by KT Morrison
When he was done, when her face had been dried and his sweatshirt tossed to the floor, he looked in her eyes and smiled. She cupped a hand to his cheek.
He wagged the phone now. “Are you sure I should send this?”
“Yeah. It’s like he’s here with us. It bothers you?”
He nodded. “You’re here with me. Max doesn’t need to be here. You wanted to be open remember?”
“Please send it.”
“Do you want to see it first?”
She shook her head no. “Is it bad?”
“I wouldn’t want it.”
“Max does. My Max does.”
Cole stared at the screen for a while but did nothing.
She said, “Let’s see the one Jessie took. Maybe we send that one first.”
The room he’d booked for two nights had a king-size bed, and a small pie-shaped balcony with a view inland, toward the city. He entered and walked right past the high, crisply made bed, threw his bag on the blue tweed couch and followed behind, bouncing on it till he settled with his feet up and crossed over. What the fuck was he thinking?
He hadn’t anticipated such resistance from Ken. He’d always seemed so meek and understanding. Way he pictured this going, he had this room for two-nights and had anticipated meeting up with Ken tonight, maybe tomorrow, go out for dinner, go meet some of his friends. If he’d asked, Ken would have obliged, but after that impasse this afternoon he just wanted to be home in Vermont.
His phone buzzed, and he jumped. It was in his front pocket, close to his scrotum. Fished it out with one hand, his mind racing, wanting to see what they had sent him now, his brain saying maybe it didn’t really want to see. The last image had been a doozy. Cole and Maggie’s bare sex equipment so close. He knew they would fuck, didn’t know why she was being so coy. Of course, as much as it hurt his heart, it did make him feel welcome. He sent a thumbs-up. So, feeling a little lighter, he checked his screen and saw this message wasn’t from Cole but from his beloved Maggie this time. He smiled.
Maggie: tell me you’re okay
He texted:
Max: I’m ok. miss you big time
He pried the heels of his shoes off with his toes and let them fall to the carpet next to the couch.
Maggie: miss you so much. can’t wait until ur home with me
Someone was feeling guilty, which was sweet. He’d only been gone for half a day, they normally would be apart this long any day of the week. Still, the distance between them was palpable.
Max: tell me u love me
Maggie: I love you forever
Max: love you too
Maggie: u okay with pics?
He rolled his head from side to side and flexed and stretched his neck.
Max: yeah
There was a long delay, and he watched the screen the whole time. It rose and fell on his chest while he breathed deeply.
Maggie: want another one?
Oh, man, she had him. He mouthed the word No, to his phone, but every molecule in his body right now absolutely fucking needed to see this picture. He didn’t even say yes, and the picture was sent. It flashed a quick timing wheel and then there it was. The two of them together in her bed. His fiancée and his best friend. Cole was between her legs and they were fucking. Skin a little shiny, laying on her bed, her head in her pillows, right where he had left her this morning. His cock was still sore from all the fucking they did last night but his newly realized sex-demon still needed more plowing. God, she was so sexy, though. He ran a fingertip down her digital calf.
He simply texted:
Max: hot
Maggie: still ok?
Max: love you more than ever
He lay there for another long while and no more texts came. He typed one:
Max: Did you study?
There was a delay while he waited, but then, finally, she texted:
Maggie: I did. and I drew Cole :)
He laughed. Hoped they had fun today. Hoped they were silly and light, and that they thought of him.
Max: Tied him up with your pink tights?
Maggie: Ha ha, he wasn’t trying to get away
Max sat up and put his feet on the floor. Zipped his bag down and fished out a T-shirt and sweatpants he’d packed. While he changed, he lay the phone face up on the seat cushion of the couch. Before he slipped his shirt on, he touched the screen to scroll back to the new photo. Put his shirt on, bent over and examined it again. It was a hot photo. He wasn’t lying. Their faces weren’t visible, but he knew it was Maggie. It was her feet, her ankles, her hand on Cole’s arm. It was Cole who was between her legs, he could see the thick, long blonde hair. Something bothered him, and he finally realized what it was. He scrolled back down, typed:
Max: Hey, who took that picture?
He sat with his phone for five minutes but she didn’t get back to him. He examined the picture again. The two of them in bed, her legs wrapped around Cole’s hips, her heels in his rump. The light came from behind; it was midday. It was dim, like there was a storm. The picture was taken from near Jessie’s bed and he tried to fathom how they’d managed it. Was it placed on a shelf, on one of Jessie’s art projects? They must have set a timer.
After five minutes had passed, he began to imagine she had another boy in there with her. That Cole brought one of his lacrosse buddies to tag team her and sweet and gullible Maggie said, Okay, that sounds like fun. They took turns fucking her ass and her pussy and laughing and taking pictures. Just like that, his stomach turned rotten and curled inward like a suppurating post-Halloween pumpkin. He belched in his throat and felt bile splash up. That was crazy. She wouldn’t do that, would she? He was having trouble rectifying the real Maggie with the Maggie he had painted for her brother. She wasn’t really that wanton, was she? It would kill him if she did that. Two guys at once and he wasn’t one of them? He felt his brow lower and his eyes well with sadness. He couldn’t wait to be home.
Then, on cue:
Maggie: Can’t wait to see you. want you here with me
She ignored the question of the photographer and he wouldn’t ask again. Not till he was home. He rested his hand on his own heart and felt his chest and neck shaking with its powerful beats.
Max: I’ll be home soon. we’ll go do something fun mon night
She texted him another happy face emoji, followed by a few hearts. A minute later she resumed with:
Maggie: how are your folks? did you say hi from me?
He hung his head with sad shame. He forgot he was up to his own nonsense today and now he had to lie.
Max: of course
Maggie: what did you do today?
Max: nothing
Maggie: you guys go out?
Max: yeah
He grumbled and ran his hands through his hair, hating that he would lie to her like this.
Maggie: are they around? wanna skype?
Max: they’re out back maybe later
Enormous guilt fell over him now. Why did he want to manipulate her? She was perfect.
Before any more questions came he texted:
Max: hey gotta go ttyl heading out for dinner
He set his phone down and hated himself. He’d come out here to perform an illegitimate task, but it was for the greater good. But he was so fucking deceitful. When did it get like this? Why wouldn’t honesty with Maggie be the path he took? What would make him think that, however noble the cause, lying to his fiancée and attempting manipulations behind her back was acceptable?
Under it all, he realized he must be hurting. It was the only thing that made sense. As much as he loved to see her with Cole and sometimes Jay, as much as he put up a brave face and told her to experiment, he was hurting himself. And it wasn’t necessarily that she was having sex with these guys. That wasn’t bad. He liked it. It aroused him. Cole’s closeness wasn’t Maggie’s fault.
There was something else tugging at him and he couldn’t see its face yet. He worried that when he saw its face, it would be his own
, like looking in a mirror. The problem he had was his own lies. Maggie was happy, but she’d been tricked into this. Was she tricked into liking it? How much did she actually like this? When she tired of fucking these other hot guys would she see her Max the same way? When all the hot-blooded passion was exhausted, and she looked around her would she turn her nose up at the activities spurred by the boy she was supposed to marry? Wouldn’t then a guy like Cole just take her hand and walk away with her? If that were to happen it would be his own damn fault. And it wasn’t the sex with Cole that would separate them, it would be his own amateur Machiavellian scheming. He was hurting her. That’s what was wrong. His lies, his manipulations. He was hurting her, and she didn’t even know it.
His thumbs flashed on the screen and in a few minutes he had changed his open-ended ticket, booking a flight home first thing in the morning. Save himself another two-fifty on the hotel room by going home. What was the point anyway? ...why keep up the ruse he was staying with his folks if he was going to come clean?
He would see Maggie by lunch time tomorrow and maybe he would sit with her and begin to relate to her the truth. As soon as the decision had been made, he felt better. Now he couldn’t wait to tell her the truth. Never felt closer to her suddenly. They’d shared so much as a couple in the last few weeks, grown in crazy ways but they were still one unit. Everything up till now had been fun. If he was honest with her, the closeness with Cole would dissipate. He was her true other, not Cole. She could still fuck him if he was honest. He could picture himself telling her the truths and she was mad at him, but soon they were giggling and rolling on the bed.
Of course, he saw his meeting with Ken going better, too—he might be bad at imagining. There was a danger still lurking that she may have trouble facing: a video most likely did exist, and it wasn’t her brother who hid it. Then again, sometimes those things really did just shit the bed.
Tomorrow would be a new day, and to celebrate he lay on the bed and flipped through the menu. With the money saved on the canceled night in the hotel he splurged a little and ordered a New York strip and a baked potato, and a bottle of beer. As he waited he considered only one possible concern: Ken calling Maggie tonight and spilling the beans before he could talk to her tomorrow. He would be as truthful as he could with her, softening the edges of some of the more nefarious of his schemings, but if Ken leaked it first, he would have a much tougher time.
Before his meal arrived, his phone buzzed again with an incoming text.
Maggie: I have another picture but it’s really bad, you don’t want to see it
His stomach tightened with dread. What would be so bad? He pictured a close up of Cole’s cock sliding inside her and his fingers twitched and his palms sweated.
Max: yes I do
After an agonizing delay which he was sure she was doing on purpose, she answered:
Maggie: You sure?
Max: I’m sure
Maggie: It’s really bad. You have to say please
She had his full attention. He answered.
Max: Please
Maggie: I warned you
Room service had terrible timing and while he waited they knocked on the door. He held for a moment, watching the screen of his phone and waiting. They knocked again.
“Fuck,” he whispered and set his phone face down on the bed, answered, ushered the young server in and tipped him, got him the heck out of there. When he was alone again, he stood by the bed and looked at the backside of his phone as it lay on the crisp comforter. His palms were wet with worry and he wriggled his fingers in anticipation. The steak smelled delicious.
When he was prepared, he flipped it over and swiped his phone back to life. He lost his appetite.
9
Best Man
Saturday, October 21st
Maggie lay between Cole’s open legs with her back against his chest, his penis against her rump; she rose and fell on his breathing.
She said, “I’m glad I couldn’t hold out.”
After a moment, Cole said, “Me, too.”
He kissed the back of her neck, gathered up her hair into a ponytail held in a fist, kissed the soft hairs behind her ears, sucked on an earlobe and got her groaning again, her nipples hardening so abruptly she put her hands over to cover them.
“Ow,” she laughed.
“What?”
“My nipples got hard so fast it hurt.”
“That’s your other special spot.”
“Other special spot?”
“You have another one.”
“Oh, yeah, I do,” she said warily.
His hand slipped down her naked waist, got her trembling and jittering, knowing where it headed.
“Don’t,” she laughed, her declaration breaking up.
“Here it is,” he said, and he ran the backs of his fingers over her haunch and up the underside of her thigh where it met her ass cheek. It drove a squirrelly tornado through her, making her jump, but he hugged her firmly.
“Don’t,” she laughed again, still jumping in his clutch. He stopped, smoothing to the front of her thighs, squeezing her knee, groaning appreciatively in her ear as he held her.
“You hungry? he whispered to her, and she nodded.
It was dim now outside, the sun going down. The storm had raged but dissipated, leaving only a pattering of rainfall, the wind dying down to a breeze.
He said, “Let me go get dinner. You stay here.”
“You don’t want to go out together?”
“I do not want to go out. I want to go pick up dinner, grab some beers, bring it all here, we’ll pig out on this bed.”
“And then?” she smiled and caressed the back of his hand.
“I’m going to spend all night in here. I think we chased Jessie away.”
“Oh, no,” she groaned and hid her face in her hands. “I can’t believe I let her see us like that ...”
He shushed her, shaking her in his arms. He said, “Don’t. It’s okay. It’s not crazy. We’re in a three-way relationship. You think we’re the only ones she knows like that? All those weird theatre friends of hers in Brattleboro?”
She giggled in his arms feeling lighter from his words. “You think so?” she said. “God, I asked her to take that picture ... what was I thinking? ... It was just so crazy in the moment.”
“It’ll be okay, I swear it. What she saw today would be the tenth weirdest relationship she knows.”
She said, “A three-way relationship? Is that what we are? A threesome?”
“I think it’s pretty clear we are.”
She whispered, “I think I really like that,” and she leaned back so her crown rested in the hollow of his neck, turned, eyes up to his, desperate for his kiss. He dipped his head and took her mouth and kissed her lovingly while her hand stroked his cheek. Right now all she wanted was Max to be home. Max to be okay with this. To be a part of it. The threesome.
But more importantly, she wanted pizza, she wanted beer, and she wanted to spend the rest of the night between the sheets with the hottest guy she knew.
“Go get dinner,” she whispered. “I want you back here in my bed in half an hour.”
“Yeah, I’m starving,” he said, and he kissed the backside of her ear before slipping out from behind her and standing naked at the side of the bed. She watched his muscular back and perfect boy ass as he gathered up his shorts and put his legs into them.
“Shit,” he said.
“What?”
“I used my sweatshirt to dry your face.”
“Max has some things in my bottom drawer.”
Now she watched him as he pulled the drawer open, the muscles of his tanned arms working, running his beautiful hair from his face. He tugged a T-shirt on and it was tight. The sweatshirt was the same.
“Little tight, huh?” she giggled.
“It’ll work,” he said, then peeked out her window. “Stopped raining I think. Or it’s just light,” he said. “What pizza do you want?”
&n
bsp; “Um, white with pepperoni. You’re going to bring Altieri’s here?”
“I’m going to bring it here and we can eat it naked in bed.”
“Hurry back,” she said.
He checked he had his wallet and his phone, came in for a kiss, then went to the door. Then out of the blue, he stopped and said, “We’re a threesome until I decide I don’t want to share anymore.” He winked and smiled.
She giggled. “You’re such a bad boy.”
He closed the door and left to go get their dinner.
First thing she thought when the door opened behind her was to show Cole the T-shirt she wore. Lacrosse written across the front, Cole would want to see her wearing it. Face down on the bed, LSAT prep guide open in the middle, two halves bowed like bird wings, elbows dug into the mattress, she crossed her hands over her chest and covered the shirt as she turned, ready for a reveal. Only it wasn’t Cole. In the doorway of her room, clothes dampened by rain, face pursed in harrowing bewilderment, stood Jay Carmichael. The boy whose shirt she once wore.
Her mouth opened as if to speak but no words came out—she couldn’t comprehend what he was doing there nor did she want to. Everything in his demeanor frightened her.
“Maggie,” he said, his voice a dry crackle, weak and injured. He closed the door behind him.
“Jay, what are you doing here? You can’t—”
“What are you doing here?” he hissed.
She saw the anger on his face—a chill up her back, reassessing it now as rage—and she suddenly felt very vulnerable. Alone in her closed dorm room, she wore only a T-shirt, no panties. She drew her legs up. “Jay, please leave,” she whispered, shocked at how small her voice sounded.
