“Good. Liz is out of the office so mostly everything goes to voicemail. I’ve gotten caught up on a lot without the phone to worry about.”
“That’s good. How’s it going at the new apartment?” I asked.
“Oh, I’ve pulled up the carpet, and there’s hardwood! I’m watching YouTube videos at night to figure out how to refinish the floors. I can’t wait.”
“That’s awesome. If you need any help, let me know. I’m not that handy at home repairs, but I can bring wine and supervise,” I said.
“Oh, I’ll need wine and supervision. I’ll call you when I’m ready for it,” she said. She took a last sip of her water and looked at her watch. “Ugh. We need to get back.”
“I know,” I said, stuffing the last two onion rings in my mouth and leaving a tip on the table.
All afternoon, I thought about Brett and Derek. I almost texted either or both of them, but I had no idea what to say. I’m sorry I fucked both of you? It was amazing? I’m sorry? Let’s pretend that never happened? Let’s do it again? I couldn’t even untangle how I felt about it, much less how to put that into words.
When I got to the bar, I was nervous. They’d come in during my shift, I knew, because they always did. I didn’t know how to act around them now, or what I’d say. I knew it would be a relief to see them after being in suspense all day, worrying if they thought ill of me or if they regretted it. I regretted the angst and the drama of the aftermath, but I was pretty sure after thinking about it most of the day that I didn’t regret what we did. I had some swampy feelings that I was promiscuous , but that was my father’s voice in my head, not mine. I hadn’t been coerced. I hadn’t done anything I didn’t want to do. So all that held me back was concern about how Derek and Brett felt, and the qualms that came from my very traditional upbringing.
The other workers noticed I was quieter than usual, but I did my job and didn’t make too many mistakes even though I was preoccupied, watching the door, checking the stools where they usually sat. Halfway through my shift, they still hadn’t come in. It was at least an hour later than they usually arrived. I swallowed hard. The suspense was killing me.
13
On my break, I called Derek. I figured he was the more likely one to tell me the problem straight out. He was more outgoing and straightforward than the more reserved and sensitive Brett. So I called him for my answer.
“Hello?” he answered.
“Hi,” I said, my voice sounding small. I cleared my throat, suddenly not wanting to talk about it, seized with something like panic, “Um, you guys didn’t come in tonight and I just wanted to see if something was wrong. If, you know, I fucked everything up last night.”
“What?” he asked, sounding genuinely confused.
“ You know. For getting wasted and using my two best friends like they’re my personal harem,” I muttered, hoping really hard that no one else would come into the bathroom while I made my call.
Derek laughed. It was a loud whoop. I felt lighter at once.
“ Babe, we’re shorthanded at work. Flu’s got three guys down so we’re working a double shift. We should be off in time to pick you up at closing.”
I leaned back against the wall, sagged with relief. I could hear talking in the background of the call and a bark of laughter.
“Yeah, I told Brett you thought we were pissed off. He thinks it’s funny, too,” Derek said reassuringly.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I got all caught up in my own head, thinking I’d screwed everything up for good. You’re both the greatest, and I don’t want to do anything to hurt either of you, ever.”
“You’re too much,” Derek said, “You didn’t take advantage of us. Way I see it is, we went out, it got a little wild, we had some fun.”
I smiled at Derek’s typical upbeat view of things. I liked that about him. He didn’t overcomplicate things, and he didn’t look for ways to be offended. I told him so.
“Thanks for being so cool about everything. I felt weird about it,” I admitted, “I still do, but you and Brett being so understanding has really made me feel better.”
“Of course. It’s gonna take a lot more than a great night of crazy hot sex to get rid of us. See you later,” he said, “We just got a call.”
I went back behind the bar feeling more at ease, more focused. I laughed and smiled with the patrons and made sure everyone was having a good time and had their drinks refilled quickly. The knot that had clutched in my stomach all day finally loosened.
14
Right before closing, Derek came into the bar. He looked tired—which pulling a sixteen-hour shift will do. I didn’t overthink it. I just reacted. I darted across the room and hugged him. Not a take-me-now move, but a glad-to-see-you hug. He hugged me back, lifting me a little off my feet, and all the pieces of me that had felt scattered all day slid back into place. I could finally take a deep breath.
I stepped back, smiled, got behind the bar and pulled him a beer. He drank gratefully. I grabbed the artichoke dip and chips I’d put aside for myself and offered it to him. He scooped savory dip on a chip and started shoveling it in.
“Brett’s in the truck?” I said. He nodded, mouth full. I leaned on the bar, glad to see him eating, relaxed, friendly with me.
“He can come in and have a drink,” I offered.
“He’ll eat my dip,” Derek said through another mouthful. I laughed and texted Brett to come on inside.
When he walked in, I felt a little shy. I’d been able to run up and hug Derek, but for some reason, I felt bashful around Brett. Maybe I didn’t think I knew him as well, or maybe what we’d done—missionary style with Derek asleep on the bed, had felt more intimate, less playful. Either way, I just nodded my head at him and got him a drink. He grabbed a handful of chips off the appetizer I’d given Derek, and the two of them squabbled about who was eating the most dip. It was like a soothing balm to me, their talk and laughter, the closeness I felt with them.
When I was done cleaning up and the guys had polished off all of the dip, we headed out. I sat between them in the truck as usual. I felt at sea, unsure of what to say.
“We have to talk,” Brett said.
“Wait’ll we get home,” Derek said.
“All right. Burgers?” he said.
“You just ate!” I said indignantly, a little sorry that I hadn’t snatched any chips.
“You haven’t,” Derek pointed out. I shrugged.
“I had a burger for lunch.”
“Taco?”
“No, I could eat another burger. I was just saying.”
We drove through, and I remembered the first night we met, how they took me to get something to eat and gave me a place to stay. How safe I’d felt with them from the start. This hadn’t changed anything. They were still taking care of me, still men I could trust.
As we sat elbow to elbow in the crowded cab of the truck, eating delicious salty food out of greasy wax paper, I just soaked in the contented silence. I stole a fry from Brett’s box while he made a left turn, and then I grinned at him. Derek grabbed one of my onion rings.
At home, I started pacing back and forth in front of the TV. The guys sat down at their usual seats in their recliners, and I faced them.
“I know we have to talk,” I said, feeling anxious again, “but before we start, I just want to say again that I never meant to hurt either of you or to take advantage of your friendship.” I bit my lip.
Derek turned to Brett, “I told you she thinks she roofied us. Lynette’s on a guilt trip.”
Brett gave a half shrug, “Some people feel guilty about sex. It’s our culture.”
“See, that’s understanding of you. I think it’s kind of insulting that she thinks we didn’t make our own choices,” Derek said, turning to me, “We’re both attracted to you. We’re consenting adults. So enough with the blame and crap. No one needs you to feel bad about this or to be sorry.”
I nodded and found myself unable to speak for a minute.
&
nbsp; “You know, you can sit down,” Brett said. “Your pacing is making me nervous.”
I walked over a little hesitantly and sat down on the arm of his recliner. He hooked an arm around my hips.
“This is weird for us, too. Brett and I are best friends but we’re not, you know, that friendly with each other,” Derek said expressively.
“We don’t pick up women and have threesomes,” Brett clarified, “It’s not a habit of ours.”
“I never did a three way before last night,” Derek said.
“Me either,” I said.
“I had,” Brett said. I was a little surprised but tried not to show it.
I patted his arm, not sure of what to say to that.
“I liked it,” I said, blushing, “There, I said it.”
“Uh, I think we both noticed that you liked it,” Derek said archly. They both laughed, and I joined in.
“Okay, so maybe it was obvious.”
“You said oh god so many times I was a little worried you were trying to cast out a demon,” Brett said. Derek snorted with laughter. I turned red and tried not to laugh.
“Five stars and you’d recommend it to a friend?” Brett said.
“Who knew you were the funny one?” I said, “I guess you just needed to get laid. Brought out your sense of humor.”
“I’ve always been the funny one,” he said with his dry sarcasm.
“Seriously though Lyn, how are you feeling about all of it?” Brett asked.
I cleared my throat. “You mean about the—"
“Threesomes? Ménage a trois? Three-way?” Derek supplied.
“Yeah, that. I mean, I was always a total good girl. I wanted my dad to be proud of me, and I was too shy to do anything wild. I never even tried beer till I was eighteen. So this is very new for me. I didn’t know this was something I would ever do or be interested in. So it’s strange for me. But, as I said, I liked it. Maybe it’s because it was with you two and you make me feel safe.”
“I’m glad it was with you, with someone who cares enough to be concerned with how we felt about it. For anything like that to work, there has to be a level of trust and safety. I think the fact that we have that together, the three of us, already, is—"
“Amazing,” Derek supplied.
“A surprise,” I said.
Brett put and arm around me and kissed my head. “That’s my girl,” he said fondly.
“Our girl,” Derek corrected.
I turned so my face was buried in Brett’s shirt, still feeling shy even with all the frank talk.
“I am your girl,” I said to them both, “One of the guys who works at the pub asked me out last week and I didn’t even consider it. Because I feel like I kind of have what I need already. I live with two great guys, and you are my best friends,” I said.
“I don’t want you seeing anyone else,” Derek said, “And I don’t want to see anyone else either. It would be weird. I don’t want to let anyone else in to this.”
“I don’t want to,” I confided, “I’d rather have burgers with you guys, ignore ESPN, snuggle up, and relax.”
“There’s a problem here,” Brett said, “We bought these recliners. You don’t have your own chair. We need—a couch. A big one. Because otherwise you have to pick one of us to sit with. We’d have to take turns being the one you curl up with. And I’m fine sharing with Derek, but I’d still mutter ‘bastard’ under my breath if you sat with him instead,” Brett said. I laughed.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he said, looking a little embarrassed. Derek laughed, too.
“I think we need to buy a sectional. One of those big awesome ones with a recliner on both ends and, like, cup holders,” Derek said.
“Yeah, we can do that. Anyone want to go furniture shopping this weekend?” Brett asked.
“I’m in,” I said, smiling, feeling warm and flattered.
“So, this is going to work for us,” Derek said, “We’re in this together. We keep it exclusive, no seeing other people for as long as this lasts. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” I said.
“Yeah,” Brett said.
“I think we should make a date to check in, make sure everyone wants to continue,” Brett said.
“That’s smart,” I said, “Although I feel pretty spoiled so it isn’t like I’m going to go, oh I’m bored with you two hot men.”
“Sunday brunch,” Derek said. Derek, the least likely human to ever say the word ‘brunch’. “We’ll have a brunch once a month and talk about whatever’s bugging us, just get in touch with each other.”
“I think there’s going to be plenty of touching,” Brett said.
“God, you’re the worst,” I laughed, “this is serious.”
“It’s new for all of us, and we need ground rules, but we need to make this our own, like us. Sometimes we act really stupid and laugh a lot,” Derek said.
“Fair enough,” I said, “Practice safe sex, keep it exclusive, be honest, meet for brunch,” I said.
“Yep, that sounds perfect,” Brett said.
Derek chose that moment to tickle me. I doubled over in his lap, my foot connecting with his jaw as I kicked and wriggled helplessly.
“Shit, okay she has boundaries. No tickling,” he said.
“Sorry,” I said, “I can’t control my feet when someone tickles me. It’s like fight or flight,” I said with a giggle. Derek hauled me against his chest, eyes darkening. I felt the tug of attraction in my stomach, and my arm went around his neck as he lowered his mouth to mine.
“Mmm,” I said as his tongue slid in my mouth, my hand threading through his silky hair.
I coiled into his lap, pressing myself against him, reveling in every sensation that bloomed inside me.
“Somebody’s thirsty,” Brett said sarcastically.
I was aware that he got up, that he leaned over the pair of us. He touched my back. I reluctantly broke my kiss with Derek to look at him.
“No pairing off, either,” he said. I nodded.
“That’s fair. I know how I’d feel if the two of you went off together and locked me out,” Derek said.
“Me, too,” I said, and Brett rolled his eyes.
“That won’t be a problem,” he assured me.
“I’m serious. I don’t want to cause trouble between you. I don’t want there to be jealousy,” I said carefully, although my nipples were hard and my whole body wanted to get back to what Derek and I had been doing—making out in the chair. His hand still cupped my backside, fingers stroking there absently in a way that set me on fire.
“Agreed,” Brett said, and Derek nodded. I got off Derek’s lap, scrambling to my feet without much grace.
“I’m going to go to bed. By myself. Now that we have cleared things up a bit,” I said
I stood on tiptoe to kiss Brett good night. I thought he might grab me possessively or something, but he accepted the gentle kiss and went to his room. I dropped a soft kiss on Derek’s lips as well and went to bed. I slept well, looking forward to spending more time with my guys, in and out of bed. And possibly a sectional couch.
15
I got called to Liz Markham’s office the next day. I was ready to defend my research like it was a dissertation. I knew my topic. I wanted to impress her with my knowledge, prove I could do more. I entered her office and took a seat. When she finished typing at her computer, she turned to me and removed her reading glasses. I tried to wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt. She was, after all, my supreme role model. I slanted my legs, knees together, hoping for the poise of Kate Middleton. A younger, clammy Kate Middleton.
“Now, Lynette, I reviewed your research before passing it along to the writer. She’s an excellent writer, incredible work ethic—she’s the pulse of our online content, in fact. She was very pleased with the depth of information you provided her. I was also pleased with what I read. Your summary was intelligent and well-written but brief. Of all things, I despise a flowery, overblown summary written by an intern
who’s showing off. Your professionalism has paid off,” she said.
I sat there, glowing under her praise. Though her face was stern, it was not unkind. I tried to think of a mature and professional response to this, something other than clapping my hands, hugging her, and saying thank you a thousand times like a fangirl.
“I appreciate that,” I said, “What do you consider areas where I could improve? I would love to have constructive criticism from you if you have time.” I did not, in fact, want constructive criticism. I wanted her to spend the next hour repeating how fabulous I was and how my work was awesome. But it seemed like the right thing to say—like I was willing to learn and develop my writing to reach her standard. I wanted to sound the opposite of show-offy, like the ideal candidate for a paid position.
“I’m glad you asked. I realize it was purely an expository assignment, and you treated it as such. But you were rather conservative in what you included. There was no mention of the hazards of IUD dislodgment from certain sexual practices or any discussion of effect on sexual pleasure. It was, in a sense, the perfect summary but rather narrow. I’d like to see you be a bit more creative.”
“I see. I’ll make note of that and do some writing exercises to try and be more open minded in my work,” I said, a little confused.
Had she wanted me to make IUDs and lawsuits sexy? What kind of sexual practices was she talking about? I hadn’t thought she’d criticize me for being too objective and professional in my summary. It was like being told my resume looked good but that I should’ve included a picture of my boobs.
“You appear puzzled. What I’m saying is that you need to expand your horizons. If your CV is to be believed, and I suspect it is, you’re a nice girl from a small town who’s in the city for the first time. It’s a charming if familiar narrative. To write for a glossy or its online presence, you need to be more adventurous. Experience life.”
“Are you saying I’m too young?” I asked.
“I’m saying you seem younger than you are because you’re rather wholesome and inexperienced. I’m not suggesting anything drastic, merely that you read more widely and acquaint yourself with topics and lifestyles that are unfamiliar. I’d be happy to recommend some online publications that deal with issues of diversity, the spectrum of sexuality.”
Cuffed to my Roomies Page 7
