Quadruple Duty

by Krista Wolf

  So you’re really doing this…

  Yeah. I really was. And not only was I doing it, but I was determined to make it work.

  Four boyfriends.

  It was a lot to handle. A lot of needs to satisfy. Not just physically — that part I actually looked forward to — but mentally, and emotionally as well. I had to keep four people happy when, usually, I could barely keep one.

  That part I was unsure of. That part I’d really have to work on.

  Knock. Knock.

  Two quick raps at my door brought me to my feet. I hesitated before opening it, as I always did while living alone in my apartment, before realizing how silly that was. I was now sharing a house with four badass Army Rangers. Four strong, capable men who would protect me from anything, always.

  “Hey there sexy.”

  Dakota grinned back at me from the other side of the doorway. He had his shirt off, and was wearing only a pair of ragged sweatpants that hung very loose just below his trim, six-pack abdominals.

  Suspiciously, intentionally loose.

  “Hey yourself,” I smirked back at him from the doorway. My gaze dropped. “You uh… forgot to tie your sweatpants.”

  He didn’t bother looking. Instead he shrugged. “Tie them for me?”

  I sighed. “Probably not a good idea.”

  “Right. One whole week.”

  Straight to the point. I liked that.

  “Yup,” I nodded, my eyes crawling over his body. His chest was beyond incredible. Big and broad, it was deliciously cut and sculpted like some magnificent statue. And his shoulders…

  My. God.

  Silently I kicked myself over the one-week rule. It seemed necessary at the time, but now…

  “So what’s up?” I asked quietly, glancing left and right. The upstairs hallway was empty.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Just wanted to check up on you. See how the pretty lady likes her new digs.”

  “This pretty lady likes em’ just fine, thanks. They’re great, in fact.”

  “Good,” nodded Dakota. “I also wanted to tell you I had a great time tonight.”

  My smile widened. “Me too.”

  He cleared his throat. “It also occurred to me you never got a goodnight kiss.”

  “Oh?” I teased. “Did I miss the offer of one?”

  “Not yet…”

  Before I could do anything else he stepped into the doorway, pressing his body — and lips — against mine. His skin was incredibly warm, almost like fire to the touch. Warm and smooth and beautifully unblemished.

  “Dakota…” I murmured into his mouth. “I…”

  He kissed me harder, with even more heat and intensity. Our tongues touched and then danced, my mind spinning away in a storm of desire as I felt myself melting into his arms.

  Holy shit.

  He took another step, and now he was in the room. His arms went around me. Alarms flashed in my head. Sirens going off, telling me to stop.

  You… you have to stop…

  Stopping was the last thing I wanted to do. His lips rolled sexily against mine. His hands found their way into my hair…

  Sammara!

  It would’ve been so simple to just keep going. So easy to pull him the rest of the way inside… to kick the door closed behind him and—

  “Goodnight Dakota,” I said, pushing him backward with the flat of one palm. His pectorals were like two steel plates. He was tremendous. Immovable…

  Yet he moved anyway. Dakota stepped back into the hallway like a gentleman, breaking the kiss. Leaving me flustered and discombobulated and totally, totally wet.

  “Goodnight beautiful,” he winked. “See you back here in a week.”

  He turned and walked down to his room, leaving me staring at the smooth muscles of his lower back. His sweatpants hung tantalizingly low, showing off the very tops of the two globes of his gorgeous ass.

  You’re such an idiot! my body screamed at my brain. As the two went to war over what I’d just done — the exquisite pleasure of what I’d just refused — I mustered enough willpower to close the door and slip into bed.

  Sleep. I needed sleep. I had a lot to do tomorrow, especially if—

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  “Shit.”

  I spat the word more than said it. If he was back for more, it was bad either way. I’d have to be firm with him, maybe even bitchy. And of course there was a part of me that knew I might not be able to resist him this time. Especially if he kissed me that again…

  “Hello gorgeous.”

  It was Kyle. He stood in the hallway, leaning against the door jamb in virtually an equal state of undress.

  Damn!

  “Umm… hi.”

  “Just wanted to see—

  “How I’m making out in my new digs?” I interjected, laughing inwardly at the double entendre.

  “Exactly.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “And I suppose you also want a goodnight kiss?”

  He laughed abruptly. “Dakota was here already, wasn’t he?”

  “You catch on fast.”

  This time I grabbed him, throwing my arms around his neck and kissing him hard. It was so good, being held by him again. Feeling the strength of his embrace as his hands slid past my waist to settle over my ass. He squeezed it his palms and I broke away, wagging a finger at him.

  “Time for bed now,” I told him. When he smirked suggestively, I added: “Alone.”

  Kyle sighed in disappointment, much the same way I did after the door had closed only a minute ago. “Alright,” he said, pointing. “You know where we are. If you need anything…”

  “Yes yes,” I chuckled. “I’ll come get you.”

  “You can come get me anyway,” he grinned. “Even if you don’t need anything.”

  “Got it.”

  “And just in case you—”

  I rolled my eyes over-dramatically. It stopped him.

  “Okay, okay,” he said, putting his hands up with an adorable chuckle. “Goodnight Sammara.”

  “’Night,” I said, blowing him a final kiss as I closed the door.

  The latch clicked. Silence descended. I slid beneath the silky sheets again, staring up at the ceiling with my hands folded behind my head.

  Four boyfriends.

  Was it going to be like this every night? Being constantly attended to? My bedroom… more like Grand Central Station?

  “I guess a girl could have worse problems,” I yawned, stretching before sleep took me.

  Fifteen

  RYAN

  She was in the kitchen before even I was, drinking coffee as the sun came up. Curled up with some pillows near the big picture window overlooking the lake.

  “Morning Ryan,” Sammara said cheerily. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Like the dead,” I lied, reaching for the coffee pot. “Always do.”

  The lie was stupid and unnecessary. I didn’t even know why I’d said it. I was supposed to be giving this girl a chance, making her feel welcome. And here I was already lying to her.

  She let out a low whistle. “Must be nice.”

  It wasn’t nice, actually. My sleep was broken, had been for years. Constantly getting up, my heart racing, not really being able to pinpoint the source of my strange, seemingly self-imposed anxiety.

  Anxiety. It was word I especially hated. A weak word. A word that drove me absolutely nuts whenever it was used, especially by the Division Surgeon, whose name was on every unopened prescription bottle at the bottom of my sock drawer.

  Silently I vowed to change gears.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  She was staring down at a notepad that rested against one trim thigh. Her mouth, which was sexy to begin with, looked especially so while chewing a pencil.

  “It’s my list,” smiled Sammara. “I always make a list.”

  “Of?”

  “Of stuff I need to do today.”

  I poured a steaming mug and brought the brown liquid to my lips. It was good.
Exceptionally good.

  “What’d you do to the—”

  “Threw in a pinch of salt,” she said without looking up from her list. “Makes it smoother, less bitter. Hey, what’s our contractor’s name again?”

  I blinked. It was ballsy, really. She was here for less then twelve hours and she was already using the word ‘our’. And even worse, messing with the coffee! I didn’t know whether to be angry or admire her.

  “And what if I didn’t like salt in my coffee?”

  “Then I guess you’d be SOL.” Sammara laughed. “Tomorrow I’m bringing us real coffee. Kona beans and a grinder, not this sludge. Now… that contractor?”

  She tapped the eraser of her pencil against her full, beautiful lips. They were the kind of lips all men dream about. Perfect for a wide variety of very good things.

  I gave her the contractor’s name.

  “Thanks hon.”

  I sank into my usual chair — which just happened to be near her — and stared outside. The lake was absolutely gorgeous this time of day. It shimmered like white fire.

  “So what are you doing today?” Sammara asked.

  “Work.”

  It was short. Probably way shorter than it needed to be. But it was also the truth. I was leading two consecutive PT’s in an hour, and there were three separate briefings I was in on for around lunch. And after that—

  “What about later on?”

  “I don’t know Sammara,” I grunted. “I’m not exactly sure yet. Why?”

  “Because I’m taking you to dinner.”

  I stared at her wordlessly over my coffee. She raised her own mug in silent salute.

  “Dinner?”

  “Yeah. Just me and you.”

  “What about Kyle?” I asked. “Dakota?”

  “We had dinner last night,” she shrugged. “Tonight it’s us.”

  Us. The word held no meaning to me, any more than the phrase ‘our contractor.’ And yet I was supposed to be trying. I’d somehow gone along, with the rest of our little group, on the outlandish idea that one girl would be easier to satisfy than four.

  “Okay,” I said. “Dinner.”

  Sammara’s face lit up with a smile. It was pure smile. A refreshingly genuine one, without the hint of an ulterior motive. She seemed to be the only person in my life — at least right now — who didn’t want something from me.

  “Better be careful though,” I warned. “I’m an expensive dinner date.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Yup.”

  She chewed her pencil again. “So I should probably bring my piggy-bank?”

  “I would if I were you. Either that, or stacks of cash.”

  She wrote something down on her list while chuckling. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  It was weird, having her here. A woman. In our house. Drinking our coffee, making lists of who the hell knew what.

  A woman I was supposed to accept. Care about. Eventually love.

  It was all so goddamn bizarre.

  And yet… at the same time? She was almost too perfect. Beautiful beyond what we could’ve expected, but mature and intelligent also. And sassy. I liked that. Sammara seemed the type of woman who gave back as good as she got it. Which had me wondering what she’d give back if I gave her acceptance and attention, and ultimately if things went right?

  Yes, even love.

  The more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea she was taking charge. I didn’t mind her taking over the contractor. I didn’t even mind her taking over the coffee. It was a few less things for us to worry about, in a world where the four of us were constantly being taken away in the middle of whatever we might be doing.

  No, having Sammara around could be a good thing. A very good thing.

  If only you’ll let it…

  I took the rest of my coffee upstairs, to leave her in peace. Our little interaction had been productive, and I wanted to leave it that way. Besides, she had a list to make, I had a shower to take, and God knows what else would happen between now and our dinner date.

  Sixteen

  SAMMARA

  I wanted to drive. Mostly because, as usual, I wanted to be in control.

  This night though, I’d let Ryan take over.

  Yes it would’ve felt good, thundering my jeep along the highway. Getting lost in the glow of the running lights, feeling the late summer wind on my face as we zoomed back and forth from the old Victorian mansion.

  Right now though, we were on Ryan’s motorcycle. My arms were like two steel cables, wrapped tightly around his waist as we zipped through the streets and alleys of the inner city.

  I was terrified of course, though I was trying not to show it. When he’d asked if I’d ever been on a ‘bike’ before I’d foolishly nodded. It was a bald-faced lie. A lie Ryan probably realized the first time we took a turn and I dug my fingers so hard through his leather jacket they ended up clawing his ribs.

  In time I grew more comfortable, especially on the straightaways. With my thighs pressed tightly against him and the big engine thrumming beneath me? The ride became an almost sexual experience. Erotic in its own special way.

  I tapped his shoulder indicating we were finally here, the place I was taking us on our first date. I got off on two trembling legs that felt jellied, my ponytail popping out as I removed my helmet. Ryan took it from me and fixed it to the big leather seat, right alongside his own. In a way the image was romantic. A visual I quickly tucked away, to keep safe for another time.

  I took his hand and pulled him along the sidewalk, to stand before the little restaurant. The place I’d chosen was my absolute favorite. I’d been going there since I were a little girl, all the way back since before…

  …and after.

  “Pizza?”

  It was the first time I’d heard him actually laugh. Ryan rubbed at his black goatee and squinted up at the broken neon sign, like an old gunfighter sizing up his opponent.

  “I thought you said you were bringing the piggy bank?”

  “I did,” I replied smartly. “I didn’t exactly say it was full, did I?”

  Five minutes later we were seated in a smooth laminate booth, waiting for our slices to cool. Ryan sprinkled his with crushed pepper first, then strangely, salted both our slices.

  “You’re getting me back for the coffee, aren’t you?”

  “Smoother,” he said with the hint of a smile. “Less bitter.”

  “Riiight.”

  We ate in relative silence for a minute or two as I took the place in. I hadn’t been there in a year or more, and I couldn’t put my finger on why. The place was nostalgic for me of course, but in all good ways. Every time I came here, it was like coming home.

  “My parents used to take me here when I was young,” I said. “They always told me they had the best pies, but I was too little to know good pizza from bad.”

  Ryan chewed his way toward the crust, staring up at me impassively. His eyes were warm, the color of cappuccino. But his expression was still hard.

  “So what do you think?” I asked.

  He wasn’t here to talk pizza. Neither one of us were. As far as icebreakers went it was a shitty one, but I was at a loss. At least for now.

  “I’m from New York,” he said simply.

  “I know. Brooklyn.”

  He nodded slowly.

  “And?”

  “Well if you know that,” he shrugged, “you’d know that this isn’t pizza.”

  I smirked at him from across the table. “So you’re gonna go all pizza snob on me now?”

  He shook his head. “Don’t have to. I come from the best pizza on the planet.”

  I leaned back into the uncomfortably hard booth. It was like some sort of unwritten law — pizzerias everywhere were incapable of installing any sort of comfortable seating.

  “Best on the planet is a bold statement.” I dropped my crust and dabbed at my mouth with a napkin. It came back greasy and yellow. “How do you back something like that up?”


  “Don’t have to,” he said again.

  “And why’s that?”

  “For one, it’s not my job to convince anyone I’m right. I know I am.”

  “And two?”

  He pointed downward. “If this pizza were any good at all you’d still be eating that crust.”

  I though about telling him I wasn’t done, or I was saving it for later, or something equally lame. Instead I caught his gaze with mine.

  “Brooklyn pizza, huh?” I offered. “Maybe one day you’ll show me.”

  “Maybe.”

  The word trailed off into uncomfortable silence again. He was a strange read. Sullen and silent and all too serious. But every once in a while there’d be a crack, and his wry sense of humor would peek through.

  “So why’d you avoid us last night?”

  The words just tumbled out, without me really thinking about them.

  “Who said I was avoiding you?”

  “Work. You said you had to work.”

  “I did.”

  “But when we got back you were already home, though. Your bedroom door was closed.”

  He shrugged and took another bite. But he still didn’t look away.

  “You could’ve come to hang out with us in the living room. Or made a snack in the kitchen. Said hello. Anything at all, really.” I bit the inside of my cheek. “It was my first night in the house.”

  He sipped on his soft drink. Rattled the ice around a bit.

  “I was tired.”

  “Are you tired now?”

  “No.”

  “Then tell me about yourself,” I said, resting my chin in one hand.

  At this Ryan shifted visibly. Lines suddenly appeared above his brows, like I’d asked him to solve some complicated math problem.

  “You’re from Brooklyn,” I said. “Did you grow up there? What was that like? What were your parents like…”

  He was uncomfortable, I could see it right away. I stopped the questions immediately, wondering which one had hit a nerve. In the aftermath of apocalyptic silence, he finally spoke up.

  “I never had parents,” he said. “Not real ones, anyway.”