by Zoe York
“Nice.”
“Thanks.” Evan winked, then he popped his trunk and stashed his bag in the back. Before he closed the door, he grabbed his keys and his phone, and laughed at the text message on the screen.
Jess: Be gentle on my husband. Unless he asks you to be rough.
Brent shot him a curious look.
“Do you want to know what your wife just texted me?”
He turned pink. “Aw, jeez.”
Evan held out the phone, and Brent came closer. Then he grinned and swore under his breath. “Uh…”
“We’ll have to do this again,” Evan said. “If only because it makes her happy.”
“Not just her,” Brent murmured.
Evan’s heart leapt. “No?”
Brent shook his head.
Evan moved closer, and Brent shifted too, and suddenly they were against each other, their bodies lined up and their hands all over each other. Brent started the kiss, but Evan finished it. He felt like a starving man, hungry and gluttonous for something he might not get again.
Brent pushed in, his lips strong, his tongue curious, and Evan met him stroke for stroke.
It was clumsy and desperate, and unbelievably hot.
This kiss felt damn near sweet compared to their first. Evan didn’t want it to end. He slowed down at the same time as he tightened his grip on Brent’s back, his hip. Fuck, there was his cock against Ev’s, and Jesus, he wanted to be naked.
He could grind them together here, just like this, but that would be a messy drive home.
Slow. The. Fuck. Down.
He was going slow. He was just kissing the man. Swallowing his whimpers, making his cock hard. This was practically still first base as far as Evan was concerned.
But not for Brent.
Right. Heart pounding, Evan eased his way out of one final taste of the other man’s mouth, and smiled.
Then he stepped back.
“Have a safe drive home,” he rasped.
Brent looked at him, wide-eyed, and nodded. “You too.”
Evan hauled him back in for another kiss—a quick one, a light one, a promise of more—before flipping his keys around and unlocking the car with the fob. “And I’ll see you soon. Okay? Real soon.”
Brent could still feel the rough slide of Evan’s five o’clock shadow against his own jaw when he pulled into his driveway.
Jesus.
He needed a beer, and a shower. Probably at the same time.
As he got out of the truck, Mr. Subramanian stepped out of the front door. “Brent,” he called out.
As far as landlords went, Mr. S was a great guy. But right now, Brent wasn’t up for chitchat. He was still reeling. “Hey,” he said politely, even though he didn’t want to. “What’s up?”
“I’m getting a quote for a new heating system, so there will be people in the basement tomorrow.”
“Thanks for the heads up.”
Mr. S gave him a pleased smile. “I’m going to ask them if they can fix the ducting problem so the vents don’t carry sounds so much.”
“Ah. Good plan.”
“You know. In case you start dating.”
Brent tried to imagine bringing Evan to his basement apartment. “Maybe more of a problem for the next tenant, Mr. S.”
“Are you moving?”
“Oh. No. Just…you know me. Nose to the grindstone.”
“You work too hard.”
“So they say, sir. So they say.” After waving goodbye, he headed around to the side entrance and let himself in.
No, he could never bring someone like Evan here. Even Jess had never seen it, and she knew just exactly the basic level his life had devolved to.
He had a TV, a shitty futon couch, and a bed. That was it. Boxes lined one wall, from when he’d left Jess. He’d never bothered unpacking. Everything in there was a remnant from a lie of a life that was hard to look at. He didn’t need any of it surrounding him, taunting him about what he’d given up.
Grabbing a beer from the fridge, he went straight to the washroom and cranked on the shower. Cold beer, hot shower. There was nothing better.
He stood under the heavy spray, letting the steam get into his skin while he drank his beer. Thoughts of Evan and Jess rocketed through his mind, chaotic and confusing and hot. Then he wearily grabbed his shampoo and started scrubbing up.
It didn’t take long for his hand to find his cock. He turned the memories from the day into the fantasies that had lurked in his mind. Grinding against Evan. Sliding to his knees and tugging those shorts down, finding out just how dark the curls at the base of his cock were.
Tasting him.
Brent’s head fell back as he groaned, his cock heavy and leaking as he imagined what that would be like.
Jess slid into his fantasy, too, and he gasped as she wrapped herself around him, urging him on. To suck and lick and swallow as she pushed her breasts into him, as she ground her hips into him and told her how ready she was. “Want Evan to fuck me? Want to watch that?” He grunted, shoving that idea way.
Yes, and no. His fantasy twisted now, and he was on top of Jess, pinning her down. Showing her how much he wanted to be the one fucking her.
But then Evan was behind him, snarling, and touching. Invading.
Brent came with a shout, his orgasm ripping from him in a blinding series of spurts. Fuck, where did that go? He’d have to scrub the whole thing down. Later. Weakly, he rinsed the walls down with the shower head, then turned the water off.
When he stumbled to the futon in nothing more than a towel, he thought there was nothing left in his tank.
But then he saw a group text message from Evan, to him and Jess.
Evan: Interested in dinner at my place tomorrow night? All three of us.
That was all it took for his cock to thicken and rise again, thumping against his belly.
Dinner. The three of them.
Holy fuck. That escalated quickly. Jess would be all over this. Sure enough, her reply popped up immediately.
Jess: Sounds great. I can’t wait.
Neither could Brent. Whatever would happen next, he was game. Oh, he was the most willing game.
19
Brent: Do you mind if I come down early and hang out before dinner? There are guys banging around my apartment today, giving my landlord quotes on a new HVAC system.
Jess: How early? I’ve got a couple of meetings.
Brent: I’m already in my truck. Two hours?
Jess: Sure, but you’ll have to come find me in between meetings to get a key to my place.
Brent: I don’t want to be inconvenient. I can go shopping.
Jess: Come shopping here! I’ll introduce you to the coolest outfitter you’ve ever met. Promise.
Brent was pretty sure she was humouring him, but he took her at her word and headed straight for Wardham.
He parked right on the main street, in front of Wardham Grocery, the one place in town he’d been before with Jess, when she’d moved in and needed to stock her pantry.
Then he walked down the street to A Bun in the Oven, a bakery Jess had talked about more than once or twice. She promised they had amazing coffee.
As he waited in line—which was longer than he expected—he sent a text letting her know he’d arrived in town.
Everyone in front of him was ordering baked goods, not just coffee, and with each enthusiastic request, his stomach growled. By the time he was at the front of the line, he found himself order a half-dozen muffins and a delicate looking pastry collection to take to Evan’s for dessert. “And a flat white, please.”
He paid, then moved over to the coffee bar at the side. While he waited, he checked his phone, and as he was looking at it, a message popped up.
Jess: I’m just finishing up. Meet me at the outfitters store. I’ve got a surprise for you.
He dropped a loonie in the tip jar for the barista, grabbed his coffee, and headed down the street.
Of all the surprises he’d considered—rope climbing gear as
a host gift for Evan, a cool local kayak connection for himself—Brent could not have imagined who he saw when he pulled open the door and stepped inside a surprisingly high-end and well-stocked outfitters shop.
Behind the counter was DeShawn Williams, someone he knew from watching on TV.
And on this side of the counter, having a good old chat with a God damned Olympian, was his wife. She waved him over. “Brent, this is DeShawn.”
He shoved his hand across the counter. “Mr. Williams, it’s a huge honour to meet you. I’ve been cheering you on since the World Juniors.”
“Brent loves kayaking,” Jess added.
The Olympian grinned at him. “Me too.”
An understatement. The grandson of Jamaican immigrants, his father had been a world-class sprinter for the Canadian Olympic team in the eighties and nineties. DeShawn had followed in his father’s footsteps until he discovered canoeing—and then kayaking—while at summer camp in Algonquin Park. The story was legendary, and since retiring from amateur sport, Williams had been the face of a national outdoor gear brand.
What the hell was he doing in this small town hours from Toronto?
“DeShawn and a couple of his friends came here to open a camp for teen athletes,” Jess answered his unspoken question. “Chase Miller hooked them with the lower real estate costs compared to Muskoka or Prince Edward County.”
“Land is dirt cheap around here, so long as it isn’t prime grape-growing soil,” Williams added. “And when I saw this store was for sale, too, it was meant to be. Growing up, I wanted to own an outfitters shop. Some kids dream of running bookstores, I wanted to upsell people into the lightest kayak possible.”
“A man after my own heart.” Brent stuck out his hand. “Good to meet you.”
“You, too. Are you one of Jess’s clients?”
He glanced at her, and she winced. “No,” he said smoothly. “Not a client. But I know she’s whip smart, so if you’re interested in using her services, you won’t find anyone better.”
“I have no doubt.”
Jess shifted on her hips, sliding her weight against him. “Brent’s got a terrible conflict of interest, though.” She gave him a meaningful look. “We’re married.”
“Ah, the firefighter!” DeShawn held out his hand again. “Nice to meet you, man.”
“Err… Thanks.” Brent didn’t know how to take that. Had his awful reputation preceded him, and this guy was just being nice?
“Come back in any time, and we can talk more about paddling gear.”
“Sounds good.” He turned to Jess. “Do you have more business stuff to discuss? I can look around.”
She shook her head. “I’m all yours now.”
He lifted the bakery bag. “I got pastries for dessert.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Nice.”
“I’ll let you two get going then,” DeShawn chuckled. “And then I might just put up a back in fifteen minutes sign and go get my wife something from the bakery, too.”
Brent pushed away the pulse of guilt he felt at misrepresenting what he’d done. He wasn’t a good husband getting dessert for his wife, for them to enjoy in a wholesome way. He was a dirty dog hoping to impress a third person he hoped they would take to bed.
Tonight.
He hoped they would sleep with Evan tonight. Holy shit. That was the first time he’d admitted it to himself, consciously, and it was a heady, confusing realization.
“Did I overstep?” Jess asked when they were outside. “I mean, we are married. It’s a factual statement.”
He tossed his coffee cup into a garbage bin, freeing up his hand to take hers. “It is. And one I like, to be clear.”
“You look a little shook.”
“Not because of that.” He squeezed her hand. “Never because of that. Call me whatever you want. Now, not to change the subject, but where are we headed now? Did you drive?”
“I walked. Love this town for that.”
He pointed the bakery bag ahead toward his truck. “Then your chariot awaits.”
Jess didn’t circle the conversation back to whatever had preoccupied Brent as they left the outfitters store. There was another deep and meaningful conversation they needed to have this afternoon, which wasn’t the best timing perhaps, but Evan’s dinner invitation had pressed her hand.
When they got back to her house, Brent put his bakery purchases in the kitchen, and she went up to her office to get a brown envelope she’d been ignoring for far too long.
Downstairs, she found him stretched out on her couch. Watching her as she entered the room, his face soft.
Taking a deep breath, she handed it to him.
“What’s this?” But the way his gaze darted to her lawyer’s address stamp on the top right and stayed there told her he already knew, and her heart hurt.
“Paperwork for the divorce.”
“Oh.”
“I want to talk about it.” Her voice cracked, and his face tightened up.
“Okay.” He swung his legs around so he was sitting up, making room for her next to him. He took a deep breath. “What do you want to talk about?”
“You. Me. Us. Before we… I mean, what we…what an us might look like.”
“I thought you wanted to keep things casual. Date people.”
She swallowed hard. “I’ve been thinking about that. Dating people.”
“I know.” He gave her a sad smile. “It’s okay. You get to live your life.”
“I don’t want to date other people,” she blurted out. “Other than you, and Evan. Two people is plenty for me, maybe more than I can handle, except I need you both in different ways. I need you to explore something with him, too, because I hate that I’ve made stood between you and what you want all these years—”
“That’s not it,” he interrupted. “That’s not it. I don’t need to be with another man to know I’m bisexual, babe. I don’t. If you’re having second thoughts about tonight, we’ll call it off.”
She shook her head. “Not about tonight.”
“Then what?”
“I think we need—if you want—a new commitment. You and me. I hate that I have these papers in my house. You are my husband, even if we don’t live together. Even if we see other people. I love you, and I’m tired of trying to get over that love when it fills my entire being. Trying not to love you is like trying to drain the lifeblood out of me. It just doesn’t work. You’re my best friend, and one of my most favourite people, and when you hold me everything feels right in this world. I don’t want to give that up. Not unless you want to be done with me.”
“Never,” he whispered, crashing into her, wrapping her in a tight hug. Against her hair, she felt him exhale roughly. “I love you too. I will forever. You know that.”
“No matter what happens,” she whispered.
“We’re not going on a life or death mission.” He laughed quietly. “Are we?”
“No.” She kissed his neck, breathing in the smell of his skin.
“Jess…”
She slid backwards, pulling him on top of her. “Kiss me.”
“Always.” He stretched out, giving her his weight, his mouth, his endless attention, and the envelope fell to the floor.
They arrived Evan’s house promptly at six, holding hands. He opened the door, dropped his gaze to their fingers tangled together, and grinned. “Welcome,” he said warmly.
Jess stepped forward and gave him a hug. He dropped a kiss on her cheek, and her heart fluttered.
Then he reached for Brent, and the feeling inside her shifted to a soaring, a strong yes reaction as he wrapped an arm around her husband.
“What did you bring?” Evan asked, still holding on to Brent.
Her husband turned pink, adorably. “A contribution to dessert.”
Evan’s hand squeezed tight on his shoulder. “Great. Thanks. Come on in.”
They followed him through his house—a gorgeous, modern build with all the comforts his wealth allowed—to the open-con
cept kitchen. On the far side of the room, oversized glass sliding doors were open to the deck outside.
“Wine? Jess, do you want white?”
Brent gave her a quick half-smile, saying he knows you well, and she nodded.
“Brent? How about you?”
“Wine’s good. I’d take a beer if you have that.”
“I’ve got it all. I raided the catering stores earlier today.” Evan gestured at the grill out on the deck. “I’m cooking the mains, but everything else was pilfered, full disclosure.”
“What did you get?”
“There’s a wedding at the winery tonight, with a buffet dinner, so I snagged us some cold salads. Orzo with Greek dressing and some veggies and feta, a lemon-y chickpea salad, and a great potato salad with bacon in it.”
“Yum.” Jess accepted the glass of wine he handed her.
“And for the grill, I have steak, chicken, and salmon, plus some asparagus.” Evan stopped in front of the double-wide fridge. “Lager?”
“Whatever you’ve got, thanks.” Brent circled around the oversized island on the middle of the kitchen and took the bottle of beer from Evan.
Jess watched their fingers connect and linger, and a hungry need pulled low in her belly.
“Glass?”
“I’m good with the bottle.”
Evan nodded, holding Brent’s gaze, and Jess thought she might combust right there on the spot. Kiss for me, she wanted to say, but she held it in.
Evan would know when it was time. She was sure of that.
And right now, he was busy being the sexiest host ever. He took their food orders—chicken for Brent, steak for her and himself—and then encouraged them to come hang out on his deck while he cooked.
His property wasn’t that far from the winery. In the distance, she could just see the strip of land he’d wanted to develop, but the town had blocked him. They hadn’t discussed it recently, and she made a mental note to bring it up again soon.
Not tonight, though.
Tonight was strictly pleasure.
