The Best Laid Plans

by Lauren Gallagher

  “Birthday gift.” I rolled my eyes. “Exactly what every Muslim wants when he turns thirty-five.”

  She laughed. “That really does sound like something Jennifer would do.”

  “Yep. Par for the course.” Gabe poured some more wine in both their glasses. “It’s probably some good wine, though. We really should drink it one of these days.”

  “Think she’d be offended if I used it for cooking instead?”

  “Probably.” Gabe took a sip. “I’ll look up some recipes this week.”

  Chuckling, I patted his leg. “Good.”

  “You guys are bad.” She winked. “I love it.”

  “Birds of a feather,” I said. “And by the way, it’s good to see you feeling better again.”

  “Thanks.” She whistled, shaking her head. “This week sucked. And yes, I took your advice and went to the doctor yesterday. She wants to do an ultrasound just to make sure everything looks normal.” Kendra wrinkled her nose. “So that sounds like a fun way to spend an afternoon.”

  “Yeah, but better safe than sorry.”

  “Says the man who doesn’t have to get his nether regions probed.”

  Gabe snorted.

  Kendra rolled her eyes. “Oh my God. You guys.”

  My cheeks burned, and I shook my head. “You two went there. Not me.”

  “Mmhmm. So, anyway, I have the ultrasound tomorrow, and then Friday, I’m going straight from school to the airport.” She frowned. “So I probably won’t see you guys again until after the New Year.”

  “Well, fingers crossed that everything’s fine on the ultrasound, and of course, have a safe trip.” Gabe grinned. “I guess that leaves us with tonight to give you a proper sendoff, though, doesn’t it?”

  Kendra licked her lips. “I guess it does.”

  Gabe glanced at me, and his grin sent a shiver right down my spine. He lifted his eyebrows slightly. I nodded.

  Then he turned to her. “Well, he’s got a point. We’ll miss you over break, but you are here tonight.”

  “Yes, I am.” She moistened her lips. “And some of us haven’t been able to get laid for the last week.” She gestured at herself. “So you boys better give me a proper sendoff.”

  “Well.” Gabe corked the wine bottle. “I guess we should take you upstairs, shouldn’t we?”

  * * * * *

  We took her upstairs, and the three of us stripped each other down, and though it felt like ages since the last time we’d all been in bed together, suddenly, there we were. Kissing. Touching. Hands on skin, skin against skin, nothing but the sounds of breathing and moving.

  Gabe rolled Kendra onto her back, and she wrapped her legs around him. For a long moment, all I did was stare, watching them, drinking in the sight of those two beautiful people kissing on top of the sheets. He still took my breath away after all these years, but seeing him tangled up with her, with soft feminine curves emphasizing his harder angles, was erotic in a way I’d never imagined. His hands traced the swell of her hips, and my mouth watered.

  Then she spread her legs a little farther apart, and as his hips made a slow, curving forward motion, she gasped. He moaned. I shivered. As if watching them kiss hadn’t been hot enough, watching him ride her slowly was unbelievable. The absence of jealousy tightening my chest or coiling in the pit of my stomach was conspicuous—I really had gotten used to this, hadn’t I?

  Gotten used to it? Hardly. I loved it. Everything about it. The sounds Kendra made, the way Gabe’s brow furrowed and his muscles quivered from the exertion of moving so slowly, the way their bodies seemed to just fit together. Jealousy had long since left the building because I knew Gabe would be all mine later—and he’d be insatiable—and these two would hardly leave me feeling neglected.

  He murmured something to her and then pulled out and sat back.

  Kendra pushed herself up and shifted toward me. She reached for my erection—oh yes, finally—but then looked up and hesitated. “This is okay, right?”

  “Y-yeah.” I swept my tongue across my lips. “Not gonna say no to…” I trailed off into a groan as she took me into her mouth. Man or woman—didn’t matter. She was arguably as talented with her mouth as Gabe—flicking her tongue here, fluttering it or circling it there.

  Gabe knelt behind her, and I bit my lip. When he touched her lower back, she paused and looked over her shoulder, and they both grinned. Then she went down on me again, and when he pushed into her, she moaned, her voice vibrating against my skin and lifting my spine off the bed.

  This was rapidly becoming one of my favorite things ever. Most of our threesomes found their way to this point eventually, and I loved it—Kendra on her hands and knees, working her magic on me with her lips and tongue while Gabe thrust into her from behind. Gorgeous. Just gorgeous. And so, so deliciously hot. Every time Gabe’s hips hit her, the impact reverberated through her and right into me. Her moans hit my most sensitive nerve endings, and the more he turned her on, the more she stroked and sucked me.

  He picked up speed, biting his lip as the cords stood out from his neck and his hips slapped against her. She took me deeper in her mouth, head bobbing almost in time with his thrusts and hot breath rushing across my skin.

  I tangled my fingers in her hair, holding on but trying not to restrain her or push her down onto me. I just… I needed… Had to have something to hang on to because she…

  I gasped. My back arched and my toes curled.

  “Oh,” Gabe whispered. “You’re gonna make him come. Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.”

  She did. She definitely did. Lips, tongue, hands—she was unbelievable.

  She didn’t stop, and he didn’t stop, and I was ready to lose my mind. Two of the most beautiful people I’d ever seen. Both naked. Both flush with arousal. Both sweating.

  I met his gaze.

  Then hers.

  And lost it.

  I’d barely cried out before Gabe threw his head back, pulled Kendra’s hips against him, and groaned, and she kept rocking her hips and bobbing her head until she couldn’t keep our orgasms going on a moment longer.

  He withdrew. She lay on her back beside me, and he collapsed opposite her.

  “Holy shit,” he murmured. “You know we’re all going to set the bed on fire when you come back after a couple of weeks, right?”

  I laughed, though it took some effort. “We’ll have to keep 911 on speed-dial, won’t we?”

  “Yes, we will.” Gabe turned on his side and trailed his fingers down the middle of Kendra’s chest. “But in the meantime…” He slipped his hand between her thighs, and Kendra gasped. In her ear, but loud enough for me to hear, he whispered, “Someone hasn’t come yet.”

  Kendra whimpered softly. “Just like that,” she moaned, squeezing her eyes shut. “Oh God. Gabe…”

  I hooked a finger under her chin, turned her toward me and kissed her. Sharp huffs of breath rushed past my face. She gripped my arm, digging her nails in, and squirmed beside me as Gabe drove her wild. She twisted and arched and trembled, and her kiss grew more frantic by the second, her gasps sharper and shallower, and—

  “Fuck!” She dropped back onto the pillow, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open but no more sound coming out, and Gabe and I exchanged grins as he drew her orgasm out until she was a whimpering, shaking wreck.

  He leaned over her and kissed me. “Mission accomplished, I’d say.”

  “I agree. But maybe we should let her rest, and then do it all over again, just to be sure.”

  “I love the way you think.” He kissed me once more, winked, and we settled on either side of her.

  “If you wanna do it all over again,” she slurred, “please feel free.”

  “Oh, we will.” He teased her nipple with a fingertip, making her gasp. “After you catch your breath, of course.”

  “Good idea.” She lic
ked her lips and then looked at each of us in turn. With a grin, she said, “You boys definitely know how to give a girl a proper sendoff.”

  Sendoff. Right. For a little while, I’d forgotten that in a couple of days, she’d be gone to visit her family. That we wouldn’t see her again until January.

  And weirdly enough, I was already counting down the days until she came back.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Gabe

  It was funny how Christmas was a time for people to come together, and yet it always felt so lonely for me.

  As I walked up the church steps with my parents and grandmother, not to mention my siblings and their families, I was surrounded by people. Especially since the church was packed, as it always was on Christmas Eve.

  “All the Christmas-and-Easter Catholics,” I could hear my late grandfather muttering. “Either come to church or don’t.”

  Yeah. Guilty. But I always spent Christmas with my family, and my family never, ever missed Mass. Especially not this time of year.

  I took a seat in the pew between my mother and my brother-in-law. As more people came in, we all had to get pretty cozy, until everyone had to sit ramrod straight with arms tucked into our ribs so we wouldn’t elbow the people next to us.

  I missed the days when Christmas Eve meant a restless Mass for an excited kid who didn’t want to sit still. As soon as we’d get home, my siblings and I would bolt for the tree, where we’d be allowed to select one gift to open before bed. The next morning, it would be pajamas, Mom’s homemade cranberry-orange muffins, and shredded wrapping paper all over the living room. Mass was excruciating but exciting at the same time. Just like trying to sleep on Christmas Eve.

  These days, it was hard not to be in a little bit of a funk when I came to Christmas Mass. Though people were wedged into the creaking, protesting pews, I was always aware of the metaphorical empty space beside me. The arm that wasn’t around my shoulders, the smile I wouldn’t see if I stole a glance.

  Christmas Mass had been exponentially harder since Andy and Rick Sanderlin-Jones had joined my parents’ church. This had always been a pretty progressive church, and the presence of an openly gay couple—a couple who’d been married right up there at the altar—made me wish I could be here with my partner. Except it wasn’t our sexuality that kept us apart on Christmas.

  Shahid would be uncomfortable here, and I’d never make him attend, but admittedly, there were times when I wished I could share Christmas with my husband. I envied the people sitting shoulder to shoulder with their spouses. Even more so, the ones with a couple of kids between them. What I wouldn’t have given to spend a Christmas Mass subtly trying to hush a couple of restless children. Or just have my husband next to me with our fingers laced together on his leg or mine.

  In ways I could never begin to explain to my family, I looked forward to Ramadan every year. Shahid always worked shorter shifts during that time, so he was home more. Muslims were supposed to be extra involved in charity during Ramadan, so he’d put in some hours at soup kitchens, Habitat for Humanity, and a couple of LGBT youth shelters, and I’d volunteer with him. I wasn’t participating in the holy month per se—though I wouldn’t eat in front of him when he was fasting—but the charity part was something we could do together. And as a bonus, we got to spend more time together. July was always a little depressing because he’d go back to working his normal shifts at the hospital. In fact, I’d usually stay on at the charities until school started again. They always needed people, and it kept me out of the otherwise empty house.

  The holidays on my end of the religious spectrum weren’t quite as easy for us to work around. The only thing we’d come up with was sharing Lent. I wasn’t sure how he and his imam had worked it out, but he’d managed to turn it into his own form of Muslim devotion. We’d both give something up, and when he was home, he’d cook the most amazing fish on Fridays. My mother would’ve had kittens if she knew, and his family wasn’t thrilled about it, but he’d cleared it with his imam, and it gave us something. A little bit of spiritual common ground, even if we adhered to different religions. Hopefully our respective gods understood.

  And then I’d spend Easter with my parents while he worked. He’d end his version of Lent during his salat, and neither of us would have to gently explain to my grandmother that no, Shahid wasn’t turning up his nose at her famous honey-glazed ham, and no, he wasn’t being disrespectful by bowing out of Mass.

  It wasn’t the most traditional arrangement, and not everyone in Shahid’s family or mosque approved of it, but that little bit of common ground between us went a long way.

  Lent was still a ways off, though, and Ramadan wasn’t for several months. Right now, it was the season of Catholic holidays for me, and double shifts for him.

  Sitting here in the pew with my family, I was torn between guilt and loneliness. Nobody could feel guilt like a Catholic, and a Catholic who was committing adultery—with or without his husband’s consent, and whether or not it was for the purpose of procreation—had plenty of reason to feel guilty.

  But the loneliness cut deeper tonight. I was with my family, and yet I wasn’t. And I wouldn’t be. I couldn’t bring Shahid here.

  And it wasn’t just Shahid who was missing.

  Kendra should be here too.

  But that didn’t make sense. Except it kind of did. She wasn’t just a friend or a casual lover. She was the woman who was going to carry our baby. A surrogate, and somehow not.

  As I sat there in the crowded pew, gazing up at the front of the church and hearing absolutely nothing, I couldn’t helping thinking that what had developed between Shahid, Kendra and me wasn’t as clinical as a surrogate arrangement. She wouldn’t deliver the baby and then exit stage left. I didn’t want her to. Shahid didn’t want her to.

  But how was I supposed to explain to either of them that over the past few weeks, things had changed? I couldn’t even define it myself. Putting it into words for them seemed nearly impossible.

  Looking around at the other couples and families, I was hyperaware of Shahid’s absence beside me, and the absence of children between us, but also of Kendra’s absence.

  What did that mean? She was agnostic. She was a friend playing the role of a surrogate.

  Why in the world did I want her here beside me just like I wanted Shahid here? An arm around him. An arm around her. It didn’t make sense. And yet, it did.

  While the priest went on and on, I lifted my gaze to the crucifix on the wall behind him. I wasn’t the best Catholic in the world, but I was drawn to that image now. Compelled to actually pray for the first time in a long time.

  I inhaled slowly, my cheeks burning as I silently sent up thoughts that would’ve scandalized everyone here.

  God, you know what I’m doing with Shahid and Kendra. You know why. Are we doing the right thing? Is this going to blow up in our faces?

  And what exactly is this I’m feeling for her all of a sudden?

  Help?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Kendra

  “When are you going to have some of your own?”

  I pulled my gaze away from all the rugrats opening presents from Santa and turned to my older sister. “I guess it’ll happen when the time’s right.”

  Jamie scowled. “You know women only have so much time, right?”

  “Of course I do.” I gritted my teeth and shifted my attention back to the kids. There was no shortage of young children in this family—and older kids, since Jamie had started early—but somehow, my lack of them was always conspicuous.

  “Kendra, you’re in your thirties. You—”

  “I’m aware of that,” I said as calmly as I could, and turned to her again. “But it takes two, you know.” Or three, in this case. But no one here needs to know about that.

  “Are you seeing anybody?”

  “Not right now, no.”
r />   “Really?” She raised her thin eyebrows. “You know, I’ve got a friend who—”

  “Jamie. Don’t. Please.” I put up a hand. “It’s Christmas. Can I not think about my lack of a love life right now?”

  “I’m sorry. I’d just hate to see you wake up one day and realize you’re out of time to—”

  “I need some more coffee.” I stood and walked out of the living room, stepping over kids and wrapping paper on my way to the kitchen. Mercifully, she didn’t follow.

  I paused beside the counter and just took a few deep breaths. Over and over, I reminded myself that she meant well. Everyone in the family had been concerned about me since the divorce, and they’d fretted over my childlessness since the day Tim proposed.

  “Just go for it,” several people had told me when I’d said Tim and I were undecided about children. “You’ll adore them!”

  Good thing I hadn’t listened to that advice.

  And after the divorce, I’d been bombarded with names and numbers of single men, not to mention constant reminders that I needed to find someone and settle down before it was too late to have kids.

  Cursing under my breath—sorry, Santa—I refilled my coffee cup. It could’ve been worse, I supposed. I could only imagine what Gabe was putting up with at this very moment.

  That thought gave me pause. Yeah, I got kind of lonely sometimes, but at least I wasn’t spending Christmas away from my partner. Sure, I had to catch some grief for not tying down a sperm donor—oh, if people only knew—but I’d take that over spending the holiday knowing the man I loved was someplace else.

  My heart sank a little as I sipped my coffee. Poor Gabe.

  I took my phone out and quickly thumbed a text.

  Merry Christmas. :)

  Apparently he was already awake and had his phone handy, because he wrote back a moment later, Merry Christmas, along with a little emoji of a snowman.

  I smiled and tucked my phone back in my pocket. He’d see Shahid again soon. Probably tomorrow, depending on weather and Shahid’s shifts. And after New Year’s, I’d see them both again, and the world would be right.