely tall enough to see over the steering wheel.

“She’s fine,” Saint told her.

“Did I ask you, motherfucker?” She reached between the seats and came up with a handgun she aimed in Saint’s direction. All four of us took a step back. “I asked the girl if she’s okay.”

Fuck. All I’d have to do is say no. This woman had a look in her eye that said she’d drive me to the nearest police station, or maybe to another country, albeit none too fast.

After a stunned pause, I shook my head. “I’m fine,” I told her, stepping between the gun and Saint, since he was the one she had it leveled on. I held up my hands placatingly. “We’re just goofing around.”

She narrowed her eyes at me and lowered her weapon. “You’re playing with fire, goofing around with three big men like that.”

“Oh, I know.” I flashed her a grin as she tucked away her gun.

She barked a laugh. “You girls are so wild these days—makes me wish I was young again. Sorry for calling you a motherfucker, young man.”

Saint arched a brow. “You’re not the first person to call me that, and you won’t be the last.”

“I’m sure.”

“Thanks for stopping to check on her,” Rush said. “You never know.”

“Nope. You never do.” She looked him over and gave him a wink before driving away.

Lucky slapped him on the back. “Should we be worried? She looked like she wanted a piece of you.”

“If I ever wanted a dominant, you might have something to worry about.”

Carefully not touching me, Saint glanced around. “Get your ass back inside before I come up with a creative and unpleasant way to punish you.”

“I was willing to take a bullet for you, and this is how I’m repaid?” I asked sweetly.

“In!” he barked.

I skipped back to the restaurant stairs to piss him off, and the surly grumbling that followed me made me grin.