No way. Was he hiding a hard-on? While reading his phone?
I shook my head, turning back to my bike. Whatever X was into these days wasn’t my business. I’d squashed my crush on him years ago. We were like brothers. Strictly friends, nothing more. Sure, that sounded like lies, but lies were all I had.
I reached for my phone, scrolling through my podcast subscriptions until I landed on The Aimee Position, one of my favorites. The host’s voice was sexy and breathy, and her advicewas the perfect combination of intelligent, humorous, and just dirty enough to make me smile.
I tapped play on the latest episode and set my phone on the tool cart, the volume just loud enough to fill the space between Xavier’s silence and the metallic sounds of my work.
“Welcome back to The Aimee Position, where we talk about all the positions—missionary, doggy, and emotionally unavailable. I’m your host, Aimee, and today we’re diving deep into a fantasy that tops many of your lists, according to our listener survey: the elusive, complicated, potentially amazing threesome.”
I snuck a glance at Xavier. His scrolling had paused, his eyes still fixed on his screen, but his head tilted slightly toward the podcast. Interesting.
“So let’s start with the big question,” Aimee’s warm, slightly husky voice continued. “Are threesomes better in fantasy or reality? I’ve got Dr. Samantha Wells, sex therapist and author of ‘Beyond the Binary Bed,’ joining us to discuss the psychology, logistics, and potential pitfalls of turning this common fantasy into reality.”
I turned back to my bike, hands working almost automatically as I listened.
I was still working on my bike but my attention was increasingly on the podcast. And on Xavier, who’d stopped pretending he wasn’t listening. His phone was now face-down on his chest, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, a slight furrow between his brows.
I couldn’t help myself. “Have you ever had a threesome?”
Xavier’s head turned slowly toward me, his expression unreadable. He stared at me for a beat too long, something flickering in his eyes that I couldn’t interpret, before shaking his head. “No.” He frowned, looking momentarily confused, as if the question had caught him off guard. Then his brow furrowed deeper. “Why the fuck would you ask me that?”
I gestured toward my phone. “Just curious. The podcast made me wonder.”
He snorted. “Why? You planning one?”
“Not actively,” I said, turning back to my bike to hide the heat creeping up my neck. “But I can see the appeal. A woman between me and another guy. And maybe he’d let me play with him, too.” That was the real fantasy.
“I’d rather two women,” Xavier repeated, his voice oddly flat. He was quiet for a moment, just long enough for me to wonder if I’d crossed some invisible line. Then he sat up abruptly, tucking his phone into his pocket with a sharp movement. “We need to stop hanging out at that fucking bookstore and find some actual women to fuck.”
The sudden vehemence in his voice made me blink. “What brought that on?”
“Nothing,” he snapped. “Just tired of filming TikToks with zero payoff. It’s fucking pathetic.”
I put down my wrench, genuinely confused by this sudden shift. “Dude, we’ve gotten so many views.” Far more views than I’d told him, because he wasn’t interested in hearing about it.
“Great,” Xavier said, voice dripping sarcasm. “A few hundred people watched me sit on my bike doing nothing while some chick ignored us and bought a book. Really living the dream.”
In the background, Aimee’s voice continued, talking about the dynamics of different threesome arrangements—two men and one woman versus two women and one man, or any other configuration.
“They didn’t ignore us. That blonde from last week gave me her number. And the redhead. What did she call herself? A ‘romance novelist doing research.’ Whatever that means. You’re the one who keeps insisting we need to leave before I can close the deal.”
Xavier’s expression shifted, something like discomfort crossing his face before it settled back into his usual mask of indifference. “Whatever.”
“What was that?” I stepped closer, intrigued by the crack in his typically impenetrable façade.
“What was what?” He scowled.
“That look. Just now.”
Xavier shrugged, his gaze sliding away from mine. “There wasn’t a look. Just thinking it’s stupid to keep going back there.”
“Oh, we’re getting somewhere.” I grinned, thinking of the blonde’s number in my phone. “I could call the redhead right now. I bet she has a friend, another romance author who needs biker dick for research.”
Xavier muttered something so low I almost missed it.
“What was that?” I asked, leaning closer.
“I said,” he enunciated with exaggerated clarity, “the right book babe hasn’t talked to us yet. I don’t give a shit about the redhead or the blonde.”
