I look over. Yup, Rita’s now wearing a flower crown that says “QUEEN” in glitter.
“Weird how it all worked out,” I say.
“Weird how so many years of bad behavior is finally over.”
“And then there’s Rita.”
“Can’t forget the goat.”
“She won’t let us.”
As if summoned, Rita breaks free from her admirers and heads straight for the pie booth.
“Rita no! Those are competition pies!”
That night,back at Jesse’s place, with a reinforced bed that Wyatt specially ordered from a company that makes hotel furniture, we’re sprawled in a satisfied heap.
“We survived another festival,” Jesse says, tracing patterns on my bare shoulder.
“Barely. Rita ate three pies, two hats, and someone’s homework.”
“Who brings homework to a festival?” Boone asks from somewhere near my feet.
“Overachievers. I can relate,” Wyatt answers.
“I guess so,” I say.
“I did bring my laptop to our last date.”
“That wasn’t a date, that was Jesse’s birthday party. But I applaud you for your restraint.”
“Everything’s a date when you’re optimizing relationship time.”
“You can’t optimize everything,” I protest, then gasp as Jesse does something with his tongue that suggests otherwise. “Okay, some things you can optimize.”
“Section twelve of the manual,” Wyatt says against my shoulder.
“There’s no manual,” I insist, but then lose the ability to make much sense.
What happens next is less chaotic than six months ago. I’ve learned the guys’ rhythms and found ways we fit together that shouldn’t work but do.
“Fuck,” I breathe.
“That’s the idea,” Jesse says, then proves it by doing something that makes me forget English entirely.
“She’s speaking in tongues,” Boone observes cheerfully. “I think that was Latin.”
“That was definitely not Latin,” Wyatt corrects, then does something with his fingers that makes me invent new languages entirely.
“Whatever it was, she’s saying it again.”
“Good.”
The bed doesn’t break this time. Wyatt researched its limits before his purchase, but it definitely protests. The headboard hits the wall in a rhythm the livestock probably recognize by now. We’ve become that house. The one the cattle stay away from.
“The animals are gonna complain again,” Jesse pants.
“Let them,” I manage. “Rita will handle them.”
