Page 34

TRENT

E verything’s different this time. What’s happens in Sara’s room this afternoon isn’t fucking.

It’s something much bigger and sweeter. It’s shared breath and touches so gentle they’re more like a whisper. It’s quiet caresses and eye contact held for a heartbeat too long, but that doesn’t scare me like it would have two weeks ago.

We’re here in this room, in this moment, this experience together. I’m present with Logan and Sara, Sara and Logan, the three of us stroking and tasting and murmuring words into ears we adore above all others.

That’s the point where I know this is new. Since when do I fucking adore a guy’s ears?

But it doesn’t feel wrong and that’s the best part. When we finally collapse in a big, sweaty heap, I’m so fucking happy I say so.

“I fucking love you guys, too.”

“Yeah?” Logan lifts his head off my chest. “About time you said it first, Frogman.”

“Get fucked, Jarhead.”

“Just did.” He grins and kisses my jaw .

That’s the other thing. We haven’t done anal stuff yet. Logan and me, I mean. When he went down on Sara last night, he went waaay down. Farther than usual, licking her there as she yelped in surprise, then clutched at the sheets and came so hard she screamed herself hoarse.

But I haven’t been brave enough to venture into that territory. It’s not that I don’t feel curious as hell, though. I’d love to try someday. Maybe in the future when?—

My blood goes icy in my veins.

Someday?

Future?

What the fuck am I thinking?

Sara stirs in my arms, her soft, naked body cradled between us like a treasure. Kissing my jawline, she trails her fingertips down the center of my chest.

“What are you thinking?”

“Uh, not much.” That question kills me. So many thoughts run through my head that I can’t possibly share with anyone else.

She tickles my chest again. “I had lunch with Camille today.”

“Oh?” This feels like a much safer topic. “How’s she doing?”

“Good.”

Logan rolls to his side so he can see us both. “Is she back on the islands for a while?”

“For the foreseeable future, yes.” She seems to hesitate. “She suggested lunch with the five of us—you guys, me, Ash and Camille.”

“Cool,” Logan says. “I’m down anytime.”

“I’ll let her know,” Sara says. “Maybe early next week, before we fly home.”

The ice in my veins turns sluggish. I don’t say a word. I’m not even sure if I’m freaking out over leaving this place or the prospect of people from my real life knowing what we’ve been doing .

Logan—the good-natured goof who can’t quit—keeps probing the subject. “Does she know about us?”

“Us?” My heart starts to hammer the backs of my ribs.

“Yeah, us .” He gives me a quizzical look. “The three of us, together.”

Jesus . “I sure as hell hope not.” The words slip out before I’ve had time to think.

Sara’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—” Fuck, what do I mean? “What happens at Crystal Bliss stays at Crystal Bliss, right?”

Looking a bit like I’ve slapped her, Sara sits up with a forearm draped over her breasts. Even with everything we’ve done, she’s still so damn modest it kills me.

“She’s a sex therapist, Trent,” she says carefully. “I made sure she knew that everything I told her wouldn’t be shared outside the circle of trust. She knows it’s a secret.”

Logan’s brow furrows. “For how long?”

Ignoring his question, I squeeze my eyes shut. “Great.”

Really fucking great.

“What?” Sara presses her fingernails into my chest. Not hard, but enough that I open my eyes again. “Did I do something wrong?”

Wrong.

The word triggers something inside me. In the black and white world I was raised in, so many things can be wrong .

Bad is another one. Last night in bed, Logan asked Sara if she’d been a bad girl. She giggled and shrieked as he playfully smacked her bare backside.

But the word put a knot in my chest that hasn’t unraveled.

“Trent?”

The sound of my name in Sara’s sweet voice reminds me she’s wanting an answer. I’m not sure I have one to give her.

“It’s fine,” I mutter.

Her forehead crinkles. “It doesn’t sound like it’s fine. ”

I wish she’d just drop it. Logan doesn’t help by cheerfully asking, “You okay, dude?”

They’re going to keep pushing until I say something. Might as well get this over with. “I wish you hadn’t said anything, that’s all.”

“Why?” She sounds truly befuddled, and Logan looks equally perplexed.

I guess I’m the asshole here.

“Look, I just—I don’t want people knowing, okay?” From the look on their faces, it isn’t okay. “Camille will tell Kit, and probably Holyfield, too.” Shame swirls with anger, a sticky-hot soup in my gut. “What did you tell her exactly?”

Logan’s hand rests on her hip. He’s looking at me like I’ve just tracked swamp mud on freshly cleaned floors. “Hey, man,” he says gently. “Go easy on her.”

I roll out of bed, feeling too naked for this talk. I drag on the shorts that I dropped at the edge of the nightstand, not sure where my underpants went. I feel itchy and exposed, like my skin doesn’t fit anymore.

Now Logan sits up, since Sara’s still upright with her forearm covering her breasts. Guess he’d rather not lie there while Sara and I brace to do battle. Her perfect, round breasts peek under the edge of her forearm. She’s so fucking beautiful, and Logan’s infuriatingly flawless, too.

I can’t look at either of them. Not without feeling my heart start to simmer in a stew of its own putrid juices.

Snatching her dress off the edge of the mattress, I hand it to Sara and wait while she wriggles it over her head.

Her bra landed somewhere on the other side of the room, but she doesn’t bother finding it.

Frowning, Logan helps her locate the arm holes and settle the dress on her body. “How about we all just take a break and?—”

“No,” she says. “I want to talk about this.” She sounds more pissed off than hurt, and I’m not sure that’s better. “I told her everything, Trent, okay? ”

Dragging a hand through my hair, I fight back the urge to say it isn’t okay. It’s so fucking far from okay that I can’t see okay from this spot where I’m pacing a hole in the floor.

But Sara keeps going. “Camille is a world-renowned sex therapist, Trent. I shared what’s been happening and asked for her professional insights. I don’t think you need to worry about her judgment or discretion.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” Or maybe it is. So many fears careen through my brain as I stomp back and forth at the foot of the bed.

“It was actually really refreshing.” She sounds so much calmer than I feel, but there’s an edge to her voice. Sweet little Sara isn’t backing down this time. “You know what she told me?”

“What?” I’m almost afraid to hear it.

“She said millions of people have perfectly successful polyamorous marriages. That’s the word for romantic relationships where there’s more than two people— polyamory .

Not only that, but polyamorous partners buy homes together, raise kids together, build lives together.

” She squints at my face through the harsh rays of sunlight that stream through her window. “Why are you making that face?”

“What face?”

“Like I just slammed your testicles in the sliding glass door.”

“Ouch.” Logan gets up and pulls on his boxer briefs. “For what it’s worth, I’ve known a lot of people in relationships like that. Hell, Kora and Sybil are one of the happiest married couples I know, and they’ve practically got a revolving door on their bedroom.”

I skid to a stop and look from Logan to Sara. A sick thought slams into my gut. “Have you two been talking about this? About us ?”

They look at each other, startled and stirred up with feelings. “Not exactly,” Sara says, turning to face me. “Not in so many words, but I think we should talk about it. ”

Logan locates his shorts and pulls them on. “I’m up for anything.”

Of course he is. And I’m the repressed asshole who buries his feelings inside him.

It’s another good reason I could never make Sara happy.

Not as a husband or partner. Finding my shirt on the floor, I yank it on over my head.

“I thought we agreed,” I say, cursing when I realize I’ve got it on backwards.

“We weren’t going to talk about this right now. ”

“You said a few days at the start of this,” Sara fires back. “It’s been more than a week, Trent. Is a few like a fuckton —an imprecise unit of measure you can bend however you want to?”

Logan’s mouth quirks. “Is that more or less than a shit-ton?”

She shoots him a startled look, but we’re getting off track here. “I’m not ready, okay? It’s one thing to do this stuff here, but in the real world?—”

“Jesus.” Logan shakes his head. “What is this fucking real world you live in?”

“Not one that suits me anymore.” Sara crosses her arms. “This whole Jilted Brides experience has opened my eyes to what I want. What I really want—not what my parents raised me to think was normal and right and good .”

The words hit like darts to my forehead. I flinch as she says them, gritting my teeth through the strikes.

“And what is it you want now, Sara?” I pray she won’t say it out loud. I’m so fucking scared of the answer. Afraid of these feelings boiling up from my chest to my throat. “You think the three of us could just—what? Set up house together? Have kids and a dog and a church that we go to each Sunday?”

“Works for me.” Logan pulls on his shirt. The bastard gets it right the first time, while I’m pretty sure mine’s still backwards. “Never been to church, but I’m willing to give it a go.”

Squeezing my eyes shut, I fight back the feeling of helplessness. Of my life spinning out of control. I want this so badly— this dream they’re describing—but there’s no fucking way that could happen.

“What would your parents say, Sara?” I’m pleading with her to see reason.

Or maybe that’s not what I’m pleading for.

Deep down, I’m desperate for one of these fools to say what I’m hoping to hear.

We’ll make it work, Trent.

Together, we’ll figure it out.