Xavier
The barndominium glowed likea rusty beacon as we pulled up, the string lights Milo insisted on hanging “for ambiance” creating a sad halo around the oversized metal shed we called home.
It wasn’t much—just a converted pole barn with a loft we’d built ourselves—but the rent was cheap, the landlords were Milo’s cousins, and there was room to work on our bikes, which was more important than anything. But after the polished facades of Old Town, our place looked rougher, but at least it was honest about what it was.
Inside, the place smelled like motor oil, fast food, and a faint tang of lubricant Milo used on a project. The main floor was a big open space with concrete floors, mostly a shop, dominated by our bikes and tools, with a makeshift living area in onecorner:two leather couches we rescued from the curb on bulk trash day, and a coffee table made from an old cable spool. The only thing we’d bought brand new was the big TV and gaming system we’d splurged on when Milo earned a bonus at the parts store. But it was luxurious compared to our previous homes, especially considering the space for our motorcycles.
I set my helmet onto the kitchen counter, which we’d built around the barn’s existing utility sink, adding some salvaged cabinets, a fridge, a microwave, and a portable hot plate.
“Got a text from my cousin while we were out,” Milo said, unpacking his camera gear with the same care he’d show a newborn. “Rent’s due Friday.”
“Of course.” I stretched my legs out, boots on the table. “My hours have been shit at the diner this month, but I’ve got enough to cover my half.”
“Same.” Milo flipped open his laptop. “Ridge Line cut my hours again. Said business is slow.” He didn’t sound worried, but I knew better. Milo had his mom and sister to think about. He was still paying his sister’s rent while she finished college.
I grabbed the bag of tacos we’d picked up on the way home, tossing one to Milo. “Your cousin would let it slide for a week if we needed it.”
“Yeah, but I don’t like owing people.” Milo unwrapped his food without taking his eyes off the tablet he’d impulsively bought ina Black Friday sale last year, already importing the footage from his phone.
I pulled out my phone, scrolling through social media while trying to remember the title of that book the girl had been carrying. Something about three of hearts? Three of a kind?
Beside me, Milo was absorbed in editing, adding captions and music to a comical shot of our bookstore stakeout. He laughed at his own jokes, transforming our ridiculous evening into something almost entertaining.
“The first clip is posted!” he announced. “I have a ton of content, so I’ll spread it out over the next few days. Now, I need to spend some time interacting with other accounts. If I hit this algorithm right, we’ll be on our way to fame and fortune.”
“I’ll alert the media,” I muttered, but there was no heat in it. Milo’s enthusiasm was one of the few genuinely good things in my life. Sure, he’d been working his ass off on our YouTube channel for the better part of a year, and I’d heard this fame and fortune line dozens of times, but his optimism was legendary. Or delusional.
He refreshed the page obsessively, cheering like he’d won the lottery when the video got past fifty views. “Our best reach yet!”
I acknowledged his excitement, though my focus was on searching for the mystery book. After some creative Googling, I found it: “Three of Spades,” part of a series of similar books with three people on the cover.
The description made my eyebrows shoot up.
Holly was ready to give up on men until she found herself alone in a cabin with a sexy CEO and his best friend, stuffed and satisfied.
What the fuck? The girl from the bookstore—with her messy bun and oversized cardigan and nerdy glasses—was reading threesome smut in public?
I glanced at Milo. He was still absorbed in his social media stats, thankfully, so I had plenty of time to buy the e-book. It was cheap, and I told myself it was just curiosity. I wanted to understand what would draw someone like her to a book like this. It wasn’t like I was interested in reading romance. Definitely not.
“One hundred views!” Milo crowed, pumping his fist in the air. “We’ve hit three digits, baby!”
“Congrats,” I said. “You’re practically an influencer now.”
“Mock all you want, but people are liking it.” He turned his phone to show me the comments. “See? ‘Lol spawn camping for book babes is genius!’ That’s validation, my friend. I tagged the guys I first saw doing this, thanking them for the idea, and they responded!”
I nodded, scrolling to hide what my phone had just downloaded. “Three of Spades” and it was now in my e-reader app, the cover minimized to avoid detection.
Since Milo was distracted by responding to comments and enjoying his minor social media victory, I opened the book, skimming past the first few chapters. I told myself I was just looking for the dirty parts out of curiosity, not because I was interested in the story.
Then I found Chapter 7. Holly was stuck in a cabin with both men, and things heated up.
My mouth went dry. I shifted on the couch, suddenly uncomfortable in my jeans. There was something about knowing the girl from the bookstore had read these same words, had maybe felt something while reading them... Did she get wet from it? Did she imagine herself stuffed full of two cocks, screaming her way through an epic orgasm?
I adjusted myself discreetly, painfully aware of Milo on the other end of the couch.
I swallowed hard, feeling heat crawl up my neck. This was filthy. Absolutely filthy. And knowing that the seemingly innocent girl from the bookstore was into this kind of thing changed something in how I saw her. Made her more complex, more intriguing. More sexy.
And I’d already been kind of into her.
