7. Jackson

Chapter 7

Jackson

I made a quick exit and raced to the restroom, locking myself in a cubicle and wondering how I was going to get out of this mess.

Part of me liked the attention from Brooklyn and Marcelo. They were both yummy, and I could see myself going out with either one, beyond being my date to the wedding. How did I choose?

But I was greedy and didn't want one or the other. I envisioned my life with both of them in it. Ridiculous really, because how many people would agree to being in a threesome?

If I stayed in the bathroom any longer, they both might take off together, because while I was attracted to both, there was a flicker of interest from them for each other.

Even though they were in the restaurant and I was stuck in the restroom figuring out my life, their scents filled my nostrils, niggling me and refusing to leave me alone. I batted them away and walked out to the sinks to wash my hands.

One wash, a second, and a third. My hands would be red raw if I stood here any longer. They were already wrinkled. Great, and the air dryer was broken and there were no paper towels. I could wander back to the table with wet hands or wipe them on my chinos. But the wet patch would be kinda obvious, and that'd be awkward. More awkward than being gone for ten minutes.

I flicked the water off them and ran them through my hair before emerging into the dining area.

"You feeling okay?" Marcelo asked.

"Yes." My squeaky voice gave away how nervous I was. I cleared my throat. "Yes."

"You were gone a while," Brooklyn noted as he shared a glance with Marcelo.

Damn. They'd been getting close, maybe playing footsie under the table or getting handsy. I shouldn't have left them alone.

"Long line of people wanting to pee."

"Was there a burst pipe?" Brooklyn glanced over his shoulder toward the restroom and then back at my hair.

I explained what had happened. That I washed my hands had to put me in a good light. I'd dated a guy in the past who flushed and walked out the door, and I broke up with him that day, using that tired old excuse, "It's me, not you," when I wanted to yell, "Wash your damned hands."

"I hate walking out with wet hands. What are you supposed to do? Wipe them on the tablecloth?" Brooklyn made a face.

"I agree. It's gross, which is why I try not to use a public bathroom." Marcelo nodded.

We all nodded in unison, visions of bad bathroom incidents playing in my head. But thinking of toilets not flushing and flooded floors only put off a decision about my date for the wedding.

A ding had all three of us grabbing our phones. There was a message on my display from my uncle, wanting to know the name of my plus-one. I was tempted to write back and ask why he wanted his name. But perhaps it was for a name card on the reception table. I wasn't up on the dos and don'ts of organizing a wedding.

I lifted my gaze from the phone to find both men studying me. "I have to go to a wedding."

"Now?" Marcelo's arched brow reminded me of a right angle. He checked his watch.

"No. This weekend."

"That's the wedding you talked about the first time we met." Brooklyn glanced down at his lap. Perhaps he was recalling his reaction when I'd mentioned it.

I didn't want to be reminded of that disaster.

"That's right. My cousin is getting married." I held up my phone, though neither of them would be able to read the tiny text.

"A plus-one." That was Marcelo.

"A date," Brooklyn chimed in.

What the—? The two of them must have 20/20 vision or better. Was there something better? How did they read that? No one I knew had such good eyesight.

"Yes." I was out of options either for the wedding or how to choose which guy to accompany me, assuming that they'd agree. "I have a confession."

Marcelo smirked. "You stayed in the restroom as long as you did because you were figuring out how to tell us you needed a date."

Wow! He was good. He got all of that from a message on my phone.

"Sort of. Partly. Yeah." He didn't bring up that both he and Brooklyn turned me on. I almost wished he had. But perhaps I had a good poker face and it wasn't obvious.

"Humans would expect an alpha to bring an omega as a date." Brooklyn fixed his gaze on Marcelo.

Humans? He said humans. An odd choice of words. I would have said people. But technically humans was correct. We were all humans.

I stared at the phone, my cheeks flaming with embarrassment at the pair figuring out what I'd been doing.

"I'm sorry," I blurted out so loudly people at the other tables swiveled their heads toward me. "I lied to my family."

Brooklyn reached out and took my left hand while Marcelo took the right.

"We understand that parents want their children to be happy and that means finding Mr. Right and marrying." Brooklyn squeezed my fingers.

Marcelo continued with, "And when that doesn't happen within a certain time frame, they worry their child will be lonely and have no one to support them when their folks pass away."

"And their concern often translates as interfering." Brooklyn's empathetic smile tugged at my heart—and also my cock.

"You're being polite, but my extended family seem to relish putting me down because I don't have a husband."

"Should we toss a coin?" Marcelo took a dime out of his wallet.

"For who gets me?" I managed to get out.

"Who gets to be your date," Marcelo clarified.

"No need." Brooklyn bit his lower lip. "Most families would expect you as an alpha to have an omega as your date. Bringing me would invite a whole heap of questions."

"Looks like I'm up." Marcelo grinned.

Thank gods I was sitting down and neither of them could see my length was also up and hard.

"Thank you," I said to Marcelo and looked at Brooklyn. "You're right, and I'm sorry the world is the way it is. I would have been proud to have you at my side."

"I understand. You want to get through the wedding with no hassle. In, smile, eat, and out."

Marcelo spat out his coffee. And I tried to look anywhere but at the men sitting at my table. In, smile, eat, and out could describe something not associated with a wedding.

"In, smile, eat, and out!" Marcelo repeated.

I glanced at him and then to Brooklyn, and we burst out laughing. A guy at the next table put his hands over his son's ears and glowered at us.

"Just talking about a wedding." Brooklyn's innocent expression didn't fool me, and the other guy wasn't convinced either because he growled at Brooklyn.

"I should put that on the wall above my bed," Marcelo said.

My laughter faded along with Brooklyn's smile. I didn't want to think of Marcelo being in bed with someone else and doing the in, smile, eat, and out routine. Also, there needed to be extra steps in there. That sounded like wham, bam, and thank you.

I grabbed the check and paid because I owed Brooklyn and Marcelo so much more than a meal. But when we got outside, no one made a move or said goodbye.

"Send me the deets on where and when, and I'll be there." Marcelo waved his phone at me. "What's the dress code?"

"Dressy casual."

He shrugged. "What is that? A tie with a pair of shorts?" He took in my horrified expression. "Just kidding. Not about the first bit, though. What should I wear?"

I hadn't considered how I'd dress, as I'd been consumed with finding a date.

"What are you wearing, Jackson?" Brooklyn asked.

"Not sure."

"May I make a suggestion?"

Marcelo and I nodded.

"I'll help both of you with your attire."

I did an inner clap dance, because I'd not only get to see Brooklyn again, but the three of us would be together. "I'd like that," I gushed. Maybe I was a little too enthusiastic, but what I really wanted was to see both of them naked.

If Marcelo and I were getting dressed for the wedding, chances were I'd catch a glimpse of his cock. But not Brooklyn's. Hmmm. I'd have to come up with a plan to see his junk.

We arranged a time on Saturday, and they'd both come to my place and bring anything that fit into the dressy-casual bracket.

As Marcelo walked away, he texted, In, smile, eat, out .

Brooklyn's phone beeped too, so he must have sent the text to both of us.

Perhaps all three of us could in, smile, eat, and out sometime.