Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Amelia

The click-clack of my keyboard is louder than usual this morning, mirroring the erratic beat of my mood.

Sore muscles from the hike still make every movement a chore, and my cramps are in full force. The noticeable spot on my chin showed up in time with my period yesterday evening, and I probably look as bad as I feel.

Yet, a thrill still hums through me.

It's such a strange contrast that even Hendricks notices.

"Who set your mood on shuffle?" he teases, eyeing me from across our shared desk as I grimace from another cramp when just seconds ago, I was smiling at the memory of Grey massaging my lower back at the park.

How he leaned down and planted a kiss on my shoulder, breathing me in.

If I hadn't already known I had a crush on him, the butterflies that erupted in my stomach at that moment would have been confirmation enough.

He background-checked me.

Is that how hackers flirt?

"Just reflecting on the weekend," I manage, trying to ease the tension in my shoulders as I type.

"Must have been a good one," Hendricks notes, leaning back in his chair with a curious tilt of his head.

It wasn't a good one.

It was the best weekend I've ever had.

Hiking, playing with Peanut, and touching the keys of a B?send?rfer.

Not to mention that spending time with Misha and Grey filled spaces in my world that were so damn empty. And even though Oliver wasn't there, he crossed my mind more times than I could count.

It feels a little greedy, wanting even more after such a full weekend, but that's exactly how I feel. Like I'm missing out on something with Oliver, something that's just out of reach.

I want to get to know him just as much as Misha and Grey.

Would asking him to go for a coffee sometime be too forward?

I chew on my lip, contemplating. It feels like it's my turn to bridge the gap, to start a conversation that goes beyond our usual short exchanges.

I'll shoot him a text later. Nothing big, just two friends drinking coffee.

Right?

I let the thought simmer as I refocus on the screen, the blinking cursor like a nod of encouragement.

Jamie warned me this morning that muscle soreness would peak on day two. His words echo as I shift uncomfortably, chewing on another Twizzlers for some semblance of comfort when the door opens with a knock.

Shortly after, Misha's hands land on my shoulders, his voice low and warm by my ear. "Hey, you. Can I take you to lunch?" He plants a quick kiss on my temple, sending a flurry of butterflies through my stomach.

Fuck.

I turn to face him, and he snatches the last bit of my Twizzlers from my fingers and pops it in his mouth. "Or are we living off these today?"

"Hey, that was mine!" I protest with a pout I'm not sure is fake.

"Come on, let's try to get some actual nutrients in your body between the sugar." He grins, pulling me to stand. As I groan from the soreness, he jokes, "Thought I might have to give you a piggyback ride down there."

"So not happening," I retort, scowling, which only makes him laugh harder.

I grab my backpack and nod to Hendricks, who raises an eyebrow at Misha's hand finding mine as we exit the office.

Oliver and Grey are already at our usual lunch spot, and food for them and us is on the table. I shoot Grey a look, trying to read his blank expression, but I catch a slight twitch of his lip as I sit down.

The same salad he has is waiting in front of me.

"Oh look, who would've thought I'm in the mood for salad today? Because I'm not," I mutter, maybe a little too sharp, because Oliver reaches out and pulls my plate over to him before he pushes his in front of me—a hummus and veggie sandwich.

Much better.

"You sure?"

He nods and smiles warmly, then turns to address a scowling Grey. "No peanuts. I checked before I got it."

Why would he need to check his food for peanuts?

I bite into the sandwich, the perfect flavors eliciting a muffled groan from me. Oliver's smile broadens as he starts on my salad.

Misha is right.

Oliver always knows what to do to make things better.

Seizing a surge of confidence, I look at him and blurt out, "I haven't seen you at the coffee station for a while now. Do you want to schedule a time tomorrow for our break so we can grab one together?"

Oliver pauses, fork midair, his eyes wide when he turns to me as if he's trying to make sure I'm really talking to him.

"I…" He begins, then stops, his ears turning a shade of red that probably matches the blush I can feel spreading across my cheeks.

Fuck, maybe there's a reason why he doesn't really talk to me after all.

Maybe he just doesn't want to.

We both sit there, our mouths opening and closing, the silence stretching painfully awkward.

I'm about to backtrack, to mumble some excuse, but Misha's laughter cuts through the tension. "Oh my God, you guys look like blushing fish. Ouch!" he yelps, presumably in response to Grey kicking him under the table.

This is spiraling into a disaster. I set down my sandwich and fold my hands in my lap, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.

God, I'm such a bloody muppet.

Oliver reaches out and hesitantly takes my hand from my lap. When I don't pull away, he gives it a reassuring squeeze. His touch is tentative, yet it anchors me. I look up, preparing for the worst, but instead, he asks quietly, "Does ten work for you?"

The relief that floods through me is palpable, and I can't help the grateful smile that breaks across my face. "Yeah, ten works great. "

We go back to eating, and the guys talk about some AI breakthroughs a competitor company had. I listen with interest but keep my mouth shut.

I've said enough for today.

When I'm done with my sandwich, I put my ankle over my knee, massaging my calf.

Misha watches me with a mix of concern and humor in his eyes, "Is that my fault?"

"Yours, mine, the mountains…" I reply with a shrug.

"If you're gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough," Grey murmurs beside me, a teasing smirk on his face when I shoot him a glare.

"How about we chill and watch a movie tonight? At our place," Misha suggests.

Oliver nods. "Sure, but Morgan is there, so she will probably join us."

I hesitate, unsure if I want to hang out with a stranger tonight, feeling the cramps tightening. "I don't know. I don't feel so good." And I just want to curl up in my sweatpants to look and feel miserable while stuffing my face with ice cream.

"Come on, let us take care of you," Misha insists. "I can put some ointment on your oh-so-strong calves. And you can come in sweatpants, feel at home. Grey could cook us dinner."

I look at Grey, who shrugs nonchalantly. "Sure."

"I'd rather have popcorn and ice cream," I admit, thinking about the tubs that will arrive after work with the food delivery.

Oliver smiles. "Morgan and I bought lots of snacks on our way home. She lives off them."

We stand and take our trays back. Misha puts his arm around my waist when he whispers conspiratorially. "Come on, what do you say? "

Part of me wants to dive back into my AR work to bury the discomfort in productivity. But the thought of an evening surrounded by them is too tempting. "Do you guys have strawberry ice cream?" I ask. "Just so I know if I have to bring my own."

Is that weird?

Grey smirks, catching Misha's eye. "We do," Misha confirms with a grin. "A whole tub just for you if you come."

"Fine," I agree with a sigh.

The prospect of a cozy evening with friends and strawberry ice cream somehow makes the rest of this crampy Monday much more bearable.

Outside their apartment on the eighteenth floor, I hesitate, the buzzing in my head a mix of excitement and nervous energy.

Should I knock, ring the doorbell, or just text?

Before I can decide, the door swings open, revealing Misha with that infectious grin of his. "Why did I know you're lurking out here?" he teases, flashing back to our meeting before gently tugging me into the apartment.

The guys' place is strikingly different from mine—darker, way bigger, and more masculine. Dark wood furniture dominates the space, complementing the expansive windows that frame the Seattle skyline, much like my own view but somehow more imposing.

A big, sleek black couch faces a projector screen, ready for movie night. The ambiance is cozy, with dimmed lights casting soft shadows, and the air is tinged with the scent of coffee and freshly popped popcorn.

Grey bustles around in the open kitchen while Oliver leans with his hip on the kitchen island, his back to me. Beside him is a striking redhead with collarbone-length hair. She's beautiful, with pale skin and freckles, and she's short—probably a head shorter than me. Her vibrant hair contrasts with the muted tones of the room.

As soon as she sees me, her face lights up with a smile, making her even more beautiful.

"Look who I found," Misha declares, and Oliver turns, giving me a warm smile that mirrors his sister's.

They do look somewhat alike.

"Perfect timing," Grey says, filling a bowl with fresh popcorn.

The redhead makes her way over to me and studies me for a long moment.

I'm wearing my pink sweatpants, like they told me to, and a white Henley. My hair is in a braid over my shoulder, and that damn spot on my chin is even redder than this morning.

God, I should have put in more effort.

She sure looks like she did, even though she's in leggings and an oversized green sweater the color of her eyes.

"Hey, Amelia, I'm Morgan. I'm so happy to meet you. But I have to say, you don't feel like a stranger." Morgan laughs, and she is one of those people who is so confident they make you squirm when they're this straightforward. "You're even prettier than Oliver said," she adds, which sends a wave of blush across my cheeks.

"Morgy," Oliver hisses from behind her, but she waves him off.

"Oh, shut up. Amelia knows she's that kind of eternal beauty."

"Says you," I manage to quip back, and Morgan's laughter fills the room, warm and inviting.

"I like you. But I already knew I would. I've heard so much about you, Amelia." Oliver groans audibly, dragging a hand down his face, which only makes Morgan laugh harder. "Come on, let's sit down."

She walks toward the couch, and I glance at Misha, who nods in her direction to make me follow. When I turn, he mutters under his breath to Oliver, "Not so excited for them to meet anymore, are you?"

As I sink into the plush cushions of the couch, a slight grimace escapes me before I can mask it.

Morgan catches it, her brows knitting together in concern. "You okay?"

"Sure, I'm just sore and… crampy," I admit, immediately regretting my bluntness. I know women talk about their periods with each other, but probably not within minutes of meeting.

Morgan doesn't seem phased. "Oh, have you already taken some Midol?"

I shake my head, a bit embarrassed. "I'm not big on drugs, so I mostly just sit in my agony."

"That sounds tough," she sympathizes. "Midol is usually very well tolerated, though. Do you have any allergies besides peanuts?"

Her question catches me off guard.

How does she know about my peanut allergy?

I dart a glance at the guys, catching them in the act of quickly diverting their eyes.

Great, now everyone probably knows I'm menstruating.

Internally groaning, I wish I knew how to make small talk that didn't broadcast my personal medical history. "No, no other allergies. Just the choking-on-peanuts thing."

She grins and reaches out to squeeze my knee before she gets up. "Be right back."

As Morgan leaves, Oliver sits on the other side of the couch, his expression sheepish. He gives me a lopsided, apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, she's…" he starts, his voice trailing off as he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

"… amazing. I like her," I reassure him and notice the tension visibly drain from his shoulders.

He exhales a sigh of relief. "I was worried she might come off a little too strong. She's… extroverted, not like us," he admits, glancing down at his hands, then back up at me with a tentative smile.

A comforting warmth spreads through my chest, buoyed by his inclusion of me in his us . "She seems lovely," I affirm just as a glass of water appears suddenly before me, hovering in the air.

Startled, I turn to find Grey standing just behind the couch, a gentle concern etched across his features. He hands me the glass. "Thank you?" I query, confused.

"For the Midol," he clarifies, then pivots back toward the kitchen. I watch him retrieve the bowl of popcorn and gather a selection of snacks before returning to place them carefully on the coffee table in front of us. "Need anything else, Princess? Strawberry ice cream?"

I shake my head, "Maybe later, thank you."

I'm too nervous to eat right now. Morgan, being in their home, having Grey so close while feeling shitty.

It's a little much.

Grey nods and settles beside me, his body sinking into the cushions.

Morgan bounds back into the room carrying a heating pad. She places it in my lap, plugs it into one of the outlets on the coffee table, and hands me a pill. "Here."

I blink, surprised by her thoughtfulness. "Oh, that wasn't necessary, but thank you," I murmur, accepting the Midol and chasing it down with the water.

"A heating pad is the only thing that really helps me, and it's super cozy," Morgan explains as she plops down beside Oliver. "Because these guys don't even have blankets."

"I have some. Should I get you one?" I ask, ready to stand.

She laughs, waving me off. "Next time."

"So, what brings you to Seattle?" I venture, taking advantage of the relaxed atmosphere to learn more about her.

Morgan smiles wryly, a hint of melancholy flickering in her eyes before she responds. "I work as a live-in nurse, or at least I did until recently. My last client passed away, unfortunately. It was quite sudden, and his family… well, they didn't take long to rush me out of the house once everything was settled." Her expression darkens for a moment. "I was a bit stranded after that," she continues, shrugging as if to minimize the disruption it caused in her life. "Luckily, Oliver and the guys let me crash in their guest room."

"That sounds really tough," I sympathize. "It must have been hard to adjust so quickly."

Morgan gives a small nod, her smile returning. "It was, but I'm taking a few weeks to myself now to think about what I want to do next. Maybe where to go next. But I'm enjoying being here. Having my little brother back for a while. It's nice to have him close, even if it's just temporary."

She turns to grin at Oliver, who smiles back. "It is."

They're cute, and even I can see how strong their bond is. It makes me miss August even more. "It sounds like you're making the most of the situation."

Morgan chuckles, leaning back against the sofa. "I try," she says. "It's all you can do, right? Roll with the punches and see where you end up."

As we all make ourselves comfortable, Grey starts to fuss with the remote. "Okay, folks, we're watching Forbidden Planet ."

Morgan groans. "I forgot you guys have no taste in movies."

Grey shoots her one of his scowls, and I have to suppress a laugh.

Misha returns from another room, a small bottle in hand. He plops down on my other side and grabs my ankles, pulling them onto the couch, which turns me sideways. I don't even complain—being casually manhandled by these guys is something I've grown to enjoy far too much.

Grey turns slightly behind me, allowing me to lean back against him. His familiar scent fills my nostrils, soothing me further.

"Got something that might help," Misha murmurs, shaking the bottle. He unscrews the cap, and a sharp, medicinal scent fills the air, making my nose wrinkle at its intensity.

I want Grey's buttered rum scent back.

"Hope that works better than it smells," Morgan quips, scrunching her nose.

Unfazed, Misha lifts one of my feet onto his lap, carefully rolling up my sweatpants to my knee.

Thank God I shaved my legs this morning.

As the movie starts, the room darkens, the only light now emanating from the projector and the screen. Morgan munches loudly on popcorn, prompting Grey to turn up the volume.

Misha's hands are warm, almost hot against my skin, and the way his fingers press into the tight muscles of my calves sends a complex cascade of sensations through me—pain mingling with relief.

God, that feels so good.

Each stroke of his hand seems to draw the ache out of my limbs, and I close my eyes, letting out a slow breath. I can't help but think about what else those hands could do.

Dammit, I'm way too horny since I started hanging out with them.

Feeling a jolt of electricity run through me, I breathe deeply, trying to sink into the comfort of the couch, into the sensation of being cared for, which I never really had.

"Is it hurting good?" Grey's low, husky voice whispers against the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine.

When he drapes his arm around my waist, his hand coming to rest on my thigh, the touch is possessive and protective. He begins to massage gently, his fingers skillful and reassuring.

I nod, unable to speak, my voice caught in my throat, overwhelmed by the dual sensations of Grey's touch on my thigh and Misha's persistent, soothing manipulations on my calves. So much so that the cramps get overridden by fanny flutters.

Holy.

Misha's eyes, dark and intense in the dim light, occasionally meet mine when I open them for a moment, and there's a lingering intent in his touch that makes my heart race a little faster. The room around us fades to a blur of sounds and dim lights, the movie playing to an audience half-attentive at best.

Grey's fingers dig a little deeper, coaxing tension from my muscles, and the blend of firmness and gentleness in his touch is exquisitely balanced.

It's strange and wonderful, this feeling of being cocooned between them, cared for in a way that's both comforting and exhilarating.

Misha finishes his massage, carefully pulling my sweatpants back into place, but as I start to shift, intending to pull away, he grips my feet, keeping them in his lap. His touch is gentle, reassuring, and I relax even deeper into Grey's side as the old sci-fi movie flickers on the screen.

"Better?" Grey's breath tickles my ear, his whisper blending with the hushed sounds of the movie.

"Much better," I whisper back, just above the hum of the projector, as my hand finds his on my thigh, and our fingers link together.

The peace of the moment wraps around me, a soft, comforting blanket that soothes deeper than the ointment on my skin.