13. Leonor

13

LEONOR

“ Y eah, ok. I’ll make sure to call and schedule it. Thanks.” I hang up the phone and stare at the screen until it goes black.

Of fucking course I’d get a phone call like that on one of my better days.

Granted there’s only been maybe four of them, and they’ve all happened since four beautiful babes have been staying with me, but today was a good day and that shit came very close to ruining it.

With a sigh, I smash out my cigarette and stare down into the garden. My eyes are drawn toward a burst of color, a blur of blue and red zipping through the yard, darting along flower beds, and racing toward the trees. Then I see my downstairs neighbor chasing her six-year-old son, the two of them laughing and playing without a care in the world.

I watch for a few minutes as Carson zig zags around a cluster of tulips then bolt straight for a magnolia tree. He ducks down and giggles as Jesse calls his name and pretends not to see him, looking high and low, left and right all while she slowly creeps toward the tree. She calls for him every few steps but Jesse quickly looks away when Carson peaks around the trunk to look at her, and he giggles even harder. When he turns to hide again, Jesse hurries around to the other side and sneaks up on him, then he squeals and runs out into the garden as she tickles him from behind.

My heart squeezes as I watch such an innocent and simple interaction between mother and child, my eyes welling with tears I refuse to shed. I won’t mourn for this yet, not when there are still so many questions left unanswered.

“Hi, Miss Leo!” Carson yells as Jesse lifts him above her head and spins around. He starts waving at me as soon as she stops, the little boy flapping his arm so hard he might take flight.

I give a small wave back. “Hi, Car. Hey, Jesse.”

“Hi, Leo.” She carries him closer to the building and looks up, shielding her eyes from the sun as she smiles brightly. “I can’t help but notice your friends are back. Been a lot of traffic coming and going from your floor lately.”

“Yeah. I hope they haven’t disturbed you.” That would be the icing, wouldn’t it? Finally get the boys back and have to kick them out for annoying the young couple and their son who live below me.

“Not at all, hon. I’m glad to see you’ve had company. Mr. Pete gave Car a really neat race car didn’t he, bud?”

“He did, Miss Leo! It’s my favorite color and everything! It’s super cool. Mr. Pete used to have a car just like it.”

Ah .

Pete must have given him the model of the electric blue GTO he had. That was Pete’s baby—the real one not the model—for a long time but he totaled it during the dark years when we thought we were invincible.

Lucky and I were with him when it happened, and I will never forget the look on his face while he sat on the curb staring at that pile of twisted metal. He still loves cars, probably always will but he drives a pickup now, and I doubt he’ll ever get a muscle car again.

Weird that the stoic, slightly asshole-ish Peter Lagrave gave up his model to Carson, who was pretty little the last time they were hanging here on the regular. I may have to bring it up to Lucky later. That feels significant somehow.

I just don’t know why.

Then again, the boys always had a soft spot for Carson.

Jesse’s husband, Adam, is currently deployed for the third time since I’ve lived here, and it’s been hard on the two of them. Which is why we’ve always invited them up for meals, watched Carson when we were around and Jesse was in a bind, and it’s why the guys did things like playing cars with him.

It’s still weird that Pete gave him the model car, though. Maybe it was just time.

“That’s really cool, buddy. I’m glad you like it. I’ll make sure to tell him that.”

“Would you?! Maybe you can ask if he wants to come play cars with me sometime? Please, Miss Leo?”

I smile because I’m glad he still remembers that. “I’ll ask him, bud.”

“Hey, thanks!” Carson smiles huge, that dimple in his chin looking even more adorable than ever.

“We’re gonna head in for dinner. It was nice seeing you, Leo. You should drop by for a coffee sometime.”

“Maybe I will.” But probably not . “Good seeing you, Jesse. Bye, Carson.”

“Bye, Miss Leo!”

The two disappear around the side of the building to go in, and I lean my elbows into the railing just as a tear slides down my cheek. Then this moment gets even worse when my phone starts buzzing, COLLINSWORTH flashing on my screen.

What the fuck does he want?

“Hello,” I almost snap. I don’t have close to enough patience for him right now. Not even a little.

“Leonor?”

I roll my eyes. Like he doesn’t know who he just called. “What can I do for you, Mr. Collinsworth?”

“Lex, please.”

“Is there a point to this phone call? I don’t work again until Monday. Unless of course I don’t actually still have a job and you’re calling to formally let me go.”

He chuckles in what I’m assuming is supposed to be a pleasant way but it makes me think of our one and only run in, so it’s not. “I was actually calling for a personal inquiry.”

“I don’t do personal restoration projects.” Or any other personal projects for douche canoes who treat people like shit.

“I was actually hoping you’d become my project.”

My spine instantly stiffens as my hackles raise. “Excuse me?”

“That came out wrong.” He clears his throat nervously, Collinsworth’s cool demeanor cracking slightly. “I wanted to ask you if you’d like to go to dinner with me sometime.”

What in the actual fuck?

I must have fallen into a worm hole and wound up in Wonderland. Or the Twilight Zone.

This makes zero fucking sense to me. None. The only time we’ve ever seen each other the dude thought I was a drug addict going through withdrawal, and I was so creeped out and angry that I lost my shit.

I don’t think that’s a good base for any kind of relationship.

“Uhm...” I pause as I pull out another cigarette and light it, searching for the words that will keep me employed and not interacting with this asshat. “I’m not really sure that’s a good idea. I don’t think I’m your type.”

“And you assume you know my type?”

Yes. “Not skinny, spacey or prone to black outs. You don’t really seem to be a fan of tattoos.”

Collinsworth chuckles again and I’m really starting to wish I hadn’t answered the phone. “I know we didn’t exactly get off on the right foot but I’d?—"

“I’m seeing someone,” I blurt then smile despite how fucking weird this is. “It’s serious.”

He’s quiet for a beat then clears his throat again. “I see. Well, I guess I should have tried harder when we first met. I was under the impression you were unattached and thought perhaps we could, well, it doesn’t really matter now. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

I almost feel bad for the guy.

Or at least I would if he didn’t send my creep alarm into a tizzy.

“No bother. I’m sorry you wasted your time.”

“Not a complete waste. See you Monday, Leonor.” Then he hangs up.

Weird . So fucking weird.

I need to talk to the boys.

Not about my first phone call, maybe never about that, but I want to talk to them about the second, and definitely about why Pete parted with his model GTO. That’s giving me more anxiety than Collinsworth did.

Heading back inside, I shake off all my negative thoughts the best I can and try to force myself to look forward to cooking the rest of the dinner I keep trying to make for the boys.

I strip off my jeans and T-shirt, leaving a trail of clothing as I head to the bathroom to make sure I’m not wearing those phone calls on my face. I pat a little cold water on my cheeks in order to hide the fact that I was almost crying. Not that it matters, they’ll know anyway but I’m making an effort and that’s what counts.

After fixing my face and hair, I walk over to my dresser and pull out tank top and yoga shorts, then smile when I see Lucky’s super organized stacks of clothes on top of it.

I wonder if I should look into another dresser or something?

I don’t have a closet and now I don’t have any extra drawer space because Pete, Mark and Norm have all started keeping clothes here, too. If they’re going to be at my loft as much as they have been, I’ll need to figure out giving them their own space, especially Lucky. It’s only a matter of time before his OCD dictates it’s not ok for his clothes to be in neat piles on top of something that is supposed to hold them, or that it’s problematic for them to be touching Mark’s underwear or Norm’s socks.

I really love how much of my space he occupies, though. Which has become a lot because Lucky is a few trips away from essentially moving in with me at this point, and I’m surprisingly not terrified of that.

Looking around my room and seeing him scattered throughout it helps with that.

Two pairs of solid black Chucks—one high top, one low—sitting perfectly straight in front of the nightstand.

The charger for his phone is plugged in next to his keys and wallet, all in a tidy row a few inches from the edge of the tabletop.

There’s a pair of his gray sweats folded meticulously and set on top of his pillows, he sleeps with two and brought them from his place the second night he stayed.

Lucky’s cologne, toothbrush and deodorant are on the counter in the bathroom, his shampoo and conditioner are in my shower. He uses my body wash and I’m pretty sure my lotion, too, and I’m not about to be the one to tell him the boys are using his shit because none of them have planned accordingly for so many sleepovers.

Downstairs, Lucky’s added several of his books to my already vast collection, brought over a couple of his favorite throw blankets—both of which I bought for him years ago—and on our most recent trip to his place because they make me tagalong everywhere now, he brought back his dad’s drumsticks.

Lucky doesn’t use them but they were the pair he learned to play with, and his dad gave them to him when he got his first kit. They’re sitting on the mantel shelf under the TV next to framed vinyls of our first and only two albums, the three framed set lists from the first shows of each of our tours, and the first promo photo ever published of the five of us.

All of those were packed away until Norm dug them out and put them up, and that wasn’t as scary as I thought it’d be, either.

My loft finally feels like a real home because of them.

If they’re not careful, I won’t ever let them leave.

Realizing I’m wasting lots of time and probably going to burn dinner, I quickly head down the stairs and start talking to whoever is around. “Hey, so guess who I was just?—"

Damn near tripping over my feet, I make it halfway around the spiral when the heavy opening baseline from Miss Murder by AFI blasts through the amps now set up in my living room, blaring so loudly I might end up seeing Jesse sooner than that cup of coffee I wasn’t going to have with her.

My heart starts slamming into my rib cage as I slowly finish my descent, now clearly seeing that the boys were doing way more than just waiting for me to finish dinner while I was up here.

They spent their time exorcising my apartment and banishing the final ghosts from here once and for all.

Their music hits me like an atomic bomb to the chest, my entire body tingling, and my palms begin to sweat.

I can barely breathe.

I can barely draw a single lungful of air but I don’t need it.

The seductive draw of the haunting melody fills every cell in my body, it gives me life all on its own, and practically puts me in a trance while it pulls me toward them.

My boys.

The four corners of my tired mind, the four pieces of my bruised heart, the four elements that make up my battered soul.

My fucking boys.

They’re all at their posts, their eyes gleaming with hope, the music resonating off of them like the goddamn rays of the sun, and their instruments mere extensions of the beauty and spirit pouring out of each of them.

The song draws to a close just as quickly as it began, Norm’s voice slowly fading, and I’m left feeling hollow, aching at the silence that will follow.

And I don’t want that.

I don’t ever want the silence again.

I step up to the microphone in the middle of the semi-circle they created, the position that allows me to face all of them while they surround me, while I let them swallow me whole.

My fingers tremble as I run them up the stand, barely touching the mic itself before I glance at Lucky.

His smile is beautiful, and full of so much love. So much fucking love and pride, so much blind faith; faith in something I owe to him, to them, and to myself.

“So, what do you say, Miss Murder?” Mark’s voice booms from the speaker next to him but almost as quickly as the words leave his lips, his smile falls and all the color drains from his face.

Mark gave me that nickname years ago, almost all the way back to the beginning of us after he watched me beat the ever-loving shit out of a girl who had gone through Lucky’s stuff backstage and threw off his routine so badly he almost had a panic attack.

Which he did not ever have before that night.

Lucky has pre and post-show rituals, and he can’t play if he doesn’t get the pre-show ones in before we go on. They aren’t super intense but they are important, and most of them pertain to being a germaphobe.

This chick had touched all of his clothes. She rubbed them on her neck so her perfume stuck to them, she used his deodorant and hairbrush, and she stuck her worn panties in the pocket of his jeans.

I don’t know what exactly it was that she was trying to achieve but Lucky freaked out over the germs and started excessively washing his hands after setting all of his stuff, including the duffle bag, in the sink full of bleach. That bitch threw him off so bad that he was almost in tears and hyperventilating.

I beat the hell out of her, threw her out, pushed our start time back by an hour while Pete and I sat and held Lucky until he was calm enough for me to take him home to get everything he needed to start over.

The nickname stuck after I started to rack up altercation after altercation—all of which revolved around one of them for one reason or another—and because I would apparently get a murderous look on my face whenever I fought and occasionally when I sang, it became pretty permanent. I even had a steady stream of fans who started calling me that as well. But now, now the nickname has a whole new meaning.

At least I figure that’s what Mark is thinking now while he looks at me like he just punched me in the tit instead of only using a pet name.

I smile at him and squeeze his arm as I walk past him, heading to the part of my apartment I’ve actively tried to avoid for years. I always loved that Mark called me that, I wore the name like a badge of honor, and it felt like that made me a real part of the band. That first nickname made me feel like they accepted me for all my flaws and shortcomings along with everything else I brought to the table.

After the shit that went down three years ago, that name is more of a reality than before, so it would be ridiculous to change it.

Call it a bit of morbid irony.

My eyes scan the rows of instruments, obviously organized by Lucky, their sections clear and divided by family and again by size. I reach for my old acoustic and smile at him, appreciating his quirky OCD’s just as much as I appreciate the rest of him.

How that man lived with Pete and Mark for seven years is completely beyond me. I may be a tornado but they can be straight up slobs. Honestly, I’ve never been able to understand how any of them managed to live together in any combination and still survive. It’s pretty impressive actually, and it made touring real interesting.

I know they’re all trying to get me to remember that.

I might want— need them back in my life, but this is their way of reciprocating that. All four of them are showing me that they need me just as much, and I won’t lie and say it doesn’t do something to me.

So, I meet each of their anxious stares briefly before hopping onto the stool, tuning my guitar, and answering Mark’s question, their question the only way I know how.

Once I started playing, it was game over.

I was gone in no time at all, transcending to the place our music always takes me, and I stayed in that headspace for four fucking hours.

I’m still there.

My mind is clear, my anxiety is gone. All of my fear has melted away, and my goddamn soul has taken over.

I seamlessly rolled into song after song, some originals, some covers but never once did I skip a beat. I still haven’t, and I feel like I could keep going forever.

I sing and play, I dance away three years of hell, and let the music flood every molecule in my body, let it wash over me and create new life as it replaces my once empty existence with renewed purpose.

Looking up from my semi ritualistic dance, I see Lucky staring at me. He has a seductive grin on his face, his eyes are full of smoke and fire while he brutalizes the drums, and I swear the man is growling behind his kit. Lucky knows we’re perfectly in sync, and he clearly likes that his wild beat is driving each of my movements.

Pete catches my eye as I sway my body back and forth, those sable pools flaring under hooded lids. He runs his tongue over his lower lip as he leans toward the mic, Pete’s rhythm humming from the guitar strings as his voice mixes with mine like honey.

God, why is this so damn hot?

Has it always been like this?

I spin in languid circles as Norm breaks into his solo, my body keeping his same pace as I continue to dance. When I stop and face him at my favorite part, the almost blazing heat I see looking back at me from such a sweet soul, it has butterflies taking flight all throughout my belly, and my knees going a little weak.

Mark is right behind me when I turn around, his intense kaleidoscope gaze burning into my own, his full lips parted as he draws ragged breath after ragged breath. His fingers fly up and down his bass but his stare never wavers; Mark never looks anywhere but at me.

None of them do, and that’s the exact moment I realize this is exactly how things have always been, and I was a fool not to see it before now.

Making music with Norm, Pete, Mark and Lucky, it was like the most primal and passionate kind of sex you can have, and we had it every single time we played.

I look at each of them again, not lingering too long in one place, and my god I almost miss them more right now than I did during our years apart.

They are all so fucking beautiful, and watching them only sends my love, my desire for them into an otherworldly place.

Because fate truly is a conniving little bitch.

The only good to come from our separation is the realization that hits me right now.

Our final song comes to an end but my heart is still beating wildly in my chest, the dopamine and adrenaline coursing through me, all of it coming together to create an intense high from the impromptu performance.

My stare clashes with Lucky’s again as he sets his drumsticks on the snare, his breathing just as heavy as mine as he uses the bottom of his t-shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow.

I bite my lip as my eyes travel over his muscled chest and the dusting of light brown hair that covers it before it narrows into a thin line over his bare abs, his tattoos contouring over the Adonis belt before it disappears into the top of his jeans.

Holy hell, I want that man naked.

I don’t give a shit about how soon it is, I don’t care about the trauma, and I can deal with all of my other unexpected feelings later but if I don’t fuck someone in the next few minutes, I’m going to explode.

Since Lucky knows how I feel and reciprocates, he better be on the same page.

I stick my mic back in the stand, ready to start stripping my clothes off right now when suddenly there are arms around me, my train of thought momentarily derailed as they pull me backward toward a sweaty, hard chest.

“That was fucking incredible, princess,” Pete whispers just below my ear, his lips caressing my erratic pulse thrumming in my neck. His arms tighten around my waist, my back flush against his front when I feel his fingers ghost over the sliver of exposed skin above my shorts. “Four goddamn hours of pure fucking magic.”

Mark steps in front of me and immediately hugs my neck, successfully stopping me from asking Pete if he wants to be the one to ease the ache between my legs tonight.

“That... that was...” He can barely get the words out in between his panting and for some reason, I like it way more than I probably should, especially when he moves his arms to lift me off the ground in such a tight hug he grazes my throat with his lips and beard. Jesus, I don’t remember the last time I was this turned on. “It was just raw, man. Raw fucking beauty.”

I watch Lucky stand and walk around his massive drum kit to shake Norm’s hand and pull him in for a hug, Lucky looking over Norm’s shoulder to meet my stare. And when he does, my heart flies into my throat and I try to swallow it down as a fierce blush creeps up my neck.

Oh boy.

Lucky might be on the same page as me after all.

Mark, still reeling from something that was truly magical, pulls all of us in for our mandatory group hug and prayer that is a must after every show. Lucky finds his way next to me like always, and I feel his fingers walk up my spine then stroke their way down to the small of my back, the action repeated slowly, far too sensually, and it has me digging my fingers into his skin through the thin material of his shirt.

I can see him smiling as I drop my head for Norman’s prayer, and though my thoughts are far from holy, my head starts to spin over what Norm does.

He wraps an arm around my waist as he prays, his hand slipping under the hem of my shirt while he thanks God, his palm sliding toward my hip as he asks for blessings for all of us. Norman squeezes, his fingers flexing against me twice before he finishes the prayer, immediately wrapping me in his arms when he’s done.

“I’m so fucking glad you’re back, sweets. I can’t even tell you how much I’ve missed you.”

I think I have a pretty good idea.

Not that I’m going to say that to Norm or anyone other than Lucky as of right now, but I’m going to have to figure my shit out because this can’t keep happening while we’re all together. Not if it’s just going to be some kind of five way super powerful tension that only boils without ever spilling over.

I can’t wrap my head around how I never noticed this stuff before, how I never saw the less than subtle signs. Maybe it was because I was so focused on keeping us a band, or maybe I was in denial, but I didn’t see this before tonight and I’ll never be able to work through my bullshit let alone make music with them again if all I can think about is sex. Which means I have to get myself under control.

So I settle for the safest option at the moment. “I’ve missed you, too, Norm. A hell… of a…”

My words trail off as I watch Pete and Lucky hug, which is normal, then keep watching as Lucky cups his cheeks in his big, beautiful hands, smile at Pete like he hung the fucking moon, then lean forward to kiss him the same way he’s been kissing me.

Lucky is kissing Pete.

And Pete is absolutely kissing Lucky back.

I stand there for a moment after Norm lets go of me, even more confusing feelings swimming in my head while I basically gawk and blink repeatedly.

Eventually I look around the room to make sure I’m not hallucinating but it doesn’t really help because Pete gives Lucky a quick peck on the lips and the four of them continue on like two of the hottest men I’ve ever met weren’t seconds away from making out.

When I shake my head before heading to the kitchen, mumbling to myself about a real life wet dream, that’s when the two of them realize I saw what happened between them.

More turned on and confused than I was before, I open the fridge because I think I need a beer. “You guys want anything to—shit!” I totally forgot about dinner.

I slam the fridge and rush toward the oven to find the sweet rolls are like stones.

Damn.

Thankfully someone, most likely Norm, pulled the meatloaf out at some point and must have turned the oven off when he did, and I never had a chance to start the rest so we aren’t burning my apartment down tonight. At least tomorrow’s dinner is half done.

“Well, this is cashed.”

Norm smiles at me as I frown down at the pan, my sweet boy trying to unstick his hair from his face while he does. “I saved the best part but the rolls are a lost cause.”

“That sucks.” Mark pouts from across the counter. “I was really looking forward to that.”

I shrug and hop up on the island, trying to play it cool when I really want to play twenty questions. “I have everything I need to make more. We can have them tomorrow, too.”

“Good, cause I want to go out tonight!” he hollers as he grabs a roll and taps it on the counter next to me just to be sure. “I’m on a high from that ridiculously magical jam session, and I want to celebrate. And find some grub.”

I swing my legs around the island so I’m facing my boys, Lucky and Pete staring at me like I’m a bomb waiting to detonate.

I’m not, but I want answers, so I don’t mind letting them think I am.

“I’m still taking baby steps. This was phenomenal but I don’t think I’m ready to start going out to bars just yet. Don’t forget, I have been living in my own self pity and isolation for the last three years.”

Smiling, I watch the boys start to get themselves together, Mark smoothing out his beard and running his fingers over his skull trim. Norm trying, and failing, to adjust his ponytail before he shoots a pleading look my way.

I wave him over, turn him around then carefully extract the tie from his messy ash blonde hair.

“You’re lucky I love you.” I laugh as I start finger combing about a million tangles.

He grins at me over his shoulder. “I know. You think we can start doing those masques again?”

“Yeah, we probably should.” I pull his waist length waves into a braid, careful not to tug too hard while making it tight enough to keep. “This is a disaster, No No.”

“Three years is a long time to go without my stylist.”

I shove him forward a little once I’m done, and Norm turns to give me a kiss on the cheek. “It’s good to have you back, sweets.”

“You sure you don’t want to come out with us, Leo?” Mark asks as he starts patting the sweat from his brow with his bandana. “Been a long time since you’ve seen us get shitface drunk. Could be good for a few laughs.”

“I have a sneaking suspicion you guys will end up back here when they’ve had enough of you in the Main Quarter. I’ll be up for it then.”

Norm lifts a knowing brow and smirks. “Pete, Luck, you in?”

“Nah, not tonight. I want to grab a shower and just low key it.” Lucky walks to the kitchen, his fingers caressing my bare shins as he passes but in more of a test than anything else.

And yeah, I felt that caress all the way to my clit, but I’m supposed to be pretending I’m upset. I can’t start moaning just because he touched my shins.

“Pete?” Mark asks with a strange look on his face, one that makes me frown for a second.

I wonder what that’s all about.

But Pete gives him a curt shake of his head, and that’s that. I’ll be spending the rest of the evening with Lucky and Pete, and I’m going to have answers by the time Mark and Norm get back.

Lucky grabs two beers from the fridge, pops the tops then hands one to me from across the island before giving the other to Pete.

“Besides, you guys know I wouldn’t be able to get out the door knowing there’s a mess like this in Leo’s kitchen. I’d be miserable.”

“Yeah, ok.” Norm laughs. “Use your damn OCD as an excuse, fine. I see how it is. What about you? What’s your reason for staying?”

Pete crosses his arms against his chest as Norm drills him. “Gonna help.”

This is like watching a tennis match.

Pairs. Two on two.

Back and forth, back and forth.

And no matter the outcome, I’ll be the winner.

Go me.

Mark and Norman each kiss me goodbye then the two of them are heading for the door while I barely hide my giggle when Lucky follows them closely, ushering them out of my apartment and ready to lockup, I’m sure.

“Behave yourself, boys. Check in by last call. Don’t talk to strangers. Always use a condom,” he calls while closing the door. “If you call us because you need us, no you don’t. Love you, bye!”

I slam my beer just as my deadbolt clicks into place.

“You need another one?” Lucky asks as he heads back toward the fridge. “I’m gonna grab a quick shower but maybe we could watch a movie?”

“Yeah,” Pete chimes in as he follows. “I could throw in one of those frozen pizzas?—“

I grab them both by the shirt sleeve as they try to squeeze by me, catching them completely off guard as I pull them on either side of my knees.

It’s silly for them to think that was going to work, Lucky is six-six and Pete is six-four, they both workout like they’re lives depend on it so there’s no way they were going to just slide past me.

I know Lucky has been extra cautious with me, they all have honestly, and while I appreciate being able to set my own pace and boundaries with all of them, these two blasted all of that right out the window tonight with one little kiss. And I want in on it.

No more boundaries, no more taking it slow. I’ve done that long enough by becoming a shut-in. But I’m going to have to be the one who gets things rolling now because I know if I wait for Lucky to say something or make a move, it’ll be another thirteen years before I get to see him totally naked, and I’m not about to let that go down.

Especially since it could mean I get to see Pete totally naked, too.

Jesus.

I swear to God it had to be the music or something because this complete one eighty has my head spinning.

Oh well .

Lucky looks up at me with slightly widened eyes as I pull both of them a little closer, a fake scowl on my face as I shift between them. “Leo, baby cakes, I can explain.”

“We both can,” Pete quickly adds.

“We can explain everything.”

God, they’re cute when they’re nervous.

I don’t want to make them uncomfortable, just a tad anxious, they deserve it a little after keeping something clearly important from me, but I don’t want to drag this out either because the longer I sit here looking at these two beautiful, sweaty, sexy as hell men, the less I care about an explanation.

Lucky and Pete? They make sense together. I obviously missed something during my time in my pit but the two of them make a hell of a lot of sense actually, and it validates the thoughts I’ve been having since we started playing four hours ago.

It just sucks that it took me so long to see it.

Better late than never, I guess.

Which is why I lift my hands and place one on each of their cheeks, smiling when they both end up looking surprised.

My eyes bounce around their faces, taking in every inch of each, my heart rate speeding up as my truth begins to sink in.

Fuck it.

That do or die attitude I’ve been trying to have just leveled up, and I’m not going to let it go to waste.

So, I take a deep breath, smooth my thumbs across each of their bottom lips then say, “It doesn’t matter, I want both of you.”