Amir sucks in a sharp breath. "It appears you've found yourself in quite the quandary, Miss Jones."
"No shit.”
Amir chuckles. "See, this is why I don't do this whole throuple lifestyle. It never ends well. Someone always ends up being the third wheel."
I scowl at him. "From what I hear, you're not a fan of being acoupleeither."
Amir smirks. "I prefer to stay...unattached. Why stick to one flavor when you can try them all?" He perks a brow. "Although, I guess two flavors are better than one, so I give you kudos on branching out, even if it's with those two manchilds."
I scoff, heat rising to my cheeks. "Trust me, Mr. Hadid, Quin and Damon bring enoughflavorto keep me satisfied for three lifetimes." I pause, casting him a knowing smile. “You’ve seen us. You know there’s nothingchildishabout our relationship.”
He grins. "I like that. A loyal woman."
I roll my eyes. "You can leave now, clearly you're no help to me."
"Oh, come on," he says, adjusting his position in the chair. "I was just kidding around. I'm sure we can find a solution to your...terrible little problem."
"Yeah? How? What can I possibly do to fix this without hurting anyone's feelings? These are my parents. Regardless of public appearances, it’s a big deal.”
Amir leans back in his chair, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Well, for starters, you could tell them the truth."
I scoff. "And what? Watch as their heads explode right in front of me?"
Amir shakes his head. "No, no, no. You just need to ease them into it. Let them get to know Quin and Damon first without dropping the bomb that you're ina relationship with both of them. Once they see how happy you are, they'll be more likely to accept it."
I snort. “My parents love me but not that much. There’s no way in hell they’d accept this lifestyle. Plus, they already think I have a boyfriend. Either way, I’d have to introduce one of them as such. And given our agreement, it’d have to be Quin, but that’s so fucking unfair to Damon.”
“So have them both at dinner, introduce Quinny Boy as your lover and Damon as just a friend,” he suggests. “It’s the twenty-first Century, women are allowed to be friends with men.” He lifts a brow, scanning my flustered expression. “Right, Miss Jones?”
“Are you insinuating thatyou’remy friend, Mr. Hadid?”
“Of course,” he grins, popping off the armchair in an animated fashion. “Let me know how this works out for you, huh?”
Unwilling to argue, I wave him off, burying my face in my hands.
How the hell is this going to work?
THE RENEGADE COWBOY
QUINTON
Drivingdown the dusty Texas road, I hold my phone to my ear, listening to Red's instructions. "Quarter mile, then take a left. There should be a driveway. Do you see it?"
My shoulders tense as I catch sight of the Victorian manor in the distance. "Yes, I see it.”
As I get closer, the run-down state of the exterior becomes more apparent—shattered windows, peeling paint, broken shutters. I scan my surroundings, noting the busted fences and the absence of guards. Strange. Maybe she’s not as well funded as I thought.
"I'm here.”
"Still no plan?" Red asks, her voice laced with concern.
"No, no plan," I admit reluctantly.
Red sighs. "It's not too late to turn around or call the FBI."
I swallow hard. I know this is risky, but it must be done. Parking the car several dozen yards from the main entrance, I switch to Bluetooth and pocket my phone.
"Just stay on the line. If I say 'cannon,' call the police. Not until then, got it?"
