Page 3 of Just My Type (The Boston Hearts #3)

Amelia laughs. “Literally never, but we had a code-a-thon last night, and I coded absolute circles around him, so I’m bringing him more fans of his kitchen prowess as a consolation prize.”

Jo elbows Amelia in the side. “I thought he liked it when you displayed your mad brilliance in all its glory.”

Amelia smirks at us. “Oh, he does. He got so turned on by my brilliance last night that we didn’t go to sleep until the sun was rising.”

“Yeah, I’m going to need more details than that, please.” Jo swings around on the bed, crossing her legs and looking at Amelia expectantly, her finely tuned radar for gossip in full force.

“No,” Amelia says, her face turning a little red.

“Uh, yes,” I say.

“What she said.” Jo points to me. “What good is a girl gang if we don’t get to know all the sexy stuff? ”

Amelia narrows her eyes at Jo. “I don’t see you sharing the sexy stuff.”

Jo shrugs. “Last night Jordan tied my hands to the headboard and edged me for an hour until he finally let me come. Best orgasm of my life.”

Panic lances through me at the idea of having my hands bound like that, unable to move. To get away. To run. My head spins a little and I take slow, quiet breaths, hoping neither of them notice.

Amelia scoffs. “Just an hour?”

Jo looks at Amelia, eyes wide. “Elliot’s edged you longer than that?”

She grins. “Two hours. With ass play. And toys. Then he made me come, like, four times before he was even inside me.”

Jo takes both of Amelia’s hands in hers. “How does it feel to be god’s favorite?” Her voice is so serious that we all dissolve into hysterical laughter, my panic ebbing at the lightness.

Amelia shrugs, still giggling. “I think El might have some kind of competence kink or something. Sex is always the best when I beat him at tech stuff.”

I snort out a laugh. “You really are just two little weirdos in love, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” she sighs, with what I can only describe as dreamy eyes.

I used to be able to describe things better than that, but apparently writer’s block carries into every other part of my life too.

“Even though we’ve been together for months, I kind of still can’t believe it’s all real.

That I get to live here and have him. And have you guys.

It’s been a long time since I had girlfriends like this. ”

Amelia looks at Jo and me, her eyes full of emotion, and my throat gets tight.

I don’t know whether it’s my inability to write a single paragraph worth keeping, or the way Brett won’t stop texting me, or the way I know my time here with Jo and Amelia, with the whole loud, chaotic, wonderful Wyles family, is just temporary, but tears blur my vision and spill down my cheeks before I can stop them.

Jo jumps up immediately, grabbing my hand and pulling me up from my chair, sitting me down on the bed between her and Amelia, where I’m immediately engulfed in a hug from both sides.

“What’s wrong, Hans?” Jo asks, her hand rubbing circles on my back while I try and staunch the flow of tears.

At my sister’s gentle voice, I almost spill it all out.

How unmoored I feel. The way I’m not sure where home is right now.

My inability to write. The real truth about my relationship with Brett.

But even here, with my sister and my closest friend, my most deeply rooted instinct to keep everything close and bury it down won’t let the words come out of my mouth.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s just been a really long day. I’ve been writing some tough scenes, and I think they got to me more than I realized.” My stomach clenches at the lie.

“So, what you’re saying is, you need tacos and a margarita, like, yesterday.” Amelia squeezes me around my waist.

“Definitely,” I say on a watery laugh, relieved that she seems to have brushed past my tears and my not-so-great lie.

Relieved, that is, until I glance at Jo and see her studying me, the expression on her face telling me that she isn’t buying my bullshit at all.

But when she just nods, like she’s not going to press the issue, relief actually does cascade through me.

I know Jo has been worried about me for a long time.

Months, probably. Maybe a year. Our oldest sister, Hallie, too.

In the true way of sisters, I’m sure the two of them have a what’s going on with Hannah text thread where Jo is keeping Hallie updated on Hannah: Boston Edition.

I also know that, at some point, I’ll have to tell them everything, even if I’m not entirely sure what everything even is anymore.

But not now.

I’m saved by the ding of Jo’s phone. She glances down at it and grins. “Apparently dinner is ready, and Elliot has summoned everyone to come praise his brilliance. Jordan has margs waiting.”

“Fuck yes.” Amelia jumps up and slips her feet into the flip flops she kicked off when she got here. “Jordan’s margaritas are the best.”

“Yes, my man is very talented in that way. And…other ways.” Jo snickers as she stands and pulls me with her.

Arm in arm, Amelia, Jo, and I leave my apartment and head downstairs for dinner with the family I wish could be mine.