Chapter 11

CYAN

On the sixth day of Christmas, the great unwrapping (hot tub edition)

“You alright there, Sugar Plum?” Crispin asks me the next day, standing next to my bed with his hands on his hips. I don’t have to wonder how he got into my room after I already locked the door. My brothers and sisters have been picking locks their entire lives—especially mine.

“I’m fine.” I sit up on my elbows, tired from another morning of writing with Vale. Chased back up to this room by my family. I needed a break, and Inked Pages was all locked up in the office during the afternoon. I haven’t seen Frost or Aspen yet (which is probably for the best). “Why do you ask?”

“We missed ya at dinner last night—and it was plum delicious, by the way. That daddy of yours sure can cook, can’t he?” Crispin’s studying me, the lazy way I’m laying on my bed despite him being in my room. It should be weird that he’s in here, and I haven’t gotten up or adjusted myself.

In pajamas. On my bed. My bed.

“It was catered,” I answer finally, turning away from Crispin and staring out my room’s bay window into the snow. I wasn’t at dinner last night because I was confused about Aspen and upset about Frost. I’m not sure how I feel now, after having been kicked out of Frost’s room. The text he sent me while we were in the hallway together? It read: add me to your contacts as Scrooge.

Vale was neutral enough this morning, but I did catch him staring at me with the edge of his lip quirked. He knew those condoms were for me. There’s nobody else around for Frost to sleep with, even if he wanted to. Wait. I’m not sure that’s true. Tina would probably cheat on her husband for one of these guys.

Blizzards and bastards. That’s my life now.

But the bastards part … I think it applies more to my family than the four sexy rockstars staying at my house. They’ve been nicer to me in the last week than anyone I share an ounce of DNA with. My cousins—dickheads. My dad—asshole. My siblings—monsters. And don’t even get me started on my mother.

“I don’t think so,” Crispin says, sitting down on the edge of my bed, smelling like amber and apples and soap. “I saw your daddy slavin’ over the stove for damn near an hour and a half last night. Didn’t see any fuckin’ caterers.”

I sit up and turn to face Crispin because, like, he’s not a person that’s easy to ignore. He’s so warm and wise and … hot as fuck in a pair of tight jeans and a red tee that just barely fits his big, muscular frame. Tall, ripped, wearing a welcoming smile.

Anyway, as I look over at him, it’s easy to see why he’s considered the soul of the band. He’s got an infectious energy that makes me want to smile, too, even if I feel like shit. I took my grandma’s money, built the store, and then lost it not six months after her death—I have good reason to feel like crap.

Today is the anniversary of the shop’s opening.

And Hot Reads … it was more than just a store to me, a business, numbers on paper. It was the building I painted with the colors my grandma picked out, it was the light in her eyes when I made her proud, and it was the warmth and acceptance I felt when I filled those walls to bursting with readers and local authors for signings.

It was a platform, somewhere for people to connect with the world that wasn’t online, a place that was real, with old wood floors I sanded myself, and books I handpicked. But even in a city as open to entrepreneurship as San Francisco, I didn’t make it.

“Chin up, Sugar Plum,” Crispin whispers, leaning close to me and brushing hair from my forehead with a gentle hand. I have no idea what he’s doing in my room, but he doesn’t seem to have any doubts about that. “You’re crying.”

“I’m not crying,” I say, but when Crispin wipes a small tear off my cheek, I can see the wetness glistening on his finger. “I don’t cry, Crispin. I’m not a crier,” I start and he laughs, his brown eyes sparkling as he looks me up and down and then grins.

“A girl as pretty as you? No need to cry. The world is your oyster, sweet thing.”

“Is it?” I ask, crossing my arms and leaning back into the pillows. It occurs to me that with my current mood, being alone with this Southern sexpot in my bedroom probably isn’t the best idea, but oh well. I made lots of good decisions for myself and the business, and all that did was leave me heartbroken.

Can’t complain though. Certainly can’t cry. Only my inner fangirl is allowed to do that.

“Your brothers were talkin’ about the hot tub on the back deck.” Crispin sweeps some of his wavy blonde-brown hair from his own forehead. He can’t hold back his grin for long. “You want to get into your best winter bikini and meet me out in the snow? Have a soak?”

“Is this a game?” I ask him and he narrows his brows at me, all innocent and shit.

I almost buy it.

“A game?” Crispin asks as I check the time on my phone. It’s already midday, but even from here, inside my bedroom with its glowing lights and custom bedding, I can see that the storm is still raging.

Inked Pages isn’t going anywhere.

“To see if you all can fuck me?” I turn back to him, and the look of real confusion on his face baffles the hell out of me.

“You shittin’ me?” he asks, blinking long lashes, his frown the most genuine expression I’ve seen on a single human being in a long, long time. “You think we’d do that to you? At Christmas? While taking advantage of your family’s generosity?” He laughs softly and shakes his head, ruffling up his hair again. “It’s only because you don’t know about our arrangement that you’d think that.”

“What arrangement?” I ask as Crispin relaxes back into my pillows, like he owns the damn place. His attitude should annoy me, but it’s hard to be annoyed at someone who’s smiling like that. I frown and snuggle back into the nest of uncomfortable designer shams, turning to look at him and pillowing my hands underneath my head. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

He only laughs again, the sound vibrating the small cushion of air between us, beckoning me closer. That sense of temptation and want is amplified when Crispin puts his hand on his lower belly, his fingers inching toward the waistband of his jeans.

He pauses, tantalizingly close to touching himself, but doesn’t seem at all interested in going any further.

“I am,” Crispin says, looking up at my ceiling, at the strange pattern the Christmas lights make with their shadows and shimmers. “I’m just enjoying the moment of suspense first.”

“Asshole.” I reach out and smack him on the tummy with my palm. It’s meant to be a playful move—a totally weird one really, since I don’t know this guy for shit—but all it really does is turn me on. Crispin has nice abs. Like, rock-fucking-solid. “ What ? You must’ve come into my room for a reason, right? Does this secret have something to do with that?”

“Ain’t a secret,” he says, tugging a candy cane from his pocket and carefully unwrapping it. Crispin holds it out to me, and I take it, sliding it between my lips as he watches, my pulse picking up, my heart thundering. Who knew sucking on a piece of candy could be so erotic? “And I came in here because your door was wide open, and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of you since yesterday. You’re hiding in here, Sugar Plum.”

“I am not hiding,” I grumble, watching Crispin’s hand carefully as he teases the button on his jeans and decidedly does not open it. And I want it open—even if he and his friends do have a bet. I can’t believe I let myself sleep with Frost a second time. Look what happened. He booted me out of his room when … God, what was I thinking, trying to snuggle him like that?

“You can fool a lot of people, but you sure as shit aren’t foolin’ me. Can’t bullshit a bullshitter.” Crispin rolls toward me, pulling another candy cane from his pocket. He unwraps this one, nice and slow, and then sticks the plastic back in his jeans. We stare at each other and suck the hard ends of the peppermint into our mouths, faces so close I wonder if he can see striations in the color of my irises the way I see them in his.

“Maybe I am hiding,” I admit with a small eye roll, resting on a nest of brunette hair and enjoying the peaceful quiet of the storm. It’s put a damper on the whole world it seems, a blanket of serenity and stillness that can’t be broken, no matter how much my mother wishes she could tear it apart. This blizzard doesn’t care about deadlines or clients or bookstores or broken hearts.

It just … is.

That’s a nice thought, the severe but stubborn face of nature leering down at man, refusing to be dominated or subjugated, omnipresent but sometimes silent. Never subdued.

“But if I’m hiding, it’s for a good reason. You’ve seen my family—they get manic during the holidays. I could deal with that if I were going home afterward, but I’m not. Instead, I’m staying here.”

“Where’s home?” Crispin asks, watching me deep-throat the white and red candy, pulling his from his mouth so he can lick his lips and swallow, the bulge in his jeans making it clear that he likes what he sees. I shift, rubbing my thighs together and feeling my swollen sex warm in response. It feels so good.

I just … sort of want to get fucked.

Nothing wrong with that, right?

An apple a day keeps the doctor away and a good screw makes the whole experience more palatable. Besides, if I’m going to be trapped in this house—literally trapped— with a wall of ice and snow outside, a perfectionist father and a workaholic mother, I deserve a special present, right?

Frost told me to hit Crispin up. I should listen to his advice.

“San Francisco. I grew up here, but my grandmother moved to California just after I graduated high school, and I followed her.” I shrug and roll onto my back, making sure Crispin has a nice, uninterrupted view of the candy cane disappearing down my throat. “She helped me open the bookstore of my dreams and encouraged me through four successful years of running it.” I swallow hard, pulling the candy from my mouth. My ardor is doused in a rush of smoke. Suddenly, I don’t feel turned-on anymore. “She died about six months ago and, well, the store’s finances weren’t great after I shut the doors to deal with … everything. I just put it up for sale. Hopefully, I get a buyer before the bank takes it all back.”

“So you’re moving in here?” Crispin asks, sounding surprised, snapping off the end of the peppermint stick with his pretty white teeth. He chews carefully as he continues to stare at the ceiling, like he’s lost in thought.

“I feel like an outsider in my own family,” I say, surprised to hear myself confessing to a random stranger. “They don’t care about me or what I do … did. Not a single one of them showed up for my grandmother’s funeral.” Tears prick my eyes again, but I ignore them. Not a crier, remember? “She worked her whole fucking life to make sure my mom had a good education, a good job, a good life. And what did she get in return? Nothing.”

“I wouldn’t say nothin’,” Crispin says, turning toward me and pulling the candy cane from my fingers. He props himself up on an elbow and tosses our leftovers onto the side table. His left hand comes down and cups the side of my face, his brown eyes boring into mine. “She got you, didn’t she?” he asks, and my heart stutters … stops … starts thundering. It feels like Crispin is playing me the way he does his bass, digging in and plucking the strings, getting them to sing exactly the way he wants.

I guess that’s what makes him a good musician then because my lips are parted and I’m ready to make whatever notes he wants.

He leans down to kiss me, and then pauses, his breath teasing my already wet lips, the hardness of his cock pressing into my thigh.

“What I meant to say earlier,” he begins, talking so that his mouth brushes mine. I’ve closed my eyes without even realizing it, and force myself to open them again, taking in Crispin’s heavy half-lidded stare. “Was that this ain’t no game, honey. The boys and I … we always date the same woman.”

And with that little nugget of truth, Crispin rolls onto his back, sits up, and swings his feet down to the white fur rug on my floor.

“Grab your suit,” he tells me with a grin and a nod. “And meet us on the deck.”

Us.

I can’t decide if he just dropped a diamond into my metaphorical stocking or a piece of dusty black coal.

The upstairs deck is home to a fabulous eight-person hot tub. In fact, there are two of them, their view of the snow-covered woods an unbeatable winter treat, even in the midst of a blizzard.

The wind is howling and admittedly, it’s a struggle to even get to the first of the two hot tubs, let alone the second one. I doubt anyone in their right mind wants to spend the time needed to clear four feet of snow off the top to take a dip—especially not when someone already rescued this one.

“Why the two tubs?” Crispin asks as I climb in, enjoying the way his eyes take in my white bikini with the little Christmas bulb pattern all over it. I’m a tad skinny, so the boob cups are a bit large and have a tendency to gape, but I like the way I look in it. It was better when Grandma was alive and I could actually fill it out, but I’ve lost a lot of weight since her death.

Shouldn’t be hard to gain it all back here though, with—and Crispin was right about this—Dad whipping up holiday treats all day. That’s what he’s doing to kill time while he waits for the storm to pass, so he can have another fancy party—baking. I snagged three sugar cookies before making my way out here and ate them all. He also made brownies with red and green frosting and a cake decorated with a nativity scene made from modeling chocolate and fondant.

I didn’t touch that one. Wasn’t sure if we were supposed to eat Baby Jesus or if that’d be disrespectful.

My brothers and sisters were in the kitchen helping him, laughing and smiling and sharing family gossip. When I walked in, dressed in my robe with my swimsuit underneath, they all went quiet.

“Oh,” Tina said, looking at me with a strained expression on her face, “we didn’t think to invite you.”

And that is why I am not looking forward to moving back in here.

I’m an afterthought to the Fallon family, that extra child my parents never intended to have and decided to go through with at the last minute anyway. Sometimes when they look at me, I wonder if the taste of regret is bitter on the backs of their tongues.

“The two tubs are for my parents’ parties,” I say, sinking into the warm water and loving the feel of the heat against my chilled skin. The wind is still threatening to steal every ounce of body heat I have through the top of my head and my exposed face, but the hot tub does a good job of trying to combat that.

The best of both words—scalding water and icy snow.

I love it, the only part of this place that I truly missed after I moved. Not my family, but the hot tub.

“What sort of parties do your parents have?” a voice murmurs from behind me, and I jump, splashing water in Crispin’s face as I glance back and find Vale … completely naked. He climbs into the hot tub like it’s no big thing at all and makes himself comfy in the corner nearest me, draping his muscular arms over the edge and staring at me with those bedroom eyes of his.

“All kinds,” I say, deciding not to worry about his nakedness if he doesn’t seem concerned with it. Haha, liar. “Whatever lascivious thoughts you might be thinking, they’re probably true. No need to be subtle. I know my parents have swinger parties and whatnot.”

Vale raises his blonde brows at me, and smiles … gentle … awful … knowing .

How does a man who looks so nice smile like he’s imagining my clothes off?

He reaches up a wet hand and tousles his silver-blonde-blue hair, the tattoos on his fingers finally making sense to me.

Good Time.

That’s what he has written across his knuckles, the words Good and Time with a hand inked … in pussy. Er, what I mean to say is, he has a tattoo of a pair of cats—one white and one black—sitting facing away, their tails curled together at the tips.

“I just told Sugar Plum here about our arrangement,” Crispin says, leaning his head back against one of the headrests and sighing in pleasure. That sound, it tightens my lower belly, twists it into knots, makes me shiver. Makes me hungry.

“You didn’t tell me anything,” I reply, taking up my own corner of the tub and enjoying the strange darkness above us, the blackness that coats the sky despite how early in the afternoon it is. Big white flakes filter down and swirl in the air around the hot tub, melting in the steam above the water. “You cryptically implied that you and your friends often sleep with the same woman. What am I supposed to make of that?”

Crispin flicks his eyes open and then glances over at Vale.

“She doesn’t get it,” Vale begins, tapping his tattooed fingers against the water. “Or else you didn’t explain properly.”

Crispin just laughs and shakes his head, scooting a little closer to me, so close that our knees touch beneath the surface. My breath hitches, but I cross my arms over my chest and lean back, waiting for an explanation.

“A bunch of pop rock musician assholes all fucking the same girl, so what?” I sound indignant. I sound like I’d trade my soul to know more. Crispin says this is no secret, but if it weren’t, the fandom would know. The fandom would lose their shit. The fandom would be clambering for a chance at that coveted position.

“This ain’t like that, ” he says, and Vale laughs, the sound drifting around me, like it’s adhered itself to the hot tub steam and is now caressing every inch of my body.

“Then what is it like?” I ask, and hear a scoffing noise from behind me. Another rockstar sneaking up on me through the snow.

I turn to look, finding both Frost and Aspen.

Uh-oh.

At least they’re both wearing swim trunks.

The two men climb in and take up the opposite side of the space, all four of them positioned just-so, all looking my way. Their gazes are intense as fuck, like there’s some serious shit going on that has nothing to do with the life-altering blizzard.

“What’s it like?” Frost asks me mockingly, a veritable frigging sex god with raven-dark hair and emerald eyes. His tattoos color his entire chest and arms, a nice contrast against Vale’s mostly empty skin. “We don’t just gangbang girls together for fun,” he says, narrowing his eyes at me. I sort of want to kick him in the balls, but then I remember that he cleaned up the cookies for me. That was cute, wasn’t it?

Then he kicked me out of his room after round two.

Christ Almighty, what a dick.

“We don’t gangbang anyone,” Aspen declares, looking at me with the same eager enthusiasm I witnessed in my bedroom the other day. “We date together . ”

I almost say: that’s too bad. About the gangbanging part, that is.

“He’s lying: we’re open to the idea of group sex,” Frost adds, which just causes Aspen’s face to tense up like he wants to punch his friend in the eye. Instead, Aspen ignores him and takes a deep breath, sucking in the white steam and swimming closer, taking up the seat between me and Vale.

“Cyan, we date as a group.” Aspen gives me this total hotshot look that zings me hard enough to stun. He’s too good at those facial expressions. “We’re a package deal.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I ask, blinking and tilting my head to one side, brown hair sliding over my shoulder and sitting in the water as I sink low, trying to escape a particularly chilly gust of wind. “You guys are … lovers?”

“Sometimes,” Aspen continues, casting his gaze around the group like he’s expecting somebody else to chime in and help him out there. Crispin just nods his head, Vale smiles secretively, and Frost glares ice-daggers. How nice. What an interesting mix of men Inked Pages is. “But mostly we like women.”

“Women?” I ask, sinking just a bit lower, until the water touches my lips. “Or woman?”

“Look, we have a career that takes up a lot of time, and we all want someone, you know? But we don’t want to lose what we have together either, this dynamic we’ve spent so long building. We’re looking for a girl that understands us.” Aspen takes a deep breath, like saying that took a lot out of him.

“And we figured since you fucked me and Aspen that you might be interested,” Frost says, and I sit up suddenly, flicking water into his face. He just squints and lets it drip down the sculpted perfection of his cheekbones and jaw, off the tip of his perfect nose.

“So, let me get this straight,” I start as I scoot out of the hot tub and onto the edge, leaving my legs dangling in the water. “You four are occasional lovers who want to date the same girl because you’re all such good bros you can’t stand the thought of losing each other?”

“We’d rather put all our effort and love and focus into one woman together because none of us has the time to be a proper partner otherwise,” Aspen repeats, sighing deeply and looking me straight in the face. Between his winter-blue eyes, Frost’s holly green ones, Crispin’s dark chocolate gaze, and Vale’s golden stare, I’m completely lost. Sitting in a hot tub with three half-naked men … one naked man … and all of these hormones?

Not good.

My inner fangirl is high-key freaked out. Jumping up and down. Screaming in a terribly high pitch.

“Why are you telling me this?” I ask, and Aspen’s eyes lock on mine. His stare is … it’s uncomfortable. I feel like I’d need to be at peace with myself, inside and out, in order to meet that gaze and not want to run like Rudolph. “We met six days ago.”

“Yeah, but …” Aspen smiles, shrugs, lets his face get tainted with a bit of that cocky edge. “We like you, Cyan.”

“You want to date me ?” I clarify, swinging my legs outside of the hot tub and tapping my feet around, searching frantically for my slippers. Must get space away from hot men in hot water and little to no clothing. Must think clearly.

“Is that so hard to believe?” Frost snaps as my toes finally find them and slip inside. I’m getting the expensive wool all wet, but screw it—I just need to get the hell out of here. “Or are you putting yourself down because you aren’t interested in us ?”

“You’re the one that booted me out of your room last night!” I howl back at him, trying to escape while I have the chance. Vale lunges out of the water, snatching my wrist and forcing me to turn back.

He’s standing there, buck naked, erection exposed. His skin steams in the cool air, snowflakes swirling around his face as he pants, breath puffing like little clouds. The marker on his skin is fading from being in the chemically-treated water, and I can’t help but pray that he’s already written those lyrics down elsewhere.

“We’re not here to make fun of you. We’re not here to hurt you.” Vale releases my wrist, standing up straight and then nestling back in the scooped seat that takes up one corner of the tub. He runs his fingers through his hair, spilling half-melted snowflakes down the sides of his face. “You can tell us no, if you want, but what you can’t do is claim to know how we feel.”

I just stand there, unsure how I’m supposed to respond to that. I stare at him, and I think about how nice it’s been to sit and write with him for hours everyday. Mostly in silence, but with a few shared lines here and there. Some small talk. Laughter over my dad’s over-the-top decorating style and the weird TikTok videos he posts of our fireplaces (he got six million views on one from last week, the bastard). Just three minutes of a fire crackling, and the man goes viral.

“How you feel?” I repeat, because they can’t feel anything for me yet. Except for lust. We’re all feeling that, I think. My attention moves over to Crispin, but he isn’t smiling anymore.

“You’re so used to being put down that you can’t believe we’d be interested in you for more than your body. That it, Sugar Plum?” Crispin softens his voice for me, but all that does is make the situation worse.

Tina and Adam were right: I’m a jobless loner with a failed business and no talents of which to speak. My family would make the worst in-laws known to mankind, and I have no idea who I am or where I’m going with my life. My grandmother gave me purpose. My bookstore gave me purpose. Christmas gave me this stupid, arbitrary date to look forward to, something to be excited about, and then these guys picked me up at a rest stop and made me feel like I had friends in this world.

These complete goddamn fucking strangers treat me better than my family ever has.

But how am I supposed to believe that one of the most famous bands in the entire world is interested in someone like me?

“Why?” I whisper back, and I think that surprises all four of them. They exchange looks, but it takes a hot minute for anyone to respond. “ Why are you interested in dating me? And … what does that even mean?”

“It means getting to know each other,” Aspen supplies with a private smile, sliding his arms across the edge of the hot tub on either side. He takes up enough space for three people with those long limbs. “Sexually and chastely. You’re cute and fun. Where’s the harm in exploring that?”

I exhale, my own skin steaming, my breath puffing like fog in the frigid air.

“You don’t have to make a decision now,” Crispin adds, inclining his chin and then sweeping his hand across the hot tub in invitation. “You can soak with us, honey. We won’t touch you if you don’t want us to. We won’t mention the dating thing again if it makes you uncomfortable.”

I open and close my mouth, lost for words.

Frost is staring at me, his cheeks red from either the heat of the tub or the memory of last night.

“I only kicked you out because I didn’t want you to get made fun of by your family,” he growls out, turning away from me like he’s mad at me for not explicitly understanding that. “And because I’m into you. If I let you stay the night, I might not have let you leave—period.”

“Frost, fucking seriously?” Vale grinds out, giving him a look, as if he didn’t stroll out here naked like it was no big thing. Did I see lyrics written on his lower belly? How? Why? This man is a unique character, that’s for damn sure. “You’re either treating Cyan like shit or trying to marry her over the holidays. Can we try for some middle ground here?”

“Can you put some fucking pants on?” Frost snaps back, turning to look at his friend. They both stare at each other, and then they burst out laughing, and I find myself wanting to smile, too. Shit.

I’m pretty sure I’m about to get hypothermia from standing out here, so I kick my slippers off and climb back in. My skin burns at the rush of fresh heat, goose bumps springing up over every part of me, but damn it feels good. Vale smiles at me and Frost turns away again, swiping a hand down his face.

“Would you like me to put some pants on?” Vale inquires gently. “I’m sorry. I forget sometimes that other people aren’t as comfortable with nudity. That’s on me.”

“No, ah, I’m good. You, um, have a nice dick.” I gesture at him, trying to offer a genuine compliment. Aspen and Crispin both find that hilarious, and Frost’s mean mouth twitches like he’s fighting off his own amusement. Stubborn prick.

I can’t help but sneak another look at Crispin. He’s studying me with his head canted slightly to one side, perfectly polite, eyes on my face. But there’s a heat to him, one that I felt when he was lying on the bed beside me.

If I say yes to this, do I get to have sex with him? With Vale? More sex with Frost? Sex with Aspen that involves taking all our clothes off?

“I’ll think about it,” I whisper, and then I duck under the water to block out their expressions and whatever sounds they might make, whatever things they might say.

Inked Pages wants to date me? I can’t entirely block out what my brother and sister said to me, how I’m just an easy lay. How I’m worthless. How I’m pathetic for chasing after men who are clearly too good for me.

Then I remind myself all over again: you’re being treated better by strangers than your own blood.

I pop out of the water enough to breathe, snow swirling across the pure white landscape, blocking out everything but this deck, this tub, and the four men inside of it.

All of whom are looking at me.

They’re good to their word and they don’t bring it up again for the rest of the day.

But I can tell they’re thinking about it, and so am I.

I’m thinking about how I’m going to tell them hell yes.