by J. P. James
Fuck. This is it. Maybe Jordan slipped up and told him what happened last night. Maybe Damon has a sixth sense for these things, I didn’t know. I’m not ready for this fantasy to come crashing down. I don’t want to say goodbye to my bodyguards, not when things are getting started.
“S-sure,” I stutter, but I hold my gaze on the screen.
“Do you trust Jordan and Jameson? Really trust them?” His eyebrows crinkle as he watches me.
It’s not the question I thought he’d ask, and it catches me off guard. Maybe Damon doesn’t know anything. The question sounds platonic, but that just means my answer has to be even more cautious. I can’t reveal too much, but the answer is obvious.
“Completely,” I say firmly. “I trust everything they do.”
Damon nods. There’s a faint smile on his lips, but it’s sad.
“Good, because they’re going to stick close to you.”
The door to the loft jiggles and finally unlocks. I clamber around the bedroom wall, Facetime temporarily forgotten once my eyes settle on the view in front of me.
Jordan has his hands full with coffee, while Jameson has a paper bag in his. It’s slightly greasy and smells like warm sugar.
“Jordan and Jameson just got here,” I tell Damon without taking my eyes off the guys.
They stiffen, but move to set their stuff down in the kitchen.
“Great. You guys should talk,” Damon huffs. “I’ll send all of you the itinerary later today.”
Damon hangs up first. I throw my phone across the room, and it lands with a bounce on one of the couch cushions.
“There you are,” I greet them.
I walk over to Jordan first, who already has his hand on one of the drinks. He holds it out for me to take as I settle at his side.
“White chocolate mocha,” he says.
He smiles, and it’s just as sad and small as Damon’s. I look over to Jameson, his head angled down towards the floor without saying a word. I set my drink down with a thud.
“You both look like someone kicked your puppy.”
They look at one another. They communicate silently, probably through twin telepathy. I’m certain it’s a real superpower.
“Come on. I can handle it. I have caffeine, and two strong bodyguards to protect me. What’s going on?”
Jordan smiles a bit wider at that, but his eyes are filled with emotion.
“There was a security breach this morning,” Jameson starts.
Air leaves my lungs. This has been the most peaceful morning of my life, and with a simple phrase, my cocoon shatters.
Jordan’s hand goes to mine, his thumb rubbing circles into my flesh for comfort.
“What kind of breach?” I ask.
“We can spare you the details if you want,” Jordan tries. “We don’t want you to panic.”
I look at Jordan’s hand on mine. It’s firm and strong. It looks beautiful.
“Jamie, come here,” I whisper, looking at the missing piece of this puzzle.
Jameson puffs his chest slightly and stands on my other side. He drapes his arm over my shoulders, squeezing gently for support.
“Go on,” I tell them. “I want to know everything.”
“One of Fillmore’s tech crew came this morning. At least, he was wearing one of their shirts. Rusty had told him we were staying here.”
I gulp, and Jameson pulls me into his chest. The pressure brings me comfort.
“We were doing a sweep of the building,” Jameson takes up. “When we came to your room, he was standing outside. We chased him, but he got away.”
Jordan squeezes my hand tight. I focus on these points of contact, on grounding myself so my mind doesn’t fly into a fit of hysteria. I was starting to think I was past what happened the other night.
“Was it Percy?”
The question comes easily. I’m scared, that’s for sure, but having Jordan and Jameson around gives me courage to ask the questions I need answered.
“It’s not confirmed,” Jordan says. “But we think so. He matches the physical description, except he dyed his hair.”
“You need new accommodations for the rest of your tour. Ones with better security, cameras, alarms. Until we catch this psycho, it can’t be just us.”
Their breaths are fiery, edging on labored. There’s a slight tremble in Jameson’s arm. Jordan hasn’t let go of my hand either. Whether they know it or not, they speak to me in more ways than one. I can feel their vows to protect me. Whatever happened this morning, they’re shaken up.
It’s strange, hearing I was in danger but not seeing it for myself. Of course, I’m glad I didn’t face the intruder. Jordan and Jameson saved me yet again.
With my free hand, I grab the coffee and gulp down the sweet blend of chocolate and milk.
“My favorite,” I whisper, a smile blanketing my face.
Judging by their faces, they’re confused.
“What? This is better than anything I’ve had in the city,” I tell them, sounding a bit sarcastic for 6 AM.
“You don’t seem scared,” observes Jordan. He grabs his coffee without taking his eyes off me.
Jameson squeezes my shoulder. “We thought you’d be upset with us.”
I almost spit out the white chocolate. On instinct, I turn and cup his cheek. His stubble is rough as my fingers scratch along his jaw.
“I’m not upset. I’m aware of the situation. Of Percy. But you guys have a handle on things.”
Jordan kisses the top of my head, brushing his nose in the brown mess.
“I know you’re here for me. That’s the only assurance I need,” I tell them as I lean into Jordan’s touch.
We stand silently for a moment, just enjoying each other’s closeness. I didn’t know I could give so much of myself to anyone, let alone two guys, but Jordan and Jameson have managed something impossible. They make me feel brave, in control, yet vulnerable and raw all at once. They give me the space to be myself and protect me from the world outside these walls.
“Thank you, Fyre,” Jameson says.
“We brought you some pastries from down the street,” Jordan explains. “But we could order in if you want.”
I sniff the air again. “Do I smell coffee cake?”
Jordan nods, and Jameson chuckles. Another wall around my heart crumbles to the ground.
“Damon’s revising your schedule,” Jordan says as he grabs the paper bag and places the pastries on the island. “What about today? I didn’t see anything.”
“It’s my day off,” I tell them. “And I plan to make the most of it.”
I take a huge bite from the coffee cake. Holy hell. I can’t help but moan, causing both brothers to clear their throats and shift their legs. I laugh at their attempt to calm down. It feels powerful to have such an effect on them.
“I want to see the city,” I go on. “With you two.”
“Of course,” Jameson says.
I take another sip of coffee, licking the sugar off my teeth.
“I don’t mean as bodyguards, although I need you to do that. Let’s be tourists together.”
Jordan and Jameson look at each other and smile.
“Tourists,” they say in unison.
The way the word falls from their lips, though, sounds a lot more like boyfriends. And if the thought makes my heart beat faster, who am I to deny it?
12
Jameson
“This way. I want to see the wrought iron works,” Fyre begs as he drags Jordan and me by our sleeves.
The Barnes Foundation isn’t large, certainly not compared to the Met, but it’s warm. The walls are a rich golden-yellow, and every room feels like stepping into someone’s home, not a museum. I hang back by the entrance, admiring the art as much watching the crowd.
Our only condition was for Fyre to go out incognito. He wears a basic black shirt and jeans, topped off with a Phillies baseball cap we bought from a street vendor. Fyre tried to fight us on this. He said his safety wasn’t worth the
hat hair, so I had to pull out the big guns. Percy is still at large, and we need to take every precaution.
I’m thrilled that we get to take Fyre here today. He told us in the car how much he loves art. He likes to paint in his spare time, which is minimal. He told us about the interactive art from his New York show, how he collected works by his fans. It made me like him that much more. He doesn’t just say he cares about his fans, but he gives them a platform to express themselves.
Jordan stands close to Fyre as they admire the collection. Jordan hasn’t left Fyre’s side, even touching his elbow now and then. It’s not necessary, I know, but I would do the same thing. I think it’s more for Jordan’s comfort than Fyre’s.
As I watch them from a distance, it dawns on me how normal all this feels, even though normal is the last thing I should feel about our current gig.
I keep a close watch on my heart. I don’t rush into things, especially not relationships. They take effort, and more often than not, aren’t worth the heartache. But Fyre feels different. Yes, we’re his bodyguards, but we’re fast becoming something else. What, I don’t know yet.
All I know is I ‘ve never had this much fun being a tourist. Museums aren’t my thing, but I love watching Fyre enjoy himself. I love how he explains every painting and sculpture to Jordan and me. Renoir is his favorite artist, and he almost screamed when we found the collection. He’s animated and expressive in a completely different way--not a singer or a celebrity, but just a guy enjoying life.
I want to make Fyre happy for as long as possible, even though I don’t know how long that’ll be. I want to be with Fyre, and I think Jordan does too. It doesn’t bother me. In fact, we’ve shared lovers before. We don’t mind, but this isn’t just about sex.
I want to date Fyre, but I can’t bring myself to say it out loud. I feel like the three of us have been in our own world the last couple days. But if I bring up the future, I’m worried I’ll burst the bubble. I know what my heart wants, but I don’t know how to make it happen.
“Jamie,” I hear distantly.
Fyre has an arm wrapped around Jordan, but he’s waving me over with his free hand. Jordan looks even more intimidating next to Fyre’s smaller frame, but they look great together. It’s a sight for sore eyes.
“One, two, three!” Jordan yells.
We bite into our cheesesteaks at once. I watch as juice runs down Fyre’s shirt.
“No!” He moans around a mouthful of meat and bread.
I almost choke on my bite, trying to laugh and chew and failing at both. We’ve had a full day already, and it’s barely noon. We got to the museum when it opened, then saw the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall, and walked through Franklin Square.
Our stomachs were growling, and there was only one way to sate our appetites: cheesesteaks. Lunch is a greasy, salty mess, and it’s perfect.
“How do you like your first cheesesteak?” I ask.
Fyre looks at me, and licks the remainder of the au jus off his chin. Watching his tongue dart out to catch the liquid makes me salivate. If I were a lesser man, I’d lean over this table and lick it up myself. Something tells me Fyre wouldn’t complain either.
“Delicious,” he says once he’s cleaned his face. “If I wasn’t worried about my weight, I’d eat this every day. I guess I’ll limit this to once a year.”
Jordan rolls his eyes, swallowing his third bite with extra gusto.
“You have a great body, and you know it,” he says, causing Fyre to blush.
“It’s true,” I chime in.
Fyre looks at me too, the color on his cheeks making me see stars. How can blush look so good?
“This has been a perfect date,” Fyre says offhand.
I drop my cheesesteak on the stack of wax paper. I turn to Jordan, who freezes mid-bite. Fyre looks at each of us. His face is soft, but I can tell he’s holding his breath. He’s trying to gauge our reactions.
“T-this is,” I try to say. The words feel like glue in my throat. I take a swig of soda and cough to clear the airway. “I didn’t realize that’s what this was.”
“I’m sorry. I got ahead of myself.”
Fyre plays with his baseball cap as he avoids our eyes.
Shit. That’s not what I meant.
I reach across the table, leaving my hand palm up in the space between Fyre and me. He looks at it for a moment and places his hand in mine.
“We’re just surprised,” Jordan says, putting down his sandwich. “We didn’t know what you wanted.”
Fyre smiles and gives my hand a small squeeze.
“I want this to be a date. If that’s alright with you guys,” he says again, more confidence behind his eyes.
I let go as Jordan reaches forward. He cups Fyre’s face, and my chest tightens as Fyre leans into Jordan’s touch.
“Your cheeks are bright red,” he says.
I shove him a little too hard, but he deserves it.
“Christ, Jordan. Don’t embarrass him,” I chide.
Fyre clicks his tongue, a smirk on his lips as he watches us.
“I can’t help it, Jordy. Both of you … I feel like I’m wrapped around your fingers.”
“Trust me,” I say before I take a sip of my drink. “It’s the other way around.”
Before I fight Fyre any more on the issue, my phone buzzes, and I reach for napkins to wipe the oil and fat off my fingers.
How’s the job going? Did Fyre take the news well? Damon’s text reads.
I take a moment, looking up as Jordan and Fyre as they discuss Ben Franklin’s greatest achievements.
“What could be more important than the Declaration of Independence?” Jordan cries.
Fyre throws his hands up. “The other guys were more important. Besides, he literally brought lightning down from the sky! He’s practically Thor,” Fyre retorts, wielding his cheesesteak like a sword in Jordan’s face.
Something stings as I watch them. We’re bodyguards. As Damon’s text reminds me, this is supposed to be a job. Yet, I know that’s the farthest thing from the truth. I feel weird just using the word. I know it’s what we signed up for, but calling Fyre a job feels wrong.
I compromised my work days ago, when we first flew out with him. Since then, I’ve only gotten in deeper, and I don’t want to come up either. I will protect Fyre with my life, if that’s what it takes.
He’s took the news well. We aren’t letting him out of our sight. Jordan or I will update you before the flight tomorrow. I send the text and pocket my phone.
“Have you guys done this before?” Fyre asks out of nowhere.
“Done what exactly?” Jordan tries.
Fyre bites his lip, crumpling the napkins and wax paper in his hands.
“This,” he says as he points between us. “A relationship. With three guys. Does it … can it work?”
His eyes look fragile, on the verge of breaking if we tell him the wrong thing.
“Our cousins have a boyfriend,” I announce. “Mason and Logan have been dating their guy, Chance, for a few months now.”
Fyre looks up, eyes wide and eyebrows towards the sky.
“Why didn’t you say anything? I was starting to think we’d be the first,” he says, releasing a wave of tension from his body.
Jordan shrugs and smiles. “We weren’t sure what this thing was. Speaking for myself,” he says looking my way, “I didn’t want to get my hopes up either.”
Fyre closes his mouth, nodding like he finally understands. Sure, our cousins are an example, but it’s only one. What we have with Fyre isn’t common by any stretch of the imagination, but we don’t want Fyre to think it doesn’t exist.
“It doesn’t work for everyone,” I start. “But I can’t deny how I feel. How you make me feel.”
Fyre’s eyes sparkle, and I feel even lighter for speaking my mind. He should know, after all, where I stand.
“Same,” Jordan chimes in. “If it wasn’t already clear. I want this as much as Jameson does.”
&
nbsp; “Wow,” Fyre eventually mutters, brushing at his wet eyes. “Luck of the Irish, right?”
I laugh. It’s full and deep, but it reminds me I have a foot-long sandwich sloshing in my gut.
“Ouch, I think I ate too fast,” I tell them, to their amusement.
“Let’s get out of here. Where to next?” Jordan says, turning to Fyre.
Fyre shifts in his seat. He looks down at his lap, then looks up with lust in his gaze. “I trust you guys. Do you trust me?” His voice is a bit hoarse now.
Jordan and I gulp at the same time, but nod. “Of course we do.”
Fyre smiles, biting his lip again. I’d give anything to bite it too.
“You guys know how to tie knots, right?” His voice is teasing now, and the tone goes straight to my crotch.
Again, we’re nodding empathically, but my throat is too dry to respond.
“There’s one more shop I want to visit,” Fyre tells us, a wicked glint in his rich brown eyes.
“Fuck, Fyre,” Jordan says.
Jordan and I stand by the couch, while Fyre faces us from the bed. He dumps the contents of a shopping bag on the bed.
Rope.
“They’re Shibari ropes,” he says, correcting my racing thoughts. “Have you used them before?”
My cock is half-hard, and I haven’t even touched him yet. Jordan groans next to me, rubbing his face with both hands.
“Once,” Jordan admits, and my head darts towards him.
“Really?” I wonder why he’s never told me this before.
“It was a few years ago.”
I look back at Fyre, who has hunger in his eyes. There are so many questions burning behind his gaze, and it makes me want to coax them out.
“What do you want, Fyre?” My throat still feels like sandpaper.
He takes in a shuddering breath before he responds. “I want you to tie me up and fuck me,” he says confidently.
Jordan moans this time, and I have to grab at my crotch to calm the fire igniting through me.
“Are you sure?” Jordan asks this time. “You’ve been through a lot of trauma lately. We don’t want to hurt you.”
