“Hi.” I’m smiling now. “I’m Remy Jones, and I’m having your babies.”
13
CASH
Remy talksabout college and her reasons for wanting to be a drug counselor. She speaks about it as if it’s still an option, despite the pregnancy, and I find myself mentally scanning my list of contacts and compiling a folder of all the ways in which we can help her.
Mom was right when she said that this was all about Remy; I’m just angry at myself for needing a nudge to figure it out. Her body will go through changes while she carries our babies. Her life will be disrupted when they’re born. She is the one those children will turn to for comfort for the rest of their lives.
While we can do whatever the hell we want. Whenever we want. And with whomever we want too.
I think I already knew from the first moment I met her that I would never want anyone else. Remy Jones walked into my life for a reason, and she’s here to stay. If Bash hadn’t made that business trip to Ireland, I might never have met her, but he did, and I’m ready to believe that the universe planned it this way.
Now I need to find out how Bash feels about her.
Sure, she might not want either of us romantically, but every time our eyes meet, sparks fly between us. Every time our thighs brush on the couch, my cock responds with a twitch and a growth spurt. It will be impossible to be in the babies’ lives and know that I’m not allowed to touch her, but I’ll train my testosterone not to respond if that’s what she wants.
And if she wants Bash instead… I’ll relocate to Ireland or become a monk and take a vow of celibacy or spend the rest of my life backpacking around the world with nature for company.
Because despite what Mom said, I can’t switch off how I feel about her.
“Tell me about your family.” Remy has this way of looking at one of us and speaking to both. I don’t think she even realizes what she’s doing, which makes it even more beguiling.
“You’ll love our mom,” I begin. “She went through hell with our biological father. He almost killed her one time, but she’s a fighter. She’s the strongest woman I know.”
Remy’s eyes glitter with tears. “Do you think I’ll get to meet her one day? Does she know about me?”
“Yes, and she will always be on your side, no matter what happens.”
“But you’re her sons.”
“And you’re having our babies. That’s enough for our mom.”
Bash fills two glasses with brandy and brings them back for me and him, and a seltzer for Remy.
“I should go.” She hugs the drink with both hands, comfortable on the couch between us. “I have classes tomorrow.”
We haven’t discussed practical arrangements for the future. It felt wrong tonight, and we’ve somehow settled into an unspoken agreement to save it for later while we get to know one another.
“Stay.” I blurt it out without thinking of the consequences. All I know is that I don’t want her to walk out of here in case it’s the last time we ever see her. “I’ll see that you get to college in the morning.”
Bash swallows half his brandy in one mouthful. He watches her steadily, deliberately avoiding eye contact with me. Just when I think that he’s going to tell her to leave, he says, “Yes, stay.”
My heart swoops like an eagle riding a current. This consolidates that we’re back on the same side again. Where we belong.
Remy doesn’t move. “I didn’t bring any clothes.”
“You don’t need clothes.”
I can’t blame the brandy. I can’t even claim that my mind was in the walk-in closet when my mouth spurted the words. It was in the guest room, but the path it was wandering had nothing to do with providing Remy with clean clothes and everything to do with taking them off her. Slowly. Peeling away the layers to reveal her glorious naked body.
I’m already hard.
A low sound that might be the beginning of a chuckle escapes from Bash.
Remy hears it. “Did you know that you get a tiny dimple when you smile?” She pokes his cheek with her fingertip and turns to me. “Are you blushing?” She strokes my face, and my cock acts like she stuck her hand inside my pants.
“I’m not blushing.” I’m flushed. I can feel the heat in my cheeks, from the brandy, but blushing isn’t allowed in our line of work. Poker faces. We need to be unreadable.
