23. Time to Wine Down

Briar

I have two things on my mind tonight. First, the absolutely tempting offer that Hollis has made me along with the gift that I'm, admittedly, dying to use. The note put me in a giddy mood and has been playing on a loop since I found it when I returned home this afternoon.

If you want to teach me what you like, I'd like to learn. I am an excellent student. –H

I'm also totally fixated on the ten-thousand-dollar cash prize from Steven's contest and what I could do with it. I already have plans.

But those tempting twin thoughts have oddly taken a backseat to Gavin's absolute prowess in the kitchen.

I don't know why it's such a surprise. He did say he could cook. But I wasn't expecting him to cook with so much skill and ease. Gavin moves fluidly through the kitchen, slicing carrots, seasoning squash, and boiling quinoa all while I operate as his sous chef.

I've been happily following his orders as he's peppered me with questions about my day.

Did I catch any of the bands?

How did my class go?

What's the hardest pose to do?

My answers? I've added some bands to my playlists. Excellent. And Shavasana.

Of course, the last one is telling—Shavasana is the relaxing pose and, well, I suck at relaxing. But that's a matter for later.

For now, Gavin gestures to the oven as the timer beeps. "Grab the squash, 'kay?" he asks as he hands me a red pot holder with an illustration of a wine bottle on it along with the words Time to Wine Down.

"Yes, sir," I say, giving him a saucy little smile as I take the pot holder. There's a pause in his kitchen routine. A furrow in his brow. Like he's replaying my words, weighing them.

When his eyes darken, I'm pretty sure he likes my yes, sir.

I like his reaction, judging from the way my pulse skitters.

Then, he closes his eyes for a flash of a second, as if he's pushing off whatever thoughts invaded his mind.

When he opens them, he wheels around, tending to the skillet with the kale in it. That's my cue to brush off the moment too, so I snag the baking tray with the squash on it.

Hollis already set the table, and now he's outside shooting hoops with Rhys while Donut watches them through the window. As I set the tray down on the counter, Gavin hits me with another question. "How did you get into yoga?"

"I needed it for rehab. I actually played soccer in high school," I explain. "But I tore my ACL my junior year."

He winces as he snags the pot of quinoa and drains it in the sink. "Ouch. That's one of my nightmares."

"It usually is for athletes."

His smile is sympathetic but also sad. "That sucks, Briar. Were you hoping to become a pro soccer player?"

I appreciate that the question is straightforward. That he asks it with no doubt that I'd have been one if that was what I'd wanted. "I did hope to at the time," I say, moving to the stove to stir the creamy pesto sauce that goes with the "squash bowl" he's making. "I love running and competing. And I did everything I could to rehab so I could play soccer again. Including yoga."

"And was it a perfect fit?"

I shake my head. "I actually hated it at first. Because it wasn't soccer. But I kept doing yoga, hoping it'd help me play soccer again. When it became clear that I wasn't going to be able to do it at the level I wanted to, I realized over time I'd somehow fallen in love with yoga."

As he scoops the quinoa into a pre-seasoned mixing bowl, he seems to mull that over before he asks, "Why do you love it?"

"Nearly anyone can do yoga. If you've had an injury. If you haven't had an injury. If you're an athlete. Or if you've never played sports in your life. If you're coordinated. If you don't know your left foot from your right foot. And any one of any size can do it too. It's one of the most accessible physical activities that exist. All it takes is practice. And I like that it's called a practice because that really tells you everything you need to know about yoga as a form of exercise. You practice and the more you practice, the more it gives back to you."

Gavin looks up from the mixing bowl and gives me a soft smile—one that I don't often see from him. He has some hard edges. He's more like sandpaper than the other guys. But it's sweet to see he has a soft side even if he rarely shows it. "I like that," he says thoughtfully. "The idea that you're in charge. You make it happen. Just you."

"Exactly!"

As he adds the kale to the quinoa mix, his gaze swings briefly to me, like he's weighing something. He looks back down at the bowl, then says, a little quietly, "I've seen some of your videos."

"You have?" I'm kind of ridiculously touched.

"I do them," he says, like it's hard for him to admit.

"I love that." I don't bother to mask my excitement. I'm always thrilled when I learn someone watches and likes my videos.

"I sort of missed it when you went to the Sea Dogs." It not me, but that's okay. I can tell opening up isn't easy for him.

"I'm just happy you're doing them," I say.

Gavin's suddenly intensely focused on tending to the saucepan, and it's clear he's hit his limit for this topic, so I take the wheel. I wave a hand to the mouth-watering spread in front of me on the counter. "I need to know where you learned to cook like this. I feel like you should be on one of those thirty-minute-chef shows or something."

"I taught myself." There's real pride there. But I hear the subtext too. Like there was nobody else to do it for him. Like he had no other choice.

"Books? Recipes? Cooking shows?"

"I just watch cooking videos on YouTube and I try to do it better."

I laugh. That's such an athlete approach. "So you're competitive?"

His hazel eyes twinkle. "Just a little bit," he says dryly, like he's glad to be understood.

"Well, I can't wait to try this feast."

"I think you'll like it," he says.

"Cocky."

"Just a little bit there too."

The verdict? Everyone likes it. When it's time for dinner, Hollis is the first to unleash a food moan. "This is amazing," Hollis says, pointing his fork approvingly to the butternut squash bowl, bursting with quinoa, kale, and pesto goodness. Donut even perks up her head from the couch. "Why are we getting tacos at hole-in-the-wall joints when you can cook like this?" Hollis asks.

Gavin scowls. "Because then I'd have to cook for you clowns every night."

Before I can ask why, Rhys meets my gaze and explains: "Gavin believes in eating the same thing when you're on a streak. We were on a sushi streak the night of the cat rescue."

"How fortuitous for the fish-loving Frances Furbottom," I say, then make a mental note to show them the pictures of her that my dad sent me. My cat's been living the spoiled life with her granddad all right. I'm surprised he hasn't built her a canopy bed. I take another bite of the bowl, and join Hollis in the chorus of praise for the chef. "This is as good as I predicted, Gavin. No, it's better. And I love bowls."

"I know," Gavin says, like a cat with a mouth full of canaries.

"How'd you know that?" Rhys asks, tilting his head.

Gavin meets Rhys's inquisitive gaze straight on. "It says so in her bio." Gavin clears his throat. "Briar Delaney has been teaching a blend of yoga, Pilates, and flexibility since college where she studied exercise science. She loves playlists, bowls, and her rescue pets. And she believes in the power of a good pair of boots."

Wow…he memorized my bio.

Hollis whistles in appreciation. "Look at you. Showing us up."

Rhys slow claps. "Someone can read."

I lift a glass of champagne. "To Gavin's cooking. Rhys's planning, and Hollis's…" I take a beat, since I've got a secret with Hollis and I don't want to make it too obvious to the others as I pick his toast. "Hollis's ears. He's a very good listener." That earns me a flirty and dirty grin from the guy across from me. "Let's toast to a good week," I add.

All at once, the four of us clink glasses and say, "To a good week."

I take a sip of the bubbly. It's fresh and tingly on my tongue and it's chased by a memory of the last class of mine that Rhys came to in the city. We talked after and I happened to mention that champagne was my favorite. I look at the glass, then steal a glance at the handsome Brit. His gaze lands on my flute, then rises…to my mouth.

My skin tingles everywhere. He bought this champagne…for me. Gavin made bowls…for me. Hollis left a gift…for me.

All throughout the rest of the meal, my thoughts return to the contest. To the prize money Steven is offering. To the three men I'm sharing a house with. My mind is a pinball game, the silver ball slamming into flippers, bumpers, ramps. Then, it lights up.

Maybe it's the champagne. Possibly it's the gifts. It could be the sweet lure of revenge. Or perhaps it's the way they treat me like a very special guest. Whatever it is, it's unlocked me. And I know exactly how I can win that prize money.

I lift my fork and tap it gently against the flute. Three pairs of eyes turn to me and I waste no time. "So my ex's site is offering a contest for a female columnist on what makes for a great boyfriend, and I want to enter. Anonymously. An independent firm picks the winners, so he won't know it's me, even though the idea for the contest was one I gave him. The prize is ten thousand dollars and it would be enough to help me launch my yoga and flexibility app." I pause, then dive off the cliff. "The only thing is—I really need someone to run my ideas past. Like to discuss them, vet them, make sure they seem like things a guy might actually do if he truly wanted to impress a girl."

Rhys's hand shoots up. "We'll help you," he says, just like he did with the cat rescue.

I wasn't expecting that kind of speed, but I love it. "You will? Can we do it this week? It just seems practical since we're all here."

"Let me check my schedule. Ah yes, seems I can make myself available this week," Rhys says with a grin—one that makes me smile right back. "I'm a great fucking boyfriend. In fact, I can walk you to your yoga workshop tomorrow. That's something a great boyfriend would do, don't you think?"

I can picture it clearly, the two of us, heading into town together in the morning. "Yes, I do," I say, my cheeks going warm.

"Good. We can grab a cuppa if you want afterward too. Talk about your day," he adds, and his confidence is like a zap of electricity down my body. He's a man who knows what he wants. Who's unafraid to say it. Who puts himself out there.

In front of me and in front of his friends.

I feel a little shivery all over, almost like we're the only ones here. Rhys certainly looks at me that way. I flash back to the text messages the four of us exchanged last week, when they teased him about how often he goes to my classes. Is this something he's been wanting for a while?

That thought is as heady as it is risky. We still work for rival teams. I don't want to cause problems or draw attention to myself by dating a rival. Nova has given me a great opportunity with the Sea Dogs. It's a plum post, one I'll benefit from as I launch my app.

But just like Hollis offered to help me in the bedroom, Rhys is only offering to help me with a contest. And really, who better to help than a man who truly wants to show me what a great boyfriend is? I smile at Rhys, and it feels like a private grin until worry settles into my gut. Will Hollis be jealous of Rhys's role? I look across the table to the laid-back guy who got me closer to climax than anyone ever has. His expression is easygoing, a smile tipping his lips as he says, "I think you'll find we're both pretty happy to help you any way that you want."

Both.

Just this morning, Hollis said we're good at sharing. I didn't think he meant sharing a woman. But only because I didn't want to let myself believe that that was what he meant.

The evidence is adding up that I was wrong. And as my breath hitches, the clues are saying I like being wrong too.

What about the third guy? Is Gavin good at sharing? Is he part of the both? But Gavin is quiet. I try not to read anything into his silence.

I want to say yes to both of them but Donut is jumping at the door. Whining too. I scoot back in the chair. "I need to take her for a quick walk."

"I'll join you," Hollis says without missing a beat.

"Perfect."

Once we're outside, I'm alone with Hollis for the first time since the other guys showed up this morning.

But unlike this morning, orgasms are exactly what I want to talk about with him.