It aches.Not all the time, but every so often, the light will catch in Lucky’s hair, falling over his closed eyes as he hears notes compose themselves in his head.I love watching him work, love seeing him create beauty out of silence, and, my God, it makes him so happy, fit to burst and so freaking gorgeous in his joy that I can’t get enough.
Then there’s Sterling.
Seeing him like this—stern, like I’ve always known him to be, but softened, domesticated—it’s … difficult.Impossible actually to see him like this—his bedhead and cotton shirt rumpled first thing in the morning, the glare he sets on the coffee machine like it personally wronged him by not starting itself, the perfectly sweetened caramel latte he makes for me when he returns from his run.
How am I supposed to know these things and not want more?
It catches me off guard, presses into the healing bruise just to check that it still hurts.It does, but it’s getting better.Easier.They’re too perfect for each other, and I’m not getting in the way of that.
“They want you to tone it down?”Sterling frowns at my laptop.“It’s a class action suit.They lied about the sets being flame resistant and put thousands of kids at risk.If anything, I think your copy is a little too lenient.”
It is.I’ve been through three drafts already, and I can’t type the phraseeight-year-old suffers severe burnswithout crying.
“I don’t know what to do.”I take my computer back, fighting the urge to fling it into the wall.“It’s like this with everything.The station only wants the facts, and I get that, but these are people’s lives, and it makes me fucking angry.I don’t want to calmly report that a little boy went up in flames because another influencer wanted their own merch.It’s disgusting.”
My eyes sting as I force myself to take a deep breath, avoiding Sterling’s all-too-seeing eyes.A heavy quiet settles between us, and I wait for him to tell me to quit.
Maybe I should.
“It’s good that you care.”
I wait for more.It doesn’t come.“But?”
“Nobut,” he says, and I don’t believe him, but all that’s there when I look over is sincerity.“People are owed the truth, and caring about that is what will keep you going when everyone else tries to stop you from finding it.You’ve already been through this.”
Have I ever.My time under Monica is still a sore point for me.
“If this isn’t working, you need to go after what you want.Wishing for it won’t make it happen.”
I should start my own radio show, call itNews No One Paid For.Maybe then I’d finally be able to call people out instead of gently wagging my finger.
“I know the editor ofThe Herald.Let me give her a call.”
“You don’t have to—” The last thing I want to do is take advantage of him.
“I know,” he says firmly.
Well, okay.Tamping down the flare of warmth in my chest, I nod.“Thank you.”
It’s still strange to have conversations with Sterling, even more so when he’s dressed in running tights and a compression shirt.His already-dark hair is pitch-black with sweat, and I grip my mug tighter as I ignore the overwhelming urge to know what it might feel like to run my fingers through it, the way I’ve seen Lucky do.
Lucky wanders in from the bedroom, and for a man so meticulous about laundry, you’d think he could find a shirt.He pauses on his way to the kitchen, scrolling his social media in one hand, even as he leans down and kisses Sterling.It’s all tongue, deep and filthy, and I can’t look away.He follows it up by kissing me on the cheek.His hair is damp from the shower, and he smells divine, soft and warm and a little like lavender.He must have used my shampoo again.
I feel the imprint of both their lips on my skin.
Lucky starts dinner, peeling vegetables over the sink while half watching his phone.His jeans are snug, and his ass looks amazing.Sterling catches me, of course—he catches everything.I simmer in mild panic, feeling the weight of his eyes on me, and I wish I could tell what he was thinking.He’s so damn inscrutable all the time.
Sterling pushes off the couch and follows.He’ll do that sometimes, orbit Lucky, keeping him close.Penance for the years they lost.
He fits himself to Lucky’s back.“Less spice this time.”
“It’s good for you.Your taste buds just aren’t used to flavor.You’ll live.”
Sterling hums.
“Oh, I got the tickets we wanted.Front row.”Lucky slips out of Sterling’s arms and checks the oven, waving off the steam that escapes.I’ll never understand what he’s looking for, but that’s why I’m not allowed in the kitchen.Satisfied, he closes the door and turns to me.“Clear your calendar for the twenty-eighth.”
Finally.Ever since they started dating, I’ve expected them to ask me to clear out or at least give them a night to themselves.
