“I’ll do whatever it takes for us to trust each other. I’m sorry I lied. It won’t happen again.”
“Okay,” I whisper. “This is really what you want?”
He pushes my wet hair off my forehead. “You know the answer to that.”
I do. I have no doubt about the answer to that anymore. He wants two men who couldn’t be more different but can’t stand the idea of letting him go. Because that’s why I’m here, right? That’s why I’m entertaining the idea of a relationship I can barely wrap my brain around because Isaac is fucking worth it.
I’m just—not quite enough, I guess.
But I’m falling for him. Hard. I can’t help that. It was inevitable the moment I dropped my guard. “I want it to work, too.”
“Good.” He kisses me again. “That’s so good.”
I’ve never really thoughtof Isaac as cute before. Sexy, yes. Powerful. Commanding. Intimidating. Passionate. All thosethings for sure, but watching him try to pick out a head of lettuce or decide which kind of steak he wants—ribeye or New York strip—is fucking adorable. Hebites his nails.Okay, technically he’s not chewing on them, but he’s got the pad of his thumb between his teeth and a very concerned look on his face while the man behind the butcher counter waits for him to decide.
“You really don’t have a preference?” he asks me, briefly removing his thumb from his mouth.
I shrug. “Steak is steak.”
“It’s not, though.” He goes back to frowning at the meat case. “Deacon would have an opinion.”
“Ouch. Why don’t you ask him, then?”
He gives me an annoyed glance. “Do you like richer or leaner?”
“Leaner,” I say.
“That’s the strip. But it might come out drier.”
“I’m sure it won’t.” If he’s this careful about making the decision, he probably cooks with a thermometer and several alarms set.
He orders the steaks and looks over at the produce section. “I might want to do Brussels sprouts instead of salad. Roasted?”
I give him an amused smile. “Sounds great.”
“What’s that look for?”
“When was the last time you cooked for anyone?”
“Besides my brother? I can’t remember.”
Today, after an uneventful day at work, Isaac wanted to leave early. He offered to drive me home, but before we went inside, he decided he wanted to cook for me and Deacon, so I brought him to the nearest grocery store. After a lazy, sexy Sunday where I got lots of kisses and BJs and three way fun that did not involve my ass, Deacon said he wanted to spend more time together, and Isaac agreed so fast, I didn’t have time to ask Deacon ifeverything was okay. He’s been pretty quiet since the party. No less horny, but he’s retreated back into silent mode.
When he leaves me guessing about what he’s thinking, my brain runs wild. Did I feel like I was intruding on their sex life when Deacon was prowling toward Isaac and I had to figure out what to do to make myself useful while they fucked last night? Yes. Most of the feelings felt old and not relevant to the current situation. Still, I kept having to remind myself it didn’t matter what I looked like. That I could take a break and watch if I wanted. That no one was going to push me away if I wanted a kiss because I was “ruining the shot” or whatever. But again—the way they consume each other with their eyes and their mouths—it’s like they share a wavelength that I can see but not tap into.
I probably asked a dozen times if I was in the way, and each time, one of them only pulled me closer. This week will be good, I think. Finding a rhythm with Deacon and Isaac both in and out of the bedroom feels crucial, especially since we seem to have decided we’re doing this.
“Does shopping always stress you out this much?” I ask.
Isaac frowns at me. “I’m not stressed.”
“You look a little stressed.”
“Well, I don’t want it to suck.”
I give him a peck on the cheek. “It’ll be great.”
“Will you be able to keep Deacon out of the kitchen?” he asks.
