by Lolita Lopez
Sadness filtered through Whitney. God, he was right. She really didn’t stand a chance. Mick and Eddie shared an amazing bond, one borne of years of friendship and romance. Even if they grew to love her, she would never have that with them. She couldn’t compete with that.
“Hey,” Mick said, playfully chucking her chin. “Don’t look like that. You’re breaking my heart.”
“Yeah…well…I’m afraid you’re both going to break mine,” she confessed with a sniffle.
“What?” Mick was taken aback. “No. Never. Why would you think that?”
“You said it yourself. You and Eddie have been together for ages. Where do I fit into that dynamic?” She shrugged. “Maybe this is the reason you two haven’t been able to find a third to complete your trio. No one wants to be the odd man out.” She scooted back her chair and grabbed her iPad. “Especially me.”
Mick didn’t say a word as she gathered up her purse, found her car keys, and headed out to the garage. She ignored the painful lump in her throat as she slid into the front seat of her car and hit the button on the garage door opener hooked to the sun visor. Somehow she managed not to cry as she backed out of the driveway and onto the street. Shallow as it sounded, the thought of having to fix her makeup held the tears at bay.
Whitney’s commute seemed shorter than usual. Her distracted mind made her nervous, so she continually fought to keep her focus on the traffic instead of the troubling thoughts swirling round and round in her head. Clearly, the honeymoon phase was over.
How could she have been so foolish? Jumping blindly into a new job and a new and very complicated relationship was just plain stupid. If she’d been a man, she’d have accused herself of thinking with her dick instead of her head. As it was, she blamed it on her overactive libido and those stacks of erotica she read. Everything was rainbows and ponies in fiction. In real life? Not so much.
Whitney parked her car in her usual spot and took a moment to check her reflection. She applied a quick coat of lipstick, grabbed her purse, and slid out of the car. The small red compact beeped reassuringly after she hit the lock button on her key fob. She sucked in a deep, cleansing breath and shoved her personal problems to the far corner of her mind. She had a job to do and refused to let her sex life interfere with her professional one.
* * * *
Still in a rotten mood, Eddie flopped down in a booth at his favorite diner and stared at the lunch menu. The rest of his team had given him a wide berth. He didn’t blame them. He was being an absolute bear. What he needed was a swift kick in the ass.
Eddie rubbed his hand down his face and tried to force the looping image of Whitney’s hurt expression from his mind. He’d been such a jackass to her. It was wrong, really wrong of him, and he didn’t know what to do about it. Apologize? Sure, but how?
He’d considered calling or texting, but he knew she had a very busy day. The last thing he wanted to do was rattle her nerves. He’d already done enough damage for one day.
Why had he snapped at her like that? He kept running the scenario, and it never made sense. Her question had made him uneasy, and he’d overreacted. He didn’t like to think about those tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. Three rounds of combat had done a number on him. If it hadn’t been for Mick and his insistence that Eddie attend private therapy, god only knew where he’d have ended up by now.
Probably staring into a bottle every night…
But he’d avoided that rather-ugly possibility. He’d learned to deal with the stress and trauma. He rarely experienced violent or painful dreams. His flashbacks were mostly gone and only very infrequently triggered. He avoided most violent films and video games. He made a point of talking out messy crime scenes with Mick who wasn’t afraid of a little gore and always listened without judgment.
Thinking back, Eddie realized he’d never spoken of the firefight that ended his military career with Whitney because she’d never asked. She wasn’t the typical woman with a near fetish for men in uniforms. Most of the women Eddie had dated liked to ask probing questions about his time in the Army. His usual tactic was to give a succinct answer and quickly change the subject. He didn’t want to be the star of some woman’s military fantasy. He didn’t want to relive the horrors of war to play into some gal’s sex dream or to satisfy morbid curiosity.
Eddie sat back against the cracked-leather seat. Whitney knew he’d been in the military. She’d commented on the pictures in his room once or twice in those early weeks of their roommate arrangement, but she’d never pried. She’d simply nodded and left it alone. Somehow she’d known it was off-limits.
And he’d yelled at her for finally feeling comfortable enough with him to ask.
God, he’d really fucked this one up.
His inner psychiatrist pushed for answers. Why had he blown up like that? Why had he told her it wasn’t any of her business when, clearly, it was?
Miranda.
He shuddered inwardly at the very thought of that lying bitch. She’d been one of those war-hero junkies. She’d been his nurse in the VA hospital where he’d been sent for treatment and therapy. Man, he’d been so blind and stupid. He’d fallen for her hook, line, and sinker.
And then she’d met Mick and had happily become the filling in their man-sandwich, so to speak. Eddie had allowed himself to dream. He’d envisioned all those things he’d been craving for so long only to have his hopes dashed.
Those old scars on his body were like the physical manifestations of the emotional wounds she’d inflicted. He didn’t like to talk about them because it brought up all those old memories of Miranda, memories he preferred remained buried.
But those were his hang-ups and didn’t give him the right to snap at Whitney like that.
He sighed heavily and dug in his pocket for his cell phone. His finger moved over the screen as he dialed the only person he trusted for advice.
“About damn time you call!” Mick’s irritated tone carried across the airwaves.
“I know,” Eddie agreed. “So-how do I fix this?”
* * * *
Whitney steered her car into the open spot in the garage next to Mick’s, noting Eddie had parked his truck in the driveway. Her stomach churned at the sight of his vehicle. That meant he was home, and they would have to talk about breakfast. The bigger question would also arise. Where the hell was this relationship going?
For a moment, she considered backing out and heading to a friend’s house to crash for the night. Running away from an uncomfortable confrontation was so much more appealing than facing it head-on. Oddly, Whitney had no problem with directness when it came to work. She’d fired lazy interns and told off pushy publicists without blinking an eye, but this? This scared the shit out of her.
She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel as she tried to decide whether or not to flee. After a minute of waffling, she growled in frustration and killed the engine. Her finger stabbed the garage door button, and she reluctantly climbed out of her car. She slung her purse over one shoulder and gathered her courage before marching into the lion’s den.
Whitney stepped into the kitchen from the laundry room and immediately noticed the brown paper bag on the counter. Cartons stamped with the logo of her very favorite Italian restaurant were stacked on either side. Someone had uncorked a bottle of wine. She snuck a peek in the fridge and discovered that delicious chocolate and caramel cheesecake she always ordered at that restaurant.
Her attention was drawn away from the delectable dessert in the fridge by the sound of voices from the living room. She placed her purse on the counter and went to investigate. What she found knocked her for six as her British girlfriend, Rebecca, would say.
There were collages everywhere. White poster boards covered in pictures sat on the couch and chairs and were propped up against the wall. Eddie kneeled next to a photo box and flicked through the contents. There were stacks of video tapes and CDs in jewels cases all around Mick’s perch on the coffee table. His laptop was out and surrounded by
a dozen thumb drives.
“What in the world is all this?” She announced her appearance with a question and stepped into the living room.
Eddie hopped to his feet. “Whitney!”
Her stomach flip-flopped. “Eddie.”
Mick glanced from face to face. She glanced at him and then turned her focus back to Eddie as he crossed the distance between them. He tentatively reached out for her but stopped halfway. He looked almost afraid. Of what, she wondered.
Rejection. The word came to mind so blindingly fast. He was afraid she’d reject him.
She mustered an encouraging smile and took his hand. He visibly relaxed and interlaced their fingers. “I’m sorry, Whitney. This morning was inexcusable. I shouldn’t have snapped at you or shut down like that.”
“I shouldn’t have pushed. You’re right. It’s not any of my business.”
“No,” he said with a strident shake of his head. “It is your business. You’ve shared so much with me, with us”-he turned toward Mick- “about your life. You’ve even told us about the painful things, about your mother’s drug problems and her overdose, about your aunt abandoning you in the CPS office, and about growing up in foster care. The least I can do is tell you about my time in the military.”
She gestured around the room with her free hand. “So…this?”
Mick grinned and stood up. “After you left this morning, I started thinking about what you said. You’re right. You can’t compete with the history Eddie and I share.”
Her chest constricted at that admission.
“And you shouldn’t have to,” he continued. He pointed at the collages. “This is our past, our history, and we’re going to share it with you.”
“After this”-Eddie squeezed her hand-“everything we share is our new history. The history of us.”
Whitney melted like a pat of butter tossed in a hot pan. “You guys,” she said tearfully, “that’s so sweet. And super romantic,” she added with a sniffle. “Totally out of character for the two of you.”
“Hey,” Mick protested with a laugh. “We’re not that bad.”
“Come here, sugar.” Eddie pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly to his chest. She relaxed against the solid wall of muscle and let his body heat warm her skin. He smelled so very good. Mick sidled up to her back and locked his arms around them both. She enjoyed the security of their shared embrace.
Eddie tipped her chin and claimed her mouth. His tongue swiped hers-and then he pulled back rather abruptly. A slight frown curved his lips. “Have you been drinking?”
“What?” Mick turned her face and tasted her mouth in a quick kiss. He narrowed his eyes and sighed. “Lime. Mint. Mojitos.”
“So?” Whitney shrugged. “It was just one drink at a cocktail party.”
“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve been up to my elbows in the bleeding belly of a pretty young girl like you who just had one drink before getting behind the wheel?” Mick’s consternation was evident. “One drink is one drink too many to drive, Whitney.”
“If you want to drink, call one of us to come get you,” Eddie said, slowly spinning her around to face him again. “You’re much too precious to risk your life like that.”
“And the lives of others,” Mick interjected. “I’ve seen it so many times, Whit. Some drunk slams into a minivan full of kids.” He shook his head. “Could you live with something like that on your conscience?”
She felt so small as the two men chided her for admittedly stupid behavior. It was just one drink, but it was still alcohol, and that kind of blasé mentality could really get her into trouble. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I won’t do it again. I promise.”
“You better not,” Eddie warned. “Or else I’ll turn you over my lap and whip that pretty ass of yours.”
Her thighs clenched. “You wouldn’t!”
“The hell I won’t,” he replied in all seriousness. “Just give me a reason, Whitney. My hands are itching to get on your backside.”
She gulped. How often had she fantasized about Eddie disciplining her like that? Her pussy ached at the very idea of his big, strong hand smacking her soft ass. Oh, she’d have to think long and hard about this one. Maybe it would be worth riling up Eddie with some annoying little thing to get her bottom spanked.
“Down, boy.” Mick laughed and winked at Eddie. “There’s plenty of time for that kind of thing later. Right now, we’ve got stories to tell and dinner to eat.”
“Yes, dinner, definitely,” Whitney said, her stomach growling and her heart racing. Food seemed like a good way to diffuse some of the sexual tension. It was either stuff her face or crawl onto Eddie’s lap and admit she was a bad, bad girl in need of some serious discipline.
Feeling a little dizzy with lust, Whitney stepped out of the guys’ arms and headed toward the kitchen. “Living room or dining room?”
“Living room,” Mick decided. “We’ll nosh while we fill you in.”
“And later,” Eddie said with a sly smirk, “we’ll fill you up.”
Chapter Six
Hours later, they lounged together on the sofa. Whitney and Mick enjoyed a glass of wine while Eddie nursed his second beer. Her sides ached from laughter. The stories the guys had told! My god, she hadn’t giggled that hard in years. These two had gotten up to some serious shenanigans in their younger years.
She understood their bond so much better. She realized, too, that Mick was right. She didn’t have to compete with the past. It wasn’t some scary unknown now. It was a group of facts they’d shared with her, so she felt a part of them. Inclusion was so important in a polyamorous relationship. It was so easy for one partner to feel left out when there were three or more people involved.
Whitney sighed as Mick’s hand caressed her bare thigh. She stretched her aching feet. “Boy, my dogs are barking tonight.”
Eddie patted his leg. “Put them up here.”
She happily complied, turning her body so her back rested against Mick’s chest and her feet in Eddie’s lap. She’d kicked off her shoes before dinner, but that had given her poor abused arches little relief. Whitney groaned as Eddie massaged her right foot. “Oh, god, that feels so good.”
“You’ve really got to stop wearing those killer heels,” Mick advised in his doctor voice. “They’re terrible for your feet, honey.”
“I wore flats today.”
“You need something with more support.” Eddie concentrated on her arch. “You’re going to end up needing surgery by the time you’re thirty.”
“I work in fashion, guys. I have to rock the latest style.”
Eddie shook his head. “Whatever.”
Whitney rolled her eyes. “I find it rather hilarious that the two of you are coming down on me for wearing high heels when you’re a SWAT officer, and you sometimes work twenty-four-hour shifts and expose yourself to HIV and all kinds of other infectious diseases.” She snorted. “I mean, really?”
“Touché,” Mick allowed with a little laugh. He planted a kiss on her neck and massaged her shoulders. “You’re tense, baby.”
“I’ve got a lot of stress at work. You two know how it is.” They both made noises of agreement. “I figure the next month or two will be really crazy, and then hopefully I’ll hit my stride at the new place, and things will ease up a bit.”
“Let’s hope,” Eddie murmured.
“Lean forward,” Mick instructed before sliding out from behind her. He used a throw pillow to prop her up. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to grab some stuff I bought today and see what you think.”
“Stuff?” Whitney wondered what he’d purchased. He’d grabbed everything on the shopping list she and Eddie had put together, so it had to be something other than groceries. She called out loudly, “Did you go clothes shopping?”
“Doubt it,” Eddie answered. “We know the rules. You have to approve our clothes before we buy.”
“And we wouldn’t have that rule if someone”-she gestured with her t
humb toward the hallway-“hadn’t gone through that very unfortunate sweater phase.”
“I looked good in those sweaters!” Mick protested as he returned to the living room. “The layered look was totally right for me.”
“Sweetie,” Whitney said with a laugh, “take it from me. It really, really wasn’t.”
Eddie chuckled as he finished massaging her feet and let his hands slide up her calves. She hummed with enjoyment and settled back against the soft pillow.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Mick advised. “We’re just getting started.”
“Oh?” Her glance fell on the black gift bag and towel in his arms. “What’s in there?”
He presented her with the bag. “Why don’t you find out?”
Whitney took the bag. Mick cleared a spot on the coffee table and sat down. Anticipation high, she peeked into the bag-and nearly died. “Sex toys? You bought me sex toys?”
“Happy very early birthday,” Eddie joked.
Mick picked up one of the anal plugs. “We thought you could use some toys of your own before we started to play. I picked out some of the beginner models.”
“Well, I mean”-she fidgeted nervously-“I have some toys but none of these kind.”
“I told you!” Eddie grinned triumphantly at Mick. He caught Whitney’s gaze and sought confirmation. “Bottom drawer of your nightstand, right?”
“Boy, there’s no hiding anything from you, is there?” she asked with a laugh. “Yes, I keep my vibrators in that drawer.”
“Vibrators? Plural?” Mick wondered.
“Yes, plural. Two of them. A simple rabbit-style one and a Hitachi wand.”
“Whoa!” Mick looked surprised. “You don’t mess around! That Hitachi is high-powered.”
She shrugged. “It works beautifully.”
Whitney started pulling out the items inside the bag and placed them on her lap. A silver egg-shaped vibrator. A very thin pink anal plug. A wider black plug. A glass anal bead wand.
