That's right, sparrow. Come back to me. Come back.
She never stopped stroking my inner thigh. My cock didn't get the attention it wanted, but there were days ahead of us before we were due to board that jet again. I'd get mine. I was sure of it.
"It might be fun," I whispered. Cole didn't notice us. He was going on about the market prices for different types of fish, of all things. "I don't imagine he'll notice."
"He won't," Neera replied, glancing toward the front seat. "But Sasha will."
Sure enough, the dog was staring at us over the seatback, her ears perked up and her tongue hanging out. "You never know, sparrow. You might like it. I know how you feel about back seats."
Neera pressed her face to my chest, smothering a laugh. I stole that moment to drag my fingers through her hair and suck in a lungful of her delicious scent. I'd missed this. Even after a day—but it wasn't a single day. It was a day plus every day since I'd arrived in California. Every minute, even the ones when she wasn't around and I couldn't resent her for claiming my attention and branding my dreams as her own.
No, this hadn't started yesterday. Not by a long shot.
* * *
If my last-minuteaddition to this visit came as a shock to Cole or his husband Owen, they didn't let on about it. Instead, they welcomed me into their home and promptly put me to work carrying dishes to the table like I was an old friend.
I wanted to believe it was a product of their hospitality rather than experience with hosting a lengthy roster of Neera's suitors.
They made it easy for me to believe the former.
That was good news because any hint of previous men would've driven me to fuck the memory of them out of her on the kitchen table. Whether or not we allowed Cole and Owen to watch was an issue separate from the batch of jealousy I was brewing.
It was new to me, the jealousy. I had few experiences of this sort and couldn't decide whether my reaction was healthy and normal or proof I hadn't completely evolved from the cavemen. It was probably healthy. Completely normal.
Just like carving a flock of fucking birds.
Conversation hummed around me while I studied Neera from across the table. I didn't know how she did it, but she managed to slide between a friendly, almost sibling-like relationship with these men and full-on Miz Malik in all her strict, structured glory. It was strange to watch because I could almost see her settling the chief of staff hat on her head as she responded to certain questions from Cole.
It was strange and I adored that strangeness because I was wrong about Neera. She wasn't a taskmaster boss. She wasn't cold or detached. She wasn't any of the one-dimensional labels I'd slapped on her at the outset. She was everything, all at once, and the only label I wanted to slap on her now wasmine.
"Does that work for you, Gus?"
I snapped out of my possessive thoughts and discovered Cole, Owen, and Neera staring at me expectantly. "I'm sorry. I didn't catch that," I said, glancing at each of them. I wasn't certain who'd asked the question.
"I believe this lad has a touch of jetlag," Cole announced.
"Jesus Christ, Cole. Enough with the lads, babe," Owen muttered, rubbing a hand over his brow. "We read one American Revolution book and look what happens."
"You're saying I should cancel the waistcoat and breeches order I placed?" he asked.
Still massaging his forehead, Owen asked, "It's a little early to be planning for Halloween, isn't it?"
"Sure," Cole replied. "If Halloween was the intended purpose. I just thought it would be fun to dress up and we could—"
"No," Owen interrupted. "Whatever the rest of that sentence is, no."
Stifling a laugh, Neera said, "Cole wants to get started on our agenda early tomorrow morning. Would that be all right? We're known to take over the table and have some spirited conversations."
"I have a whiteboard on wheels," Cole added.
"And it's hideous," Owen murmured.
"Sometimes, I drag out it out here and move the spirited conversation to the board," Cole continued. "It's better than paper or screens. Easier to scribble ideas and wipe them away when they're shit. D'you get that? You know, as an artist?"
I glanced at the Sharpie on his arm. "Yeah," I replied, nodding. "Yeah, I get that."
Owen shot me a pointed look. "My advice is to make yourself scarce. There's room on the boat if that's something you want to do."
