Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
“You, me, Veda, and Olsen?”
“Does it sound so bad?”
It doesn’t, but that’s not the point. “Nova.” I scoff a little. “I live with Mercer. I’m not moving here. If you want to be with me in some kind of forever situation, you need to come back home. You’re the one who ran—” I stop talking and rub my finger over a crease in my forehead. “Is this why you asked me to stay? Because if so, I’m disappointed.”
“I’m not leaving my farm.”
“Well, I’m not leaving my friend.”
It’s her turn to scoff now. “Friend? Is that what you call him? Your friend? Why don’t you just admit what you are to him?”
“Since when have I ever denied my relationship with Mercer?”
“Why are you so loyal to him? He’s not loyal to you. If he was, he wouldn’t string you along like this.”
There are a thousand reasons why I’m loyal to Mercer. A million, maybe. But I’m not going to tell her any of them. “We’re not gonna talk about Mercer.”
“You say things like ‘you need to come home’ as if it were my choice. And it’s not. You know it’s not. So why say it?”
This is when it gets funny.
Not ha-ha funny, but ironic funny. Because I suddenly realize that we are trying to get the same result in different ways. She’s trying to pull me back into a plural arrangement with Olsen and I’m trying to pull her into the same thing with Mercer.
And these two things are paradoxical.
As much as I would love to have both of these men and Nova in my bed, it’s never going to happen. They cannot exist in the same universe. Olsen isn’t one of us. And I know. Nova isn’t either. But she’s different. She’s special. She has earned her place.
Olsen didn’t.
He did a job, that’s all.
“This is why we don’t talk about them, Nova. It can’t work.”
“You say that, but that’s because you won’t leave Mercer.”
“You’re right, I won’t.”
“But you expect me to leave Olsen?”
I pause here. Because it throws me that she’s so attached to him. Was she always that attached? Was Olsen a bigger part of things than I remember?
For me, he was a side dish. Maybe dessert.
For sure, we had a lot of fun that summer. But it was supposed to be casual. No strings. And definitely no long-term plans. I mean, hell, the entire thing with Olsen was ‘the betrayal.’ In quotes. With capital letters in bold.
Nova walks over to me, stops right in front of me, reaches up to put her hands on my cheeks, and stares into my eyes—forcing me to get lost in her forest. “You could ask him.”
“Ask him what, Nova?”
Then I realize… she wants us all.
The understanding sinks in. Oh, she is good. She is so good. Because I’m so fucking deep in her forest right now. And when her hand slides down my chest and grabs my dick through my pants, I realize something else too.
She’s dark.
We just had sex like ten minutes ago, but I’m instantly hard.
“Wanna take a bath? I have built a temple to bubbles.”
I laugh out loud. Smile. Let the conversation go. Forget about the argument. Forget about Olsen, and Mercer, and the mistakes we made. Then moodily agree. “Yeah, OK.”
My hand is taken and I am led to the back bedroom. The same place I woke up this morning, but now I see it all through new eyes. It’s all different. New bed—modern and low, but king-sized. New bedding—gray with yellow accents. New paint. Same pale yellow as the rest of the house. New matching curtains, and throw pillows, and through an open door, I can see a massive walk-in closet.
It appears that Olsen spared no expense.
I saw the shower this morning, even if I wasn’t particularly paying attention to details. But the bathroom is something else entirely. It’s even got its own door. And Nova wasn’t kidding. It’s a temple to the bath gods. The biggest tub I’ve ever seen. How did he even get it in here? It’s like they built the bathroom around the tub.
She starts the water, pours a creamy white liquid into the rushing stream, and then reaches for a glass apothecary jar filled with long kitchen matches.
She begins lighting candles. There are dozens of them. Candelabras everywhere, some holding six or more candles. The pillars in the corners only hold one each, fat and tall. It takes several minutes, but we don’t talk. I don’t even move. I just watch her light the long kitchen matches and transfer the fire around the room. When she’s done, she flips off the lights and begins to undress.
She slips off her shrug and then slides the dress down her body. I watch the glow flicker across her skin, then take my shirt and slide my pants down, kicking my shoes into the corner as I focus on her ass when she climbs into the tub. She relaxes against one edge, bubbles up to her chin. And I get in on the other side, allowing the hot water to embrace me.