“Good morning,” I said sleepily.
“It is now.” Quoth leaned over and pressed his mouth to mine. My lips parted and his tongue touched mine – tentative at first, then deep and possessive, as if he needed me in order to breathe.
I pulled back, breathless. “You’re right. Thisisgood. Let’s wake up this way every day.”
“I’d like that,” he smiled. “If you lived here we could wake up like this every day. Well, I’d have to beat off Morrie and Heathcliff.”
I laughed at the idea of Quoth beating off the two sword-wielding maniacs of my harem. We’d been jokingly referring to the guys as my ‘harem’ ever since we got back from Baddesley Hall. I liked it – being the center of attention for not one but three guys was empowering, if not a little overwhelming at times. And it stopped me from feeling sick every time I looked at them and realized I had no idea what the fuck I was doing.
I have three boyfriends. I love them, and they love me.
They also loved each other in their own dysfunctional ways. At the moment, that was enough. If I paused for too long, if I opened my mind wide enough for the doubt to creep in, then thoughts of the future niggled at me. How long could they go on being Mina’s harem before it became an issue? What would I do if they needed me to choose?
What will happen to us if Idon’tchoose?
One woman with three boyfriends wasn’t exactly conventional. I was a punk rocker in my twenties – it was kind of expected that I’d experiment with my sexuality. But what about when I was in my thirties? What about my fifties?
A future without Quoth, Heathcliff and Morrie didn’t seem possible. They were a part of me now. But what if the world forced us apart? Perhaps it was because everything about my future was already so uncertain, I wanted to hold on to them tight and never let go. But that wasn’t fair – I couldn’t ask them to be one of three forever. Eventually, I’d have to let two of them go. The thought turned my heart to ice.
They’d taught me that I was tough enough to handle anything, but I wasn’t sure I’d be tough enough to lose them.
I glanced at my alarm clock.6:15?Outside, it was still dark – the pale moon hung directly over the window, shining a blue square across the bed. Everything beyond that square was invisible to me.
Why did I set the clock for 6:15? All I have to do is roll downstairs and open the shop at nine. I could sleep in Quoth’s arms for another—
Oh, shite.I bolted upright, dropping Quoth like a stone.Danny’s coming around early to set up for the workshop.
“You just remembered the workshop, didn’t you?” Quoth watched from the bed as I scrambled for my clothes. There was a hint of amusement in his voice.
“What gave you that idea?” I muttered as I hopped on one leg, trying to get Jo’s cropped tartan pants over my thigh.
“I love that you’re so excited about it,” Quoth said. “I think you’d make a great writer.”
“I’m not going because I want to be a writer,” I said. My cheeks flushed with heat, and I was grateful that he wouldn’t be able to see my blush in the dark. “I’m just sitting in to make sure it runs smoothly, so I can learn how to run future workshops—”
“You could be a writer if you wanted to,” Quoth said. “No one can tell you that you can’t write because of your eyes. You have such a unique way of seeing people – you look right into souls. It’s why you’re so good at solving mysteries. Plus, you’ll have plenty of inspiration, what with all the strange happenings around here.”
“Stop gushing,” I growled. My cheeks stung with heat. I yanked my shirt down and bolted for the door before he could say anything else embarrassing.
“Can you make me a hero in your story?” Quoth called after me. “Every good novel needs a street smart raven shapeshifter with a really huge cock.”
“You’re becoming more like Morrie every day!” I yelled back as I clattered down the stairs. Figures Quoth had to pick 6:15 in the morning to decide to become a comedian.
The old building creaked and groaned as I snuck past Heathcliff’s room. His snores echoed through the door. Downstairs, something thudded.Probably the hot water cylinder. It always makes that noise.
In the living room, Morrie was already awake. He stood under the pendant light, buttoning one of his crisp shirts, staring down at the screens on his enormous computer rig with a bemused expression. My breath caught in my throat as I took him in, all his sharp edges and creased trousers and brow furrowed in thought. I’d never been into fastidious men, but Morrie… he made his sharp edges work for him.
He glanced up as I entered. His hands flew from his buttons to click something on the screen. “You look tired,” he said, his usual grin spreading across his face.
“No shit, Sherlock.”
Morrie’s grin froze, and I recoiled as I remembered who I was speaking to. Just last week, Morrie had confessed a detail about his relationship with the infamous detective that I didn’t want him to think I was throwing back in his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. It’s early. I just—”
“You just need coffee?”
I gave him a thumbs up.
“It’s already brewing.” Morrie stepped toward me. He brushed my nipple with his finger. “Are you sure coffee isallyou need?”
