by Kent, Julia
“We finally meet. Alone,” Laura said as Darla poured herself a cup of coffee and dumped enough sugar in it to turn the mug into a pile of rock candy.
“No Josie. That means actual words will be exchanged between us,” Darla cracked. Sizzling sounds of a deep fryer percolated through the nearly empty restaurant as Laura took a tentative sip of her own java.
“So.” Darla’s word came with a sigh. Her eyes were bright with repressed eagerness. “Time to talk threesomes.”
“Yes.”
How do I do this? Laura wondered. Darla made it easy.
“You wanna talk about sex? Or emotions? Or what to do when one of ’em is jealous? Or how—”
“How about we ask each other questions and just take it from there?” Laura said, struggling to find a way to make sense of this. Maybe she was being silly. Josie had strongly urged her to schedule this follow-up meeting, but now she was beginning to regret it.
“You go first.” Darla dumped half the cream pitcher in her coffee and looked nervously around the room.
“Sure. So…does your mom know about you and Trevor and Joe?”
Darla began to choke, barely holding in what looked like a big swallow of coffee. As her throat spasms kicked in, Laura felt guilty. Wrong question to start with.
“Ah. No,” Darla coughed out. “She wouldn’t understand. She just thinks I moved out here for the job Josie got me.”
“She doesn’t know anything about Joe and Trevor?”
Darla shook her head slowly. “She kinda thinks I’m dating Trevor.”
Laura shot one eyebrow up. “Kinda?”
Darla’s shoulders slumped. “Uncle Mike saw me on the side of the road with Trevor and Joe, and then he gave me a ride to move out here, and it’s like damage control, you know? Like politicians do. I had to give a tiny sliver of the truth to cover up the big fucking whopper of a truth so dangerous it couldn’t be said.”
Laura just blinked, taking that in. “Your turn,” she said, dipping her head to drink more coffee.
“You three do a lot of DP?”
Laura’s throat closed up and seized, tears pouring down the sides of her face as she set down her mug, hands flapping, cold water not helping. “What?” she croaked.
“DP. Double penetration,” Darla clarified.
I know what it is! Laura thought, just as Madge delivered the food.
“I wish I had time to crash this talk,” she said with a leer, disappearing as she shouted something about a truck delivery to the kitchen staff.
“You do that much? Because me and Trevor and Joe don’t. I mean, once in a while, but everyone seems to think that’s what threesomes do—and I—”
“Everyone? Who’s everyone? How many people do you talk about your sex life with?” Laura marveled.
Darla started counting on her hand. “Two. Amy and Charlotte. And sometimes Josie, but the problem with Josie is she—”
“Overshares about her sex life,” Darla and Laura said in unison as Laura dipped a fried green tomato into horseradish sauce.
They both laughed.
“And to answer your question—sometimes we do. But it’s not like that’s the main focus. It’s a mixture. Me with Mike alone, me with Dylan alone, me doing something for one of them, all of us together…we mix it up. Like anyone in a one-on-one relationship, it’s not like ‘sex’ means penis-in-vagina intercourse all the time. Same with us. It’s not like ‘sex’ means DP every single time.”
Darla picked up a fried mozzarella triangle and took half of it in one bite into her mouth. She looked relieved. “Same here.”
Darla’s phone buzzed and she checked it, chuckling as she read.
“Something funny?”
“Just Joe.” Her cheeks turned pink as she shoved the phone back in her pocket. “Sexting.”
Laura’s face went a bit warm and she just said, “Oh.” Dylan and Mike didn’t do that with her. Was it generational? Texts from them tended to be along the lines of We need milk and Where are the spare car keys?
Maybe she could spice things up with suggestive Snapchat photos. Hmmm…
“How do you handle jealousy?” Darla asked, her face twisted with a sincere yearning for an answer Laura suspected she couldn’t provide.
“What jealousy?”
Darla’s face fell. Oh, shoot.
“You don’t have that problem?”
Laura shook her head helplessly. “But I live with them both. I know you said Joe is so far away and he gets upset—”
Darla snorted, green eyes troubled. Madge dropped three sundaes off and Darla looked surprised.
“Three? Is someone else coming?”
“No. I couldn’t choose just one,” Laura explained guiltily.
Whoops of laughter poured out of Darla. “Neither can I. Guess that’s why we’re both with two men.”
Laura’s laugh burbled out of her before she could think.
“You’re a woman after my own heart, Laura.” Digging in, Darla spooned chocolate-espresso ice cream into her mouth. “And stomach.”
They ate in silence. It was comfortable.
“What about marriage?” Darla asked.
Laura frowned, scraping the bottom of her dip cruet with a fried coconut shrimp. “What about it?”
“You ever wish you could get married? Like normal people? Like Josie and Alex?”
Laura gagged from the laughter that exploded out of her. “‘Normal’ and ‘Josie’ in the same sentence. How did you say that without laughing?”
Darla’s shit-eating grin split her face into a glowing sun. “I really like you, Laura.”
After she’d centered herself, Laura got serious. “I’ve thought about it. A lot. Especially since we had Jillian. But I can’t choose just one of them.” She gestured toward the ice cream dishes. “I can’t choose a single sundae flavor. How am I supposed to pick Mike or Dylan?”
Darla swallowed, hard, but said nothing.
This time the silence between them was more contemplative. Laura’s stomach flipped as she struggled internally with Darla’s question. Marriage. Out of the question for her, Mike and Dylan. The law made that a reality.
Didn’t make it any easier emotionally, though.
“What about your family?” Darla finally asked, breaking the quiet as they pinged between appetizers and ice cream.
“I don’t have any,” Laura said.
“You have that sneaky uncle, right?”
Josie and her big mouth. Laura frowned. “You know about that?”
Alarm filled Darla’s eyes. “Josie told me about it because he came to work. Wanted me to know in case he showed up at the office.” Her hands flew up in the air in a gesture of surrender. “I swear that’s all I know and she didn’t tell me nothin’ personal.” Darla’s mild accent always came out when she was scared, and Laura reacted by trying to put her at ease.
“It’s okay.” Laura sighed. “Yes, crazy uncle.” She laughed bitterly. “Crazy like a fox.”
“He blackmailing you?” Darla’s question was completely understandable, and if roles were reversed Laura certainly would be wondering the same thing. The boldness of the act of asking it was what made Laura’s mouth drop open in shock.
Darla just blinked at her, clearly expecting an answer. If only Laura had been so confident when she was younger. So direct. So clear. Darla seemed to know herself and not take shit from anyone. Maybe she could teach Laura a thing or two.
“Not…no. Not that.” Not yet, she half thought, brow frowning in consternation. “He’s just skulking around and being creepy.”
“Money,” Darla declared. “You have it. Bet he wants it.” Darla took an enormous spoonful of creme de menthe sundae, shoving the little dark chocolate peppermint in her mouth, mumbling around it. “Might be better to pay a weasel like that off.”
Well now, wasn’t she blunt?
“Won’t that make him come back for more?” Laura asked.
“Can’t stop a weasel from coming back t
o a henhouse full of chickens,” Darla observed, mouth pursed and twisted up to one side as she clearly thought something through.
Then she pointed her long sundae spoon at Laura and added, “But you know how you handle a weasel?”
Laura leaned forward eagerly. “How?” This was better than talking about threesomes, or having a “girlfriend” chat about relationships. She didn’t need that the way Josie thought she did. Knowing that she was secure in her own triad was good enough for Laura.
What she needed was this. Someone to talk to about Frank. Someone other than Dylan and Mike.
A slow, evil smile spread across Darla’s face, making the skin on Laura’s neck tingle.
“You find the weasel’s predator. And you unleash it.”
Dylan
“I know it’s not much to go on, Murph, but any help your brother can give me would be great,” Dylan added, managing his phone while cutting strawberries for Jillian to chow down on. The meeting with Josie in Cambridge last week had made him feel like he was spinning his wheels, helpless and disemboweled. Unable to sleep last night, he’d come upon an idea in the deep, dark hours of the restless night.
A private investigator. The only person he knew who might know someone was his old buddy Murphy, and now he smiled a tight grin as his old friend turned out to be the right choice.
“Man, that’s one hell of a mess, Dylan,” Murph said, the sympathy oozing through the guy’s voice. Murphy had been Dylan’s fellow firefighter at the station, back when Dylan worked for a living, and they stayed in touch even as Dylan had stopped taking on volunteer shifts. Murphy’s wife had weathered breast cancer and was doing very well—in part, Murphy constantly reminded him, because of well-timed financial help Dylan had been very glad to offer.
“Yeah, right? Bastard comes sniffing around wanting more.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised. People can be real assholes when it comes to money. Especially big money. Not everyone’s like you,” Murphy added. A few beats of silence made the air go tense as Dylan struggled with how to answer that. Guys at the station didn’t do feelings, so this was…weird.
“Uh, thanks.”
Murphy felt it, too, and his next words came out in a gruff tone. “No matter what, my brother Nick can find out anything about anybody. He was a cop for twenty-three years and just got his private investigator’s license. He’ll be fucking happy to get a referral.” Murphy paused and let out a garbled laugh. “Fucking shocked is more like it. The last thing he’d expect me to do is send someone his way. I’m the clean one in the family.”
That made Dylan smile. Man, he missed his old friends.
“You, clean? Hah.”
“Hey, my mom had five kids. Two are in jail, one’s dead, and there’s just me and Nick left. A cop and a firefighter. Too bad Mom isn’t alive to see us.” Dylan could hear the sound of stubble being scratched. “Then again, maybe it’s good she never saw Sarah and Joey’s trials.”
“What they in for?” Dylan was surprised to learn all this. Murph had been pretty closed-lipped when they’d worked together. Talked about his wife, his kids, that kind of thing, but he’d never really gone into specifics about his family of origin. Then again, neither had Dylan.
Murph snorted. “What else? Drugs and assault. Stupid kids. Sarah got her physical therapy assistant license and then she started stealing painkillers. Got caught. The DA made an example out of her. Joey got into a gang fight that left another guy half paralyzed. God love my little brother and sister, but they never had much sense.”
Dylan knew the casual tone hid the pain of what he’d really gone through. You couldn’t stop someone from a path of self-destruction. All you could do was make sure you weren’t a casualty or collateral damage.
“Sorry, man. I had no idea.” He wondered about Murph’s dead sibling but didn’t ask. Some lines you don’t cross.
“And we had no idea you were going through all the shit you were going through, Dyl. We keep our shit to ourselves because sharing it makes you feel like a freak.”
Dylan burst out into relieved laughter. “Isn’t that the truth.”
“Only truth I know, man. The only truth I know. Take care and Nick will be in touch.” Click.
Dylan stared at Jillian’s little red face, lips covered with strawberry juice, pale green eyes gleaming with joy. She was so little, so much work, and yet really simple when you thought about it. Feed her. Love her. Keep her clean. Keep her occupied. Move her when she needed to be moved. Leave her alone when she needed peace. Soothe her when she was upset.
Why couldn’t everyone be so simple?
Her face split into a grin that touched his heart.
And so cute.
“Wah tees?” she asked.
“Cheese?” he clarified.
“Tees! Tees!” she said, eyes on the fridge. Her language acquisition was frighteningly swift. And if he wasn’t careful, she’d imitate every word he said. The’d already learned that the hard way a few weeks ago when he’d hurt himself fixing a leak in the bathroom and shouted, “Shit!”
Little Miss Imitation had cried out “tit!” for the next week. Laura’s glares had lasted far longer.
Parenthood. Can’t win.
Mike walked into the kitchen, hair wet from a shower, and started making coffee. “Was that Murphy you were talking to? How’s his wife?”
“Good. Still cancer free. And yeah, I called him. His brother, Nick, is an ex-cop and just got his private investigator’s license. Murph gave me his number.”
Mike nodded slowly. “You think this is the right path?” It wasn’t much of a question, though, as Mike’s jaw clenched.
“I think it’s the only path. Whatever Dear Old Uncle Frank is up to isn’t anything good.”
“What Josie told us…” Mike’s voice dropped two octaves. “Sniffing around like that. And now poor Laura can’t sleep.”
“You noticed, too?”
Mike gave him a very rare eye roll. “I’m next to her too, Dylan.”
“No, man, I know. It’s just you normally sleep like the dead.”
“I do?” Mike seemed genuinely surprised. “How do I master that in my six inches of bed?”
Jillian called out, “Tees! Tees!” before Dylan could come back with a wisecrack. Mike’s coffee finished its steamy sputtering just as Laura walked into the kitchen, frumpled and sleepy.
She reached for the mug and cradled it to her chest, sipping slowly. “Ahhh, thank you so much. You’re the best.” Standing on tiptoes, she kissed Mike’s cheek, then walked over to Jillian for a quick smooch. Dylan burst into laughter at the look of pure confusion on Mike’s face.
“She totally sniped your brew,” Dylan declared. Laura walked out of the kitchen with that sleepy shuffle he knew so well.
“And on one of the few mornings when I’m in a rush,” Mike added, starting the whole coffee process over again, bemused but not upset.
“It’ll take two more cups of coffee before she realizes what she did, and then she’ll feel sorry,” Dylan said.
Mike nodded, the curved ends of his overgrown blonde hair making the collar of his business shirt wet. “Yeah. I know. She didn’t mean it.”
Dylan stopped for a moment and took a good, long look at Mike. Shined black leather shoes with laces. Wool pants perfectly pressed, with a crease that could cut you if you brushed up against it. White business shirt with cuff links, the gold ones Laura gave him for his birthday last year. A loose tie around his neck, red with little white, stippled dots through it. Whatever Mike was dressed for, it was the big time.
In contrast, Dylan looked down at his own body. Gym shorts he’d played basketball in so many times they might as well dribble on their own. Commando underneath.
And…he wore nothing else.
“Where you going, Christian Grey?” he asked as he put little cubes of cheese on Jillian’s high-chair tray. She scarfed them down like they were chocolate, grinning madly.
Mike chuckled and poured
himself a bowl of coconut flake cereal, covering it with almond milk. He was on some paleo diet kick these days. Dylan humored him. “Meeting with some commercial real estate folks.”
“Real estate? You buying something?”
“No,” Mike said through a mouth full of cereal. “They’re the buyers.”
Dylan frowned. “You’re selling the resort?” Their cabin was on the resort, and it was their home now. If Mike were making a decision that enormous, he should have clued Dylan and Laura in a long time ago.
“No, no. Not—it’s not what you think.” Milk spilled from Mike’s spoon onto his shirt. “Damn it!” he exclaimed.
“Jammit!” Jillian echoed. “Jammit, jammit, jammit.”
Mike and Dylan shared a look of horror.
“Shit,” Dylan muttered without thinking.
“Tit! Tit!”
Laura, of course, picked that exact moment to shuffle back in for her second cup of coffee. How that woman managed to drink it that hot and that fast made Dylan’s mind reel.
“Great!” she said with abundant sarcasm. “Just great!”
“Tit mama. Tit mama!”
“She’s got that right,” Dylan said, staring at Laura’s lush, untamed breasts. His favorite time of day was morning, when she awoke braless, letting the girls hang out as they should. He hardened under his all-too-thin shorts, and it was painfully obvious.
And painful.
“Jillie, don’t say…you know…” They’d learned the hard way that a toddler would just keep repeating the very thing you try to tell her not to. Toddler Logic 101.
“Tit! Jammit tit!”
“Damn tits making me hard,” Dylan said in a voice meant for Mike. But he was a little too loud.
“I heard that!” Laura exclaimed. Her eyes traveled down his shirtless chest to his raging cock. “And I can see it, too.”
“You gonna do something about it, lady?” he asked in a teasing voice.
Mike made a dismissive sound. “Get a room.”
“You offering to watch the baby?”
Mike looked at the clock on the stove. “You two serious?” He looked at Laura, who arched one eyebrow.
