“Guest,” I tell her. It feels like an understatement.
“First time?”
“Yes.” With how much I’m squirming and hesitating, I’m not sure how she even needed to ask.
She smiles, softer now. “Congratulations on picking a good chaperone. She’s one of the reasons I joined.”
Tippi flicks her hair. “I am excellent orientation material.”
“You’re something,” Marissa agrees, eyes dancing.
Jealousy flares, then flickers out. It’s not that Tippi has a past; I knew that. It’s that the past is standing here, gorgeous and familiar, and I’m… new. New and unpractised. My brain supplies unhelpful comparisons like an auto-complete function gone rogue.
Then Tippi’s hand tightens around mine. “Hey,” she says quietly. Her thumb rubs over his knuckles, a mirror of my own stim. “Check-in. How are you doing?”
I search for the truth instead of the expected answer. “I’m… unsure,” I admit. “Somewhat jealous. But also… very aroused. And curious. It’s… a lot of data to take on board all at once.”
Marissa laughs softly. “I like him,” she tells Tippi. “Honest men are hot.”
“Back off, bish” Tippi shoots back, but she’s smiling. Then she looks at me again, all playful edges gone. “Your feelings matter more than anything we might do tonight. If you want this to stay between us, it stays between us. Imeanthat.”
I look at our hands, at the blue band on my wrist and the pink on hers. At the way she’s positioned her body fractionally closer to me than to Marissa, like I’m one she’s orbiting.
The jealousy shifts. Notawayentirely, but into something smaller and quieter, drowned out by the rush of wanting. Wanting her, wanting to see her lit up, wanting to know what it feels like to be part of this bright, effervescent world she inhabits so easily.
“I don’t want to leave,” I say honestly. “I don’t want to stop you being you. I just might need… reminders. That I’m not incidental.”
Tippi’s eyes soften. She rises onto her toes and kisses me, slow and sure, right there at the bar, one hand on my jaw. It’s not a quick peck; it’s a statement. When she pulls back, her voice is steady. “You are the opposite of incidental,” she says. “You’re theheadline, Jacob. Everything else? Footnotes.”
Something unknots in my chest. “OK,” I murmur. “Then… let’s see what happens.”
Marissa’s smile turns positively wicked. “Well,” she says. “If we’re seeing what happens… There’s a man over there who’s been trying very hard not to stare at you two.”
I follows her gaze. A tall man in a fitted shirt and slacks is lounging against a pillar, drink in hand. He’s handsome in a sort ofmodel-adjacent way, but his gaze is careful, controlled. When our eyes meet, he lifts his free hand in a small, polite wave rather than a leer.
“I know him,” Tippi says. “Elliot. He’s more into watching than playing.”
“That sounds ominous,” I observe, though my pulse jumps with curious, tentative interest.
“Only if you don’t like voyeurs,” she counters. “We don’t have to involve him at all. But he’s very respectful. And very appreciative.”
Elliot approaches only when Tippi crooks her fingers in invitation. Up close, he smells faintly of aftershave, something woody and botanical.
“Evening,” he says. “Don’t want to intrude. Just wanted to say you three areexceptionallyaesthetically pleasing together.”
“Thank you,” Tippi says, amused. “This is Jacob, and Marissa. Jacob’s new. We’re going slow tonight.”
Elliot’s gaze flicks to me and stays there. I don’t sense anything predatory about him. He’s just… open. “Congratulations on your first visit,” he says. “Would it be all right if I watched you? From a distance. No touching, no commentary, no weirdness. Just enjoying the view.”
The idea sends a jolt through my body, half alarm, half electric thrill. Someone watching me. Watchingus. Knowing what’s happening without being part of it. “I… don’t know,” I say, feeling drawn both tonoand toyes.
“Then it’s a no for now,” Tippi says immediately, turning to Elliot. “Sorry, handsome. Maybe another time.”
My heart stutters at the ease of it. There’s no pressure from any quarter. No disappointment from Elliot for me to ruminate on. He simply nods and gives me a small, peaceable smile. “Of course. Thank you for considering it at all. If you change your mind, have Tippi wave me over. If you don’t, I’ll be downstairs pretending to understand modern art.” And with that, he fades back into the crowd. No harm done.
“You OK?” Tippi asks softly.
“Yeah.” My mind is buzzing with the simplicity of it all. “I just… need a moment.”
