Not between men like us.Not with her upstairs at the lake house waiting, and the three of us balancing on the edge of something that could ruin us if we called it love.
But my hand hadn’t stopped.
And Monty—Monty had let me.
And I’d whispered, against his ear, like a promise and a sin, “Good.Because I’m not going to be gentle about it.”
His eyes never left the road, but his breathing changed—slow at first, then strained.Like he’d been holding himself back his entire life and my hand was a key.
When I slid my palm down his thigh, his whole body went rigid.
“Callaway,” he’d warned, voice rough, like my name tasted dangerous.
I’d grinned like an idiot, like I didn’t know better.“What?I’m comforting you.”
“You’re a menace.”
“Thank you.”
And then my hand had wrapped around him through his jeans and he’d cursed under his breath—something savage, something honest.His grip on the wheel had tightened.His foot hit the gas like speed could outrun need.
“Eyes on the road,” I’d teased.
“I will throw you out of this car.”
“You won’t.”
His breath had broken, and it wasn’t anger.It wasn’t annoyance.It was want that scared him because it was real.
“Fuck,” he’d whispered, barely audible, like he hated how fast I could undo him.Like he hated that I could make him beg without saying a word.
And I’d kept going, slow enough to torture, because I’m an asshole and he likes it.
“We did have fun in the car,” I say but add, “After that you could’ve told me.”
“Then we got home,” he continues, and his gaze flicks to Vesper with something like reverence, “and our woman was needy, and ...”
He pauses, because the word needy doesn’t feel big enough for what happened after.For how Vesper had looked between us—soft and bright and wrecked, like she’d been holding her breath her whole life and finally let it go.
“ ...well,” he finishes, voice lower, rougher, “here we are.”
Vesper’s smile wobbles like it’s trying to hold on to the edges of her face and failing.Her eyes go glossy anyway, because her body keeps telling the truth even when her mouth wants to make it cute.
Her fingers clamp around mine.Not a gentle squeeze.A “don’t let go.”
She inhales, then exhales like she’s shoving air through a narrow space, and she tries to save us with humor—because that’s her superpower, and also her coping mechanism.
“So basically,” she says, voice bright in the most suspicious way, “our life might be falling apart, your parents are planning a press conference, and you two are ...”Her gaze darts between me and Monty, a shaky little spark trying to survive.“Horny.”
Something in me breaks open.
I bark out a laugh that feels wrong and right at the same time, like my chest has been locked up for weeks and someone finally kicked the door in.It’s ugly.It’s too loud.It’s relief and terror and disbelief all tangled together.
Monty’s mouth twitches at one corner, the tiniest surrender, like even he can’t pretend her timing isn’t insane.
I look at her—this woman who can make a joke with tears climbing her lashes—and I want to gather her up and tuck her into my ribs where nothing can touch her.
“Worst case?”I say, and my voice comes out softer than I mean it to, as if speaking too loudly will make this real.“They out me.They out us.”
