Shine: Wild Love Series

by Red L. Jameson

  I hate that I interpret people this way. I hate that I’m always doubting them. I don’t mean to. I just…when raised in a house of lies, it’s very difficult to know the truth from anything else. I don’t mean to think people lie to me all the time. But at one point they did. My father, my mother, my uncle, all the people I loved lied to me.

  Gabe drives me back to my house, holding my hand. He’s so sweet I wonder if I’ll cry. He walks me to my door, checks inside as I stand in my foyer. I’m so taken by his actions, the strong protector. He’s a knight. I’m his damsel. I want that so much. I want to be pure like he thinks of me.

  Oh god, I want that so much.

  I want to love him, I realize. I want to fall in love and have him love me in return.

  But I’m scared I’ll never see him again. We broke an unspoken rule. Well, I broke it. I had sex with him without a condom. He smells like sex. I probably do too. I’m ashamed.

  He reaches down and sweeps a kiss against my cheek. “See you in the morning, right?”

  “What?” My voice sounds far-off, where I’ve gone.

  He gives me one of his smiles, the kind that makes me want to lean against the wall for support. “I’ll see you in the morning, princess.” Another kiss to my cheek, then he leaves.

  Will I see him? Will I ever stop doubting?

  20

  I sleep alone that night. It’s one of those nights where tossing and turning doesn’t do any good. My brain is fixated, and sleep evades me.

  Before Paul, Chris, and Gabe, I’d been alone for two-and-a-half years. The first time I’d had to face nights by myself was when I was married to Tim, when he was out gallivanting with other women. I thought being by myself made me tougher. I thought I was less needy because of it.

  But I miss my men—my cop, my fireman, and my poet. I’m lonely without them. The loneliness is like an ill-fitting gown—too tight around my chest for me to breathe, too loose around my shoulders, making me worry it might fall off and expose me.

  In the early gray dawn, I finally surrender to rest, knowing I’m going be a zombie for the day. But many of my students are half asleep. Or drunk. Or high. Maybe if I show up one time like them, they won’t hold it against me.

  But suddenly I’m inhaling deeply, fully awake, after something loud erupts in my house. It’s two minutes before my alarm clock is going to chime, and I’m not sure if the noise was from outside my house or inside. Then I hear something soft hitting the floor on the other side my bedroom door. The noise is indistinct yet heavy, like bolts of fabric tumbling onto the floor. Clutching my covers to my chest, my heart thundering, I watch and wait to scream as my bedroom door opens.

  Only, I gasp.

  It’s Chris.

  “Hey, baby. Man, are you a sight for sore eyes.” He walks into my bedroom like he owns it. He’s still wearing royal blue, but it’s wrinkled. There’s faint purple etchings of half-moons under his eyes. He looks desperately tired, smiling at the bedding as much as he is at me.

  He sits down on the corner of the bed, taking off one of his boots, when I fling myself around him, holding him.

  “You scared me.”

  He softly caresses one of my arms. “Sorry.” Looking over one of his mighty shoulders, he says, “We said we’d meet in the morning. I got that right, didn’t I?”

  I’m so relieved. He had said he’d come, but I’m not used to people—okay, men—keeping their promises. I’m shaking I’m so excited and happy. “Yes.” I have to clear my throat. “Yes, you got that perfectly right. Did you get any sleep last night? Do you get any sleep during your long shifts?”

  He shrugs and leans down for his other boot, taking me with him. “Sometimes. I got a few winks of sleep between three and five this morning, but then we had a call.” His voice sounds funny.

  “What happened?”

  He carefully places both his boots beside the bed. I’ve been holding him this whole time, but now he turns in my grasp. He easily pushes me back onto my bed, where we’re on our sides. He snuggles close, holding my waist against his. I wrap a leg around his hip, my arms around his neck. He nuzzles against my cheek then my throat.

  “Heart attack.” His voice is both soft and gravelly. “The guy died. I—we did CPR for twenty minutes, but I couldn’t get him back.”

  I hold him tighter. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Sometimes, I hate what I do. Like this morning. The wife, she watched the whole thing, and I kept pumping at his chest, worrying about her. I wanted to bring her husband back to her, but I couldn’t. I feel like shit.”

  I hold him tighter. He’s a hero. In my bed. He’s like a hero the Greeks wrote about, only his heart is golden. All the Greek heroes had to journey to the ends of the earth, do horrific duties for the gods before their hearts were like Chris’s. He’s so beautiful. So clean.

  We kiss. It’s slow and sweet. And I want to make him feel good. I wish I could cradle his heart in my hands and make him feel renewed. I wish he knew how much I adore him. But I worry he’ll think it too much.

  He’s on top of me and I open my legs, feeling his growing erection against my core. He stops and lifts his head, looking down at me.

  “I get it now.” His voice is pure gravel. “I should have just fucked you in the bathroom.”

  I’m unsure what he means.

  “After the heart attack call,” he explains, “I want to fuck you, but I’m worried you’ll think less of me.”

  I shake my head. “No, I just want to make you feel better.”

  He smiles. “Now, I’m really worried about fucking you.” He kisses down my neck. “Jane, Jane, Jane…”

  He’s tired and wants to sleep. He’s had a hell of a bad morning, and he wants to feel good for a few seconds before he rests. I can give him that. I’m happy to give him that, because he’s already given me so much.

  I lift my arms, holding my wrists together. “Hold my wrists down on the bed.”

  He looks confused.

  “Just trust me.” I lift my legs higher along his sides. I’m hoping he’ll like the surprise that I’m not wearing any underwear under my nightgown that’s currently hiked up to my hips.

  One of his huge hands manacles my wrists to the bed. Just that little thing made his cock jerk against me. Then he’s kissing me in a frenzy. He’s clumsy and fumbling for his pants, and I love it. I can hardly keep the smile off my face. My pussy is aching for him. He accidentally rubs against my clit with his efforts to unzip his fly. And he’s inside me.

  He’s usually such a considerate lover, holding still when he first enters me, so I can adjust to his girth. But now he just thrusts and thrusts. He’s grunting and holding me down and biting my neck. And I come when he finds my clit with his free hand. My wrists ache from his power. I can barely breathe from his body’s weight, and he’s stretching me almost to the point of pain. But I come anyway.

  He swears then comes too. After his tremors calm, he leans his head beside mine, releasing his hold of my wrists.

  Still catching his breath, he asks, “Was I too rough?”

  “No, just right, baby. Just right.”

  He jerks. “I forgot a condom.”

  “I’m on the pill.” I sooth him with my arms and legs.

  He huffs. “I think I want to get you pregnant, though.”

  Then my front door slams and Gabe’s voice shouts, “Man, it’s cold out there. Where’s all the snow we were promised?”

  And my thorough shock at what Chris has just said is postponed while he extracts his body from mine and we straighten up.

  “I have to use the bathroom,” I say, hoping I’m conveying how I’d like Chris to greet Gabe, how I’d like a minute to myself to freak out. Want to get me pregnant? What am I supposed to think about that? And why is Gabe here?

  Chris is already zipped up and looks a tad perkier than when he’d walked into my bedroom. He’s smiling. “Yeah, I don’t want you to get a UTI. Take care of that gorgeous little body I love so much.”<
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  In a complete stupor, I roam into the bathroom. I’m in such a daze I wonder if some weird invisible, silent bomb had been detonated. After doing what Chris prescribed to combat a UTI, I wash my hands and face and look at my pale complexion in the mirror. I don’t have a lot of color. Whatever I do possess after summer is easily washed away by late September. I’m a sheet of white. Only, I don’t think it’s just because of my fair skin.

  I don’t understand what’s going on. Chris wants to get me pregnant? Gabe is in my house? And yesterday I worried I’d never see the men ever again. So, I’m overwhelmed, having no clue what to think.

  Shakily, I emerge from my bedroom. Gabe and Chris are laughing in my kitchen. Gabe sees me and my heart stops as he smiles and walks over to me.

  “Chris talked me into cooking breakfast. I was going to make a huge omelet with cheese, because that’s about all you have in that ‘fridge of yours.” He kisses me. Just lip-to-lip locking, but it’s long and promising. He leans his forehead against mine. “You need groceries. I can get them for you while you’re at work. That okay with you?”

  My front door slams again. “It might blizzard,” Paul shouts before he’s entered my house. “It smells like a blizzard.” He walks in and smiles at everyone as he unzips his rugged forest-green parka. “Damn cold out there.”

  “That’s what I was saying,” Gabe laughs as he walks back into the kitchen, gathering a chunk of cheese and grating with an efficiency I wish I had. “You seriously think it’ll finally snow? I mean that thing it did yesterday with the tiny dusting of flakes was pathetic. I want real snow.”

  Paul kisses me on my cheek. His lips are cold and I’m startled. We hold hands while he’s looking down at me in my nightgown.

  “You look beautiful this morning.”

  My heart stumbles all the more at Paul’s compliment.

  He leans his head down. “You okay?”

  But before I can respond—and, honestly, I’m a bit too shocked at whatever it is that’s going on to form words—Paul’s gaze is snagged by something on the floor outside my bedroom.

  Two black duffle bags, huge things, the kind of bags I can easily climb into, are lined up beside the wall.

  “What the hell is this?” Paul asks. He doesn’t sound incensed. Just mildly amused. “You two planning on moving in?”

  Gabe chuckles. “I know. Chris and I laughed at that too.”

  Chris rubs the back of his head. “After I sleep a little, I can get some of your things for you, Paul. I’m sure you’d like your books over here. I just need some sleep first. But before that, I need to eat. Hurry it up, Gabe.”

  Gabe pushes Chris away from the stove in a feigning aggressive move men and boys do. They play so different from girls and women. Maybe we woman should push each other around and punch each other, call each other fuckers. I really don’t know. But it seems to work with the three men in my house. They have an easy camaraderie I don’t understand.

  Chris had said Gabe and Paul were his friends. And I hadn’t thought much of it. But they are. They’re buddies in on some secret I don’t know. My eyes begin to sting. I’m so confused. I don’t understand the duffle bags, this friendship between my lovers, what they’re doing in my house. I’d been miserable to be alone last night, and now I’m so bewildered that they’re here. Together.

  I’d expected each of them to run from me. To think me a slut and walk away, disgust in their eyes. But they aren’t—disgusted or running from me. And my heart…my heart might burst. Chris might need to give me CPR because something’s hurting so much inside my chest.

  Paul tugs on my hand. “You okay, honey?”

  Paul’s voice is serious and both Gabe and Chris look at me. My idiotic eyes brim over with tears. I want to hide. I hate that I’m crying and pull my hand away from Paul to cover my face.

  “Did any of you assholes ask if moving in with Jane was okay with her?” Paul’s voice is steely.

  There’s a very long pause, then Gabe and Chris are walking to me, saying something. I can’t tell since all of them are talking at once. Trying to back away, because I really don’t want them to see me like this, I trip on one of the duffle bags and land on my ass, in a heap by my bedroom door.

  “I’m so sorry, baby. I can take my stuff back to my apartment. I just…”

  “It was presumptive to think I could bring my stuff. I’m sorry. But I…”

  “Just what were you two thinking?”

  “No,” I finally blurt, interrupting everyone from talking. They’re surrounding me, kneeling, trying to help.

  “Just give me a second, please.” God, my voice is wobbly and soft.

  The men seem to hold their breath.

  “I just…I don’t understand what’s happening.”

  They’re still quiet.

  “I don’t understand any of this.” I wish I sounded just a tiny iota stronger. “Are we, as in all of us—what are we to each other? What—what’s going on?”

  Paul sighs and sits in front of me. I’m leaning against the wall and partially on a duffel bag. It smells like Chris, clean and male. I like that it’s here.

  “Okay.” Paul nods. “You’re right. We need to talk.”

  Gabe winces like Paul asked him for a tooth, root and all.

  “I can only speak for myself,” Paul says. “But I think we’re taking our relationship with you to the next level. I mean, we like you, we want to keep seeing you.” He looks to Chris and Gabe. “Right?”

  Chris smiles. “Yeah. I want to keep seeing you. I’m sorry about the duffel. I can take it back to my apartment. I didn’t mean it as a sign of—I just wanted my stuff around. But maybe I’m moving too fast.”

  Gabe shuffles around all of us, behind me. He slides down and I’m trapped between him and a duffel bag. Paul and Chris have effectively closed off any other exits. Not that I’m thinking of leaving them, of leaving this moment. But I’m used to looking for exits. I always need to know how to get out. I need to know how best to run.

  Only, I can’t.

  And I don’t want to.

  It’s an odd time to think of my husband, but I do. I didn’t run from him. I think I stayed because he was the only man who ran faster than me. He ran from commitment, from our vows, from me and my love. When he needed me, he didn’t run. But what choice did he have? It was either me who loved him, his mother who was abrasive, or strangers in a hospice.

  I didn’t run from taking care of my dying husband. I lived every single agonizing yet fantastic second. He lost fifty pounds, lost his hair, and still the man could make me laugh. God, I miss him. He’d think three men surrounding me, doting on me…he’d think it was funny. Not in a joke kind of way. He’d think, as he told me when he was dying, I should be waited on hand and foot. Like a queen.

  I rolled my eyes as the beep of his heart monitor reassured me he was still alive for that moment.

  Tim looked at me with his devilish smile and said, “After the shit I put you through, you deserve a fucking country, Jane. And when I die, I’ll make sure to give it to you. I’ll haunt your ass. You’ll see. I’ll make men, so many men, fall in love with you. Good men.”

  I worried he was going to say, “Good men who aren’t like me.” He looked like he was going to say that. But he smiled and told me he loved me. I whispered it back.

  After he died, that’s when the anger started. I hated him for cheating on me. I hated him for not loving me the way I wanted him to. I hated him for dying. I hated him so fucking much because it just hurt too much to be without him, because I loved him with my whole heart. And so I clung to my husband by being angry.

  But I have these three men trapping me. And I don’t mind.

  I can’t feel my companion, my anger at Tim.

  I can only feel…oh, I don’t know what. But I think I just might be falling in love.

  Gabe cradles me. “You need a definition of what’s going on? Well, the best I got is this is weird as fuck.”

  I laugh. />
  “I don’t get it, Jane,” he keeps whispering, soothing me. “But maybe there’s nothing to get. I mean, when I first saw Paul—sorry Paul—I thought, yeah, I could get rid of him. I could compete with him and win you over.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Paul frowns, but it’s a playful gesture, and I can feel Gabe laughing against my back.

  “But when I saw Chris walk through the door, the way he looked at you…” Gabe sniffs. “I knew I was fucked.”

  “What’s that mean?” Chris asks.

  Gabe sighs. “Chris, dude, you’re the nicest man alive. Seriously, no one is nicer than you. Not even Jane. Sorry, Jane.”

  I giggle and watch Chris. He’s not sure how to handle what Gabe is saying, but he doesn’t look offended.

  “And then we got drunk,” Gabe keeps talking, “and I realized I liked Paul. He’s a good guy. So maybe I couldn’t compete with him. And you and Paul are both doctorates and understand the whole university-snob thing—”

  I turn and look up at Gabe. “You think I’m a snob?”

  He smiles down at me. “No, but I’m not a smarty pants like you.”

  “That’s not true. You—”

  Gabe puts his hand over my mouth. “I don’t talk a lot, Jane, but for you, right now, I’m making an exception. Maybe just listen for a second then you can argue with me.”

  Under his palm, I say, “Okay, but this is the only time you get to use that as an excuse for shutting me up by putting your hand over my mouth. And you’re very much a smarty pants, by the way. Oh, on second thought, I might ask you to put your hand over my mouth in bed.”

  He silently chuckles then slowly shakes his head. “Funny girl. Anyway, I don’t know what it is. But that night, the night where we all met and got drunk, I realized I didn’t want to compete. Sure, I’m a greedy guy and would love to have you be just mine. But…Chris and Paul are great too. And I don’t know how, but we get along. And this just works. I don’t get it. But it is what it is. I think I can speak for Paul and Chris and let you know we want you to be in our lives. We have no clue what that will look like. But we’re doing this.”