Page 80 of Unstitch

‘Don’t congratulate me yet,’ I say drily. ‘I’ve got myself into a bit of a situation. But you should know, between you and me, that I’m kind of… something happened with Darcy, and I like her. A lot.’

‘Ohmygod,’ she says in a rush, gripping my forearm. ‘That’s so amazing! I’m so happy for you both—she’s so nice! And so, so gorgeous.’

‘Yeah.’ I laugh weakly. ‘She’s both of those, and more.’

‘So what’s the problem?’ she asks. ‘You’re keeping it in the Alchemy family. I love it.’

You have no idea.

‘The situation is… complicated,’ I say, watching her face carefully. ‘Because of Max.’

Her face falls. ‘Oh, shit. Of course. Woah—so Darcy’s sleeping with both of you? That’s not good.’

‘It’s not quite that simple.’ I take a deep breath. Fuuuuuck. ‘Something may have happened between him and me, too.’

It takes a moment to sink in, and when it does she claps both hands over her face and inhales sharply. ‘Wait—the three of you are…’

‘Kind of.’ I say. ‘I don’t know. It’s very early days.’

I fill her in with broad brushstrokes that are as asexual as is humanly possible when narrating a threesome, sticking to the events and my main emotional reactions (horror, all-consuming desire, horror, in a nutshell).

I tell her that I dodged Darcy’s messages, which has her screwing her face up with the effort of not bawling me out.

And then I tell her about Max. How he ambushed me with a full-on meeting before insisting on coming back to my office.

I tell her something happened.

Broad brushstrokes, right?

I don’t tell her how I folded like a cheap deckchair as soon as he cupped my dick in that infuriatingly entitled, know-it-all style of his.

Nor do I tell her how I abandoned all decorum, all pretence, and begged him to make me come.

I don’t describe how it felt to have him take me in his mouth—like the earth had shifted on its axis.

I suspect I don’t need to. I suspect it’s as clearly visible on my face as it is audible in my halting prose. And I have my answer in her wide eyes and in the way she reaches for my hand and holds it tightly.

‘Holy crap,’ she whispers. She doesn’t demand salacious details. She just asks, ‘And how are you feeling?’

‘Fuck knows.’ I rest my elbows on my knees and drag my hands over my face before looking at her. ‘That’s what I’m trying to figure out.’

‘And that’s why you wanted to chat?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Wow.’ She gazes around the room of happy, laughing people who are most likely secure in their sexuality and then back at me, tucking her hair carefully behind her ear and seemingly choosing her words. ‘Can I ask you a question?’

‘Sure.’

‘Was this your first time… with a guy?’

‘Apart from the other night with him and Darcy, yeah.’ Even referring to him has my stomach flip-flopping.

She squeezes my hand tighter. ‘Was it out of the blue? Or have you wanted to—you know—in the past?’

I sigh. ‘He told me to go home and process, said I needed to tell myself some hard facts. So that’s what I’ve been doing—or trying to do. And by far the hardest fact of all is that no, it wasn’t out of the blue. I’ve had thoughts, I suppose, for years.’

I’ve never admitted that to a living soul before. Not even to myself, really, before this week. And my admission is the blow that fells my sister, because she releases my hand and instead wraps me in a huge, sideways hug.

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