Page 79 of Lessons in Chemistry

Emory strokes his hand over my T-shirt. “You’re not a slacker. Look how much research you did into poly relationships. You must have spent hours on that.”

“A few.”

“See? A slacker wouldn’t have done that.”

I shrug and then waggle my eyebrows suggestively. “I did have an ulterior motive.”

Emory’s face goes bright red. “Maybe, but when you’re interested in something, you work hard.”

“Eh, maybe. You work hard all the time. So does Casey.”

“He doesn’t have time to study as much as I do. He does his best to keep on top of his work, but it’s hard for him sometimes. He’s in the pool six times a week and the gym twice a week, and that’s not counting weekends when he has competitions.”

I whistle. “That’s a lot. No wonder he’s fit as hell.”

“He is,” Emory says in a dreamy voice. “And so are you.”

“I can tell you right now that I do not have muscles like Casey.”

“Nor do I. I’m squishy in places.”

I hug him. “That gives me something to hold on to.”

Emory’s cheeks burn an even brighter shade of red.

“Have I mentioned how cute you are when you blush?”

“A few times. It makes me blush more.”

“Does it? Really?”

He bats his arm over my chest. “You know it does. That’s why you keep saying it.” He grazes his fingers over my beard scruff.

“What are you thinking?” I catch hold of his fingers and kiss them.

“That I want to do more than kiss.”

“I think people might object if I gave you an orgasm here.”

He presses his face against my shoulder. “Not here! You want to give me an orgasm?”

“Uh, yes. Do you want me to?”

He shivers. “Uh-huh. Come to mine after uni.”

“Or you could come to mine.”

He lifts his head. “I want to be home when Casey gets back from swimming. He’s always tired and in need of a hug. Is that okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

He shrugs.

“You’re in a relationship with two people now. There’s going to be some give and take from all of us. I get to spend the afternoon and evening with you, and then Casey gets to have some time with you. I’m cool with that.” I’m surprised that I am. I thought I’d be feeling jealous or insecure, but I’m not.

“Thank you.”

“It’s settled. I’ll come to yours and cook for you. We can snuggle, kiss, and get sexy.” My voice drops to a whisper by the time I reach the end of the sentence.