Page 50 of Love by Design (Club Rapture: Risk Aware #1)

SILAS

“ D o you want to come over to Marshall’s?” I asked Lincoln, balancing the phone between my ear and my shoulder.

It was just before six. I’d come here right after work to find the house dark and quiet.

I texted Marshall to see how late he planned to be, and he said he was out with Smith who needed some one-on-one brother time.

I’d just gotten out of the shower, cleaning myself in the ways Marshall expected, and I didn’t have any plans for the night since he wasn’t going to be back until late.

I could have gotten dressed and headed home, but whether I’d admit it to him or not, I had started to think of his house as my home.

“Of course, I want to come over to Marshall’s,” Lincoln said. “Do you want me to bring dinner?”

My stomach growled. “From where?”

“You tell me,” he said.

“Will you get me a shawarma salad?” I asked.

“Perfect choice. Be there soon.”

Lincoln hung up on me, and I tossed my cell phone onto my bed.

My bed .

The bed.

Our bed?

Fuck. I didn’t know.

Sinking down onto the edge of the mattress, I dropped my head into my hands with a frustrated groan.

I wanted to live here—with Marshall—but it was scary at the same time.

We hadn’t been together long and there was very much a part of me that worried once the newness or the novelty wore off, he wouldn’t want to be with me anymore.

Biting the corner of my thumbnail, I tried to convince myself my fears were unfounded, but there was only one person strong enough to remind me of that, and it definitely wasn’t the one who’d just bit his nail so close to the quick it was bleeding.

Half an hour later, Lincoln was banging on the door, and I still hadn’t managed to get a bandage around my thumb.

I jumped up to let him in, then shuffled off to the bathroom while he busied himself with dishing up our dinner in the dining room.

With my hangnail secure, I caught up with my best friend making himself at home at Marshall’s table.

The dining room table.

Our dining room table?

Fucking fuck.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever,” Lincoln said when I sat down beside him.

“I saw you Friday,” I reminded him.

How could I think about moving out when three days felt like a lifetime? I scooted my chair closer to his so I could twine my foot around his ankle. Beside me, Lincoln let out a noise that was half-laugh and half-sigh.

“Do you want me to be home more?” I asked.

He groaned and shook his head. “I want you happy. I just have to get used to how that looks now.”

I pulled the plastic wrapping off the fork and twisted it around my fingers until it was thin enough to tie in a knot. I wrapped the strip around Lincoln’s wrist and tied it, hooking my finger beneath the plastic to make sure it wasn’t too tight in his arm.

“What’s this?” he murmured, turning his arm upside down to look at the whole piece.

“Like a collar,” I teased gently, “but for best friends.”

Lincoln snorted, knocking into me with his shoulder. “You could have just pissed on me to mark your territory.”

“It’s not like that.” I bumped back into him. “Even if I’m here, I’m still your best friend. Nothing between us has changed except now we aren’t up each other’s asses all the time.”

“It is a small apartment,” he agreed, voice going soft. “But it’s ours.”

“It is.”

“And now…Marshall’s place is yours. His and yours.”

I swallowed hard, dropping my fork. “He does want me to move in, but I haven’t told him yes.”

“Why not?” Lincoln shifted, knees pressing into mine. He took both of my hands into his and kissed the bandage on my thumb. “You love him. Why not? Please don’t say it's because of me.”

“Not only you, but I love that you think so highly of yourself.”

He scrunched his nose at me, and I leaned forward and pressed our mouths together.

Lincoln made a surprised sound, but then softened, letting his tongue slide out to search for mine.

The kiss was quick and chaste—all history between us considered—but it was enough to ease the tension that had wrapped around us both.

“You’re my best friend,” I said, kissing the corner of Lincoln’s mouth for good measure before pulling away. “That’s never going to change. ”

“I think when you move in with him, I’ll probably move too.”

“What?”

Lincoln shrugged, untangling himself from me enough to get to his dinner and start eating. He managed a few bites before answering me.

“There’s no point in having a two bedroom if you’re not there,” he said.

“You can get another roommate.”

“I don’t like the idea of someone in your space.”

Lincoln shoved another bite of lamb into his mouth and made a show of chewing.

Picking up the container my salad was in, I gave the whole thing a shake, then opened it up to find the chicken and the sauce mixed in with the lettuce.

I took a bite for myself, giving him time to process the conversation.

“Would you get a studio?” I finally asked.

“That’s probably safest. Less rent to worry about.”

Another huge bite of lamb, and I matched him with a forkful of salad.

“Have you looked anywhere yet?”

“Yeah.”

Something a lot like jealousy lanced through me, even though it had no place.

Lincoln saw the writing on the wall, and he was trying to prepare and protect himself for what we both knew the eventual outcome would be.

He didn’t know about my hesitation because I hadn’t told him.

Not because I’d planned to keep it from him, but because everything still felt so fast and new when I thought about it.

“Do you think it’s too soon for me to move in?” I asked.

“Do you love him?”

“Yes.”

“Does he treat you well?”

I thought of the bruises all over my ass and my legs. The hickey on my hip. The rules and the expectations. The correction and the reward.

“Of course.”

Lincoln threw me a sideways glance. “And you treat him well?”

Laughing nervously, I moved some lettuce around the takeout container. “Don’t I?”

Lincoln shrugged, unbothered. “It’s not all about you. You have to give him the things he needs in return, right?”

“Of course,” I said, scrubbing a hand down my face. “I’m supposed to meet his brothers on Friday.”

“That sounds serious.”

“What if they don’t like me?”

“Then I imagine I won’t need that studio apartment after all,” he answered, taking the last bite of his lamb before sliding the container toward the middle of the table.

My expression must have blanched because Lincoln was quick to smile and smooth back my still-damp hair.

“I’m kidding. I’m kidding. Marshall doesn’t seem like the type to let other people sway his decisions. ”

“He loves his brothers more than anything.”

“More than you?”

“Different from me. Obviously.”

“He’s a good man, Silas. And so are you.” Lincoln plucked a pickled turnip from my salad and chomped down on it. “Everything is going to work out the way it’s meant to.”

No matter how good the shawarma was, I wasn’t very hungry anymore. I managed to get through half of the salad before giving up and stacking my Styrofoam package on top of Lincoln’s.

“Do you have to get home?” I asked.

He stretched, his slender body taking up all the space the table allowed. “I don’t have to do anything. When is Marshall home? ”

“No idea. He’s out with Smith.”

Lincoln’s eyes turned into hearts, and he crawled onto his knees, leaning toward me as I gathered up all our trash and leftovers from the table. I carried everything into the kitchen, rolling my eyes when Lincoln turned toward me, his entire expression one of mischief.

“Smith is cute. Is he gay?”

“I don’t know what Smith is,” I said.

“Shame.”

I rolled my eyes. “What about Riot? What about Ethan?”

“What about them? Oh! I haven’t even told you about Darian.”

“Oh, my God.”

Lincoln jumped up from the table. “Smith is cuter than both of them.”

“Please don’t put the moves on my boyfriend’s brother.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said with a laugh.

I cleaned up the table, then joined him on the couch.

As soon as I sat down and got comfortable, Lincoln rolled onto his side and plopped his head in my lap.

Folding his hands together behind his head, he lodged his elbow into my stomach until I angled him up and found a position that didn’t make me want to cut his arm off.

“While I’m thinking,” Lincoln blurted. “What if I’m not a Dom?”

I turned on the TV and promptly dropped the remote on his face.

“What?” Bending over him, I tried my best to dust a kiss across the quickly darkening red spot blooming on his cheek. It was hardly enough, so I swirled small circles over the mark until the furrow between his brows relaxed.

“What if I’m not?” he asked again, softly.

“Where is this coming from?”

He shrugged, shouldering into my gut again .

“Don’t be that way,” I coaxed, lifting my legs beneath him to jostle his weight around.

“It’s nothing.”

“Lincoln.”

“I don’t know. I just…I’ve been wondering.

And, like, when I play…” he trailed off, frown deepening.

He opened his mouth to say something else at the same time the front door opened.

I looked that way, finding Marshall’s frame filling the doorway, all shadow and darkness until he closed the door behind him and stepped into the light.

He still took my breath away.

“You’re disgusting for him,” Lincoln muttered.

I cleared my throat and pushed my fingers against his cheek.

“Hey,” I called out to Marshall, who smiled when he saw me.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He toed out of his shoes and dropped his bag, coming into the living room.

He saw Lincoln on my lap, sprawled out across the couch.

A moment of indecision flashed across his face, then he lifted Lincoln’s legs and sat down beside me.

My best friend readjusted himself over the top of us, and Marshall slid his hand around the back of my neck until I leaned in close enough for him to kiss me.

“Ewww,” Lincoln groaned, covering his eyes.