“Mmmmm, Derek,” I murmured against his mouth.
“How do you know which one it is?” he whispered, trying to disguise his voice.
“I know how you move, how you kiss me. You always touch my neck, and you’re more aggressive about pressing into my hips. And your tongue is divine. You do this thing where you stroke in three times and then go deep the fourth time. Curls my toes right up,” I said, with a satisfied smile.
“Don’t say anymore. He already looks too pleased with himself,” Brett’s voice came grumpily, and I giggled.
“Now you kiss me, and I’ll tell you how I know it’s you,” I prompted.
The lips on my face, the hand on my neck moved away, replaced by a softer kiss, a hand gentle on my face.
“Nope, still Derek. Nice try,” I teased.
“We can’t fool her,” Derek said, “My skills are too magnificent to mistake for yours, Brett.”
“Move over,” Brett said.
This time, it was unmistakably Brett who kissed me. His stubble brushed my chin, his firm lips on mine. His palm cupped my breast, his fingers finding the pink nipple and plucking until it was a hard nub. He grazed my lower lip with his teeth.
“How can you tell it’s me?” he said huskily.
“Easy,” I said, “You go straight for the boobs, and despite your history, you do everything harder, with more of an edge than Derek. Do you remember the night we went out to the club? We were in the truck, and you kissed me at a stoplight and you pinched my nipple. I thought I’d come right then. No one had ever handled me that roughly, and it turned out I liked it. You’re the quiet one, the sweet one, but you’re more of an envelope pusher in bed.”
“So I’m vanilla now?” Derek protested teasingly.
“Never,” I said, “you’re both decadent as hell. But I have to work today.”
“No you don’t,” Derek said, “We called you in sick. I said you’d been sick all night. You’d be in after noon if you felt better. So you can sleep it off.”
“I can’t believe you called in sick for me!” I laughed.
“So thank me properly. Do you want the blindfold off or on?” Derek said.
“On, I think,” I said, turning back to kiss Brett.
20
I slept late, went over my notes and wrote out the article. The guys were already at work, but Derek had left me a sandwich in the refrigerator.
I was very proud of what I wrote. It was honest and brave, a little bit funny, and a lot romantic and sexy. I called it “The Devil’s Three Way”—slang for a MMF threesome. I told it as an interview with a girl who called herself Katie, veiled the details about the guys and how we met, but really infused it with the sense of friendship and love, the ongoing relationship and how we were supportive of one another, that it was a meaningful choice. Then I detailed the sometimes hilarious and sometimes hot positions we tried out. When I was finished spell checking it, I emailed it to Liz.
That night at the bar, I checked my phone on my break. I’d hoped for a message from Liz, but I knew she was busy, so it didn’t surprise me when she hadn’t responded with an exultant plea that I sign a contract and start writing for her immediately. Instead of a message from her, I had one from my dad.
My dad who never came to the city but who had suddenly decided to come visit me. Tomorrow. I squinted my eyes shut. Of course, it would be great to see him. I missed him. He was my only family. But I was thoroughly panicked.
“Hi, honey. It’s Dad. I can’t wait to take my best girl out to lunch and hear all about how your life’s going. See you tomorrow,” was what the message said.
His voice sounded cheerful in a forced way, like he was worried. Of course, he was worried. His sweet, wholesome only daughter had moved to the big dangerous city and done all kinds of things that would give him an actual heart attack if he knew about them.
I messaged the guys, Dad coming tomorrow! with a panic emoji after it.
Instantly, Brett called me, “What’s up?” he said.
“My dad. Who never leaves the town where I grew up. My conservative, old-fashioned dad who raised me on his own. My church going, blue collar dad is coming to the city to take me to lunch tomorrow.”
“And?” Brett asked.
“He’s just—not going to love my lifestyle.”
“You work at a magazine. You tend bar, which you also did in college. You may get an article printed in Envy. You’re happy and healthy and living the life you want. Right?” he asked.
“Yes! But you’re missing the point. This is my dad. His opinion matters to me, so much. And he’s going to be so disappointed and ashamed of me. I can’t just say, hey, dad, good to see you. I just finished my article on orgy sex positions and I’d like you to meet my roommates. We all have sex together. I’m part of a throuple!”
“A throuple?”
“Look it up. It’s three people that are in a –"
“Couple. I got it. And I’ve seen the kind of crap you look at online. I just don’t see why you’re panicking. Is your dad going to ask you about your sex life? Probably not. So why would you offer that information?”
“I don’t think I can keep it secret. And anyway, he’ll find out what I’m writing about and know that—"
“That you’re a grown woman? Honey, you owe it to yourself to be honest about who you are and what you do. You were proud of that article when you told us about it. But we won’t make a liar of you. You can introduce us as your roommates. I’ll stand there, shake your dad’s hand and tell him you’re like a little sister to me if that’s what you need me to do.”
“Thanks, Brett. I appreciate your support. But don’t ever talk about being my brother again. Yuck.”
“Just let me know what you need,” he said, and hung up.
I went back to the bar, but I was rattled. My concentration was shot. I kept running through possible conversations with my dad. There was not one scenario I could imagine where things would go well. I wanted him to be proud of me, accept me for who I was. But I knew that my choices would make him unhappy.
After work, Derek picked me up by himself.
“Is Brett working?” I asked as I climbed in the truck.
“No, I want to know what the fuck is going on.”
“Excuse me?” I said, taken aback by his unusually harsh tone.
“Your dad’s coming to town, so we’re putting on the Just Friends Show? This is bullshit, Lynette,” he said, fuming. His voice was low. He wasn’t yelling, but his knuckles were white on the steering wheel and I could tell how angry he was.
“Derek,” I said, “My dad is old-fashioned. He’s traditional. He doesn’t go in for alternative lifestyles. He really, seriously believes that gay people are gay by choice. So he’s not going to understand and accept the fact that his daughter is having sex with two men at once.”
“Your dad sounds like a jackass. I don’t have a lot of respect for men who go around judging the lifestyles of others or who try to force their beliefs on me. And I won’t lie to get his approval.”
“I don’t expect you to care about his approval, Derek. But I do. I don’t even drink in front of him!” I said dejectedly.
“If you cared so much about his approval, why did you choose to live your life the way you do? Write about sex, hook up with your roommates and have a threesome? Those aren’t the actions of a woman who’s worried about what her family thinks. I figure it’s one of two things: Either you don’t give a shit about us and you’re just sowing some wild oats as a temporary thing before you chase after the suburban dream, or you’re ashamed of us. Either way, it really sucks,” Derek said.
Tears sprang to my eyes. I turned and looked out the window so he wouldn’t see. What he said had cut me to the heart. I wasn’t trying to be a jerk. I was afraid. I didn’t want my father to look at me like some stranger, like someone he could never be proud of. I wanted to hide, and I wanted him to think the best of me. I had thought I could have it both ways, living the life I
liked and hiding it from my father. It was childish, and it was hurtful to Derek whom I cared about deeply. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I felt miserable. I even thought of making an excuse and not seeing my dad at all.
As soon as we reached the firehouse, I hopped out and ran up the steps to Brett. Hectic, swiping at my tears, I collided with his chest as he stepped out the door to meet us. I buried my face in his chest and sobbed. It felt so good to be held, protected. He stroked my hair and shushed me, comforted me.
Derek brushed past us and went into the loft. I heard the refrigerator door, heard him pop a beer and turn on the TV, heard the metallic shift as he kicked back the recliner. I lifted my face to look at Brett. My eyes still swam with tears. He kissed my forehead and led me inside.
“Are you this upset about your dad coming?” he asked softly.
“She’s pissed because I called her out on being ashamed of us,” Derek called from the recliner, not turning around.
“I’m not!” I cried. I went for the paper towels in the kitchen and mopped my face.
He pushed down the footrest and got to his feet, a storm in his eyes.
“Damn it, Lynette. I’m serious about you. I have feelings for you. We both do. This isn’t something you can throw away, some dirty little secret.”
He stalked out, slamming the loft door behind him.
21
Derek stormed out and left us there. I turned to Brett.
“Do you feel the same way he does?” I asked. I hoped it was a no, hoped his supportive and caring routine from earlier was the truth of how he felt.
Brett walked away from me and got a glass of water. He leaned on the sink, facing away from me. When he finally turned around, the frown lines around his mouth from the first time we met were back, bracketing his beautiful lips.
“I want you to do what’s right for you, always,” he said, and sighed.
“But?” I prompted.
“But it’s hurtful. That you would rather pretend we’re nothing to you, rather than tell the truth and risk the disapproval of a narrow-minded person who doesn’t value you for who you really are—I care about you, too. Too much to walk out when you hurt me, but too much to lie to you either. Yes, I feel the same way Derek does, even if I show it differently.”
I nodded.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do. He’s not just some guy on the corner, he’s my dad. The only family I have left. ”
Without a word, he turned, went in his bedroom and shut the door. I went to bed alone, lonely and worried. I didn’t sleep, just freaked about what the next day might bring. What I could possibly say to my father, and how I could make him understand, or how I could handle the guys, make it up to them that I was selfish and didn’t prioritize their feelings. I didn’t come up with any answers that made me feel better at all.
Late into the night, or maybe in the early hours of the morning, I heard the front door as Derek returned. He knocked softly at my door. I was still awake and miserable, but I didn’t want to talk. I especially didn’t want a renewal of his feelings about how I was being a callous bitch. He didn’t understand that I was hurting, too. That I was truly scared about losing my dad forever. So I didn’t feel like getting up in the middle of the night, tear stained and worried, to hash out the problem again.
I turned my face to the wall and pretended to sleep. When I didn’t answer him knock again, I figured he’d gone to his own room. Then I heard the whisper of my door opening as he looked in on me. My heart pounded and for an instant when I thought he might try to wake me up. When he went back out and closed the door behind him, I laid still for a long time, silent.
I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to show off my happy and successful city life to my dad. I wanted him to be proud of me, and to think that I was using my education to get an opportunity at a major international magazine. That I was a hard worker like him who supported myself financially. That I made a smart, safe choice in moving in with two cops. That my life was going well. And that I was in love.
But I was afraid of what he’d think, what he’d say if he knew I was sleeping with both Derek and Brett, that I was, in my father’s views, a slut. A woman who had sex outside of marriage, who was possibly an abomination for being part of a threesome. I was a good girl growing up. I ate my vegetables. I sold Girl Scout cookies. I made good grades and turned in my homework on time and almost always remembered to do the dishes and make my bed. So it would be a shock of the worst kind for my dad to know what I was doing.
What if he never wanted to see me again? What if he demanded that I repent my lifestyle and break it off with Derek and Brett? I knew he couldn’t make me do that, since I was an adult. But I also knew that if he threatened to disown me, to never see me again, that I’d cry and beg his forgiveness, because he was my dad. Because I loved him and looked up to him, and because he had raised me on his own. I might not have the same values as he did, but I respected him.
If I could just get away with not telling him. Not sharing private details of my sex life with him. Most people my age didn’t tell their parents who they were sleeping with or how anyway.
By failing to acknowledge my relationship with the guys, though, I was hurting them. If I had a boyfriend, as in singular, one and only one boyfriend, I’d obviously introduce him to my father. I’d invite him to join us for lunch. I’d hope they got along and liked each other. So refusing to admit I was romantically involved with Derek and Brett was like saying that they didn’t count. That neither was my boyfriend. That what we shared wasn’t real.
I even flirted with the idea of asking one of them to come to lunch as the boyfriend, and the other one to be the platonic roommate. Although my dad wouldn’t be happy with me living in the same apartment with a boyfriend either. Even if I had a separate room, he wouldn’t want me doing that. I shook my head. That wasn’t a compromise that would work. It would still disappoint my father, and it would hurt at least one of the guys. It was simply a no-win situation no matter what way I looked at it.
Exhausted and no closer to a solution, I finally drifted off to sleep.
22
At my internship, I asked for the afternoon off because my dad was in town. My supervisor was really nice about it. Since I knew from Celia that Liz Markham was out of town, I wasn’t worried about missing an opportunity to talk to her about what I’d sent her. I did some copies and a latte run and left at eleven. I had asked my dad to meet me at Richie’s, a place near work that had great burgers. I didn’t want to take him anyplace that would make him uncomfortable, like the French place with the fantastic soup where Celia and I sometimes went. Or the salad place that was stupidly expensive for a bowl of lettuce. I wanted him to feel like he was in his element, not out of place. So I took care to select a venue where he would be familiar with everything they served, and no one would be snooty or wearing a suit and tie.
I wore my pencil skirt and my blue blouse. I looked neat and professional, but I didn’t wear any fancy sample-closet shoes or a silk scarf. He wouldn’t like it if I was too into my appearance. Vanity was something he’d talked to me about when I wanted to start wearing makeup in middle school. I was allowed lip gloss—clear gloss only—until I was sixteen. Then I got to wear mascara. I thought I was as glamorous as freaking Kate Upton when I was finally allowed to wear mascara. So I’d kept my makeup understated—no contouring and highlighting, no perfect cat-eye liner.
I fidgeted and sipped my water. I’d ordered my dad iced tea and waited for him, impatient, nervous. When he walked in, I felt a rush of affection at the familiar sight of him. Here was the man who’d always loved and protected me and worked so hard to give me the best life he could. The flood of love, of having missed him so much, just overwhelmed me. I stood up, hugged him when he reached the table.
“It’s so good to see you, Daddy,” I said.
He patted my shoulder, “You look great, sweetie. City life agrees with you all right,” he said.
“Yes. I
really like it. Have a seat. I got you some tea.”
“Thanks. I was afraid you’d pick some snooty sushi joint, but this is okay,” he said, seeming relieved. I was glad I’d picked a burger place.
We looked over the menu. I asked about his drive. He hated city traffic, but the place he was staying had free breakfast, so he had all the coffee and hotcakes he wanted that morning, he said.
“How’s work?” I asked.
“Same as ever. Ronnie Newton’s retiring. He and his wife sold their house and got a boat. They’re moving out to the lake.”
“Isn’t Ronnie the one who likes fishing?” I said.
“Yeah. He’s always wanted to go on the bass fishing tour. He’s not gonna do that, but he’ll relax out on the boat, drink beer and nap probably,” Dad chuckled.
“He’s earned it. He’s been there even longer than you,” I said.
“Old Ronnie started four years before me. But he’s been full time all that time. I didn’t go full time till two years after I started. I had to work the janitorial staff at the nursing home for a while to make ends meet, remember?”
“I remember you telling me about it. I was a baby, I think,” I said, biting my lip, thinking of my dad having to mop floors at a nursing home after working all day fixing cars.
“You would’ve been about three, maybe. Anyway, it wasn’t too long after that Mack hired me on full time. It was a lucky thing, because I was half asleep at that nursing home. The floors didn’t get too clean on my shift,” he said.
“You must’ve been tired. It’s like me doing the internship in the daytime and then going to the restaurant for my shift,” I said.
“You’re a hard worker like your old pop,” he said with a satisfied smile. “How’s waitressing? Still bringing in more tips than anyone else?”
Cuffed to my Roomies Page 13
