9. Shira

CHAPTER NINE

Shira

For a few long seconds, Blake doesn't answer my question. He studies me, hair mussed from the steam, fingers tracing absently over my ribs. Then he says, "What is it that you want?"

Finally .

Of course, that's when the door leading to the hotel swings open. Fuck. I spring back, expecting room service. Instead, Felix pours through it, holding a Styrofoam cooler. "They were dropping this off when I got here. I told them I could get it." He sets the cooler down on the table.

Now that he's out here, I retreat to the opposite end of the hot tub. I pull my hair back up, tighten my bathing suit straps. Righting myself only draws attention to what we were doing. To what we were about to do.

"Thanks for bringing that out here," I say just as Felix says, "You sure this isn't a party of two?" He aims the question at Blake.

Party of two? What I told Veronica at the club to get her to leave. A phrase like a secret between us.

"That's up to Shira," Blake says.

Tell him to leave , some part of me says. It'll be easier with him gone. I won't have to watch the ripple of his shoulders. I won't have to think about how things could have been all those months ago if I said yes . But I missed him in the months we were apart. If this trip is my only opportunity to spend time with him, I don't want to waste that. "You could hang out a while. If you want."

Felix swallows. Without his beard, it's easy to see the bob of his Adam's apple, the tension lining his throat. He scrubs a hand over his chin like he's thinking. Like he knows there's more to my offer than if he wants to drink a few beers in the steam.

"All right." He pulls three items from the cooler, two beers and a can of soda, and places them by the rim of the hot tub. He didn't bother with a shirt. His shoes get abandoned on the deck. He's moving with a certain deliberation, like he's giving me time to change my mind.

Finally, finally, he wades into the hot tub, sighing as water bubbles against his belly and chest.

"Feels good, right?" I ask.

Felix stretches, arching his back. A groan emerges like he's been storing it up. "Fuck yes, it feels great." He runs his hand over his chin again, as if seeking the disguise of his beard.

"Everything good with your face?" Blake asks. "I mean, shaving-wise."

Felix smiles, not a reassuring smile, but one with an edge. "I don't know. I might need a second opinion."

It's an invitation. For a second, surprise colors Blake's face, like Felix is asking for more than a simple assessment. Does he really not like Felix that much? But no, he just helped him shave. They're calling each other by their first names. For bros, that's practically going steady.

Oh. That's the other possibility. That Blake is being weird about Felix—and Felix is being weird about Blake—not because they don't like each other, but because they do.

And aren't sure what to do about it.

Felix, I knew about: he was open enough to mention he wasn't straight back when we were Melody and John . Should I be jealous that guy I kissed when I was a dancer has been checking out my boyfriend? And should I be jealous that my boyfriend has been checking him out right back—so subtly that I'm not even sure he's totally aware of it?

I search myself for the outrage I had when Veronica tried to poach Felix from me. How angry I got when I thought she was trying to take not only his money but his attention. Blake wants to be with me—that much is clear, even if he's hesitant about being together physically for some reason—and the same goes for Felix. So maybe this isn't a stealing situation.

A wild impossibility occurs to me. We couldn't. No. Not all of us together.

But… And it's the low whisper of that but I can't ignore.

Felix is still waiting for one of us to respond. I know what his face feels like. I felt his stubble enough times, smelled the slight astringency of his aftershave. It wouldn't be a big deal to feel that again, especially if it saves Blake whatever panic he's going through. It's okay if you're into Felix. I'm into Felix too.

Blake doesn't say anything. So I march over to Felix as fast as the water allows. The effect splashes my swimsuit with water. It's the first time I've worn it—I got delayed cutting the fifty million tags off it—and the fabric goes translucent.

Felix peers down at me, forehead wrinkled skeptically like he knows this is against the unwritten bro code. He glances at Blake in question as if he's asking permission.

Don't look at him right now. Look at me. Not when Blake's shoulders have only begun to relax.

"Bend down," I order Felix. "You're too tall."

"How about this?" He pushes over to the edge of the hot tub and plants himself on the underwater bench. The same way he used to sit at the club before I climbed in his lap.

My smile tightens. Still, no going back. I draw two fingers along Felix's jawline. Hardly a touch, if not for the way he's looking up at me, eyes lit with unmistakable heat.

Blake clears his throat. For a second, I wonder if he'll go full gentleman and intercede. "Did I mess him up?" he asks.

"Here," I say, "come see for yourself."

For a second, Blake can't seem to move. Did I press too much? Too far? That stalled conversation from yesterday hangs in my mind: that whatever's going on with him, he's buried it deep.

Then Blake drifts over, sliding up behind me, tracing his hand up my back, an easy exploration of skin. I laugh and tilt back until I can feel the scatter of Blake's breath on my shoulder, the beginning of his erection under the roil of the water.

Felix hasn't stopped watching us. He gives a faint, almost imperceivable nod like a permission, an answer to my unspoken question. Yes. Yes, there's something else going on.

So I grab Blake's hand and lift his fingers to Felix's jaw. Despite having shaved only a few minutes ago, his skin's as rough as sandpaper.

"So what's the verdict?" Felix says.

I laugh. "Pretty smooth, I guess."

"Might leave some stubble burn," Blake adds.

That gets Felix's knowing smirk. "Maybe one of you should kiss me and find out."

And it's only because Blake's still pressed close that I feel his slight gasp. As if he's imagining it. As if it's something he wants and doesn't know how to ask for.