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I guess this is our new friend language. Insults and grunts.
“You really think I could forget my Seattle Girl? Baby, you’re all I think about.”
“Oh baby, just you wait. I’ve got the next ten months to slow burn the fuck out of this.”
“Oh, shit. This is about to become my new favorite game.”
“Operation Unravel Rachel. I may not be able to touch you, but by god I can look,”
Jake and Caleb are pretty boys—perfect jaws, cheekbones for days, the floppy jock hair. All-American athletes. But Mars is…wild. He looks like the toughest guy on a hockey team had sex with a Viking and made a super baby.
CALEB (2:07PM): I had nothing to do with this. Asshole took my phone UNKNOWN (2:07PM): And now I have your number. Just face it, we’re inevitable, Seattle That message is followed up with a picture of Jake giving ‘fuck me’ eyes. Then a second of him with Caleb in a headlock.
Just slather me with butter and jam because I am so fucking toast.
“You give me a chance, and I’ll be so damn good to you. I’ll treat you so right, baby. You’re it for me.”
“I don’t melt for you, Jake Compton,” she murmurs, holding my gaze. “I burn.”
Secretly-pines-after-his-best-friend-but-will-never-admit-it queer.
His pierced dick. Four times pierced. I brush my thumb over four stiff, metal rods with barbells at either end.
“Good boy.” Ohmygod. I shiver as Jake shivers. We’re both so turned on by this, we might orgasm without any stimulation.
“But this isn’t just sex for me, Rachel,” Jake adds, his face solemn. “Hell, at this point, I’ll settle for just breathing your air. I’ll rub your feet on the couch after a long day. I’ll do your laundry. I’ll hold your purse while you shop for trail mix. That’s how crazy I am about you. I have to be me, and this is who I am. This is how I feel. Move in and be with me. With us. Whatever that looks like to you, we’ll figure it out. Just give me more than this nothing. I can’t bear another second of the nothing.”
“Three platonic fuck
buddies and a hyperactive dog. What could possibly go wrong?”
“Is that what
you need, Hurricane? You want a taste of my shadows?”
“God, he’s such a Taurus,”
How’s a guy supposed to compete with a surfing, sun-kissed Edward Cullen?”
Klingon cock?”
Fuck. Why am I standing? Why have I moved towards the door? Why are my keys in my hand? Because you’re going to the beach.
We’re not normal. We’re extraordinary. Be extraordinary with me.”
“Good,” I pant. “Then fuck me like you hate me.”
This is it. I’m done. I’ll follow her anywhere. Just call me Reddi, ‘cause I’m fucking whipped.
“I don’t need your money and never have,” Ilmari counters, seeming almost bored with the whole conversation. “I donated it all to a local charity. Your generous gift is now preserving sea turtle habitats.”
“Mars is gonna lie down. Hurricane, you’ll ride him. I’ll take your ass while Jake takes mine. Agreed?”
He nods, raising a large thumb to brush away my tears. “Then that is what I want, Rakas. I want to be the one to carry the burden of your fears. Your doubt, your worry, your insecurity—lay them all on my shoulders. I am strong enough. I will not bend. I will not break. I will carry them for you so you can be free, mun leijona.”
One family. One unit. Unbreakable.”
“Caleb,” she replies. “It’s always been Cay. He’s your lobster.”
I blink back at him. “I don’t know. I don’t speak Finnish!” “It means ‘marry me,’” he huffs. “I say it all the goddamn time.”
I look in the mirror again. I’m wearing a Rays jersey. Jake’s jersey. The front has the Rays logo, and the top shoulders have Jake’s 42s. But the back is Ilmari’s 31. And instead of either of their names at the top, the jersey reads PRICE.
Caleb nods. “I submitted all the paperwork on Monday. Within the next two to four weeks, it’ll be official. I’ll be Caleb Price.”
At defense number 42, Jake Price!”
“And starting in the goal for the Rays is number 31, Ilmariiiii Priiiiice!”
“Because if I marry Ilmari, that means you get to marry Jake. And he truly couldn’t find a better man.”
