Page 57 of Repluse

“Do we need to have a conversation?”

“I don’t think we should do it without her. She needs to be a part of it.”

I wait for his response, but he’s silent for a long moment.

“Sam?”

“Still here.”

“I feel it more when we’re all together, if that makes sense?”

I pause, pulling my singlet over my head, shocked at how transparent Frankie’s being with his feelings.

“It does,” I tell him.

“Is it something… We’ve never talked about this shit, but going forward, is it something you’d consider? The three of us? Something… permanent?”

Turning on the shower, I stand out of reach of the water and consider his question. Not his question—that’s a lie. I stand totally naked and consider my answer.

“I’ve known the little witch a week and I’ve thought about nothing else.”

He snorts out a laugh, and I join him, my hand going to my jaw as I scratch at my whiskers.

“Fuck me,” Frankie groans. “We’re fucked.”

“Yeah.”

“I kinda like it, though.”

“Yeah,” I repeat.

“Want me to pick you up?”

“Give me thirty,” I tell him. “Where we taking her?”

“Anywhere she wants to go. Clothes shopping is the first place. That fucker dropped her off with nothing.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Yeah,” he repeats my one-word response. “See ya when I’m looking at ya,” he says before ending the call.

I stare at where my phone sits on the edge of the sink, debating whether to call Mila. I want to. I really fucking want to, but if Frankie’s already got her twisted in knots with his confession, I don’t want her knowing he got straight on the phone to me to discuss her meltdown.

Raking my fingers through my hair, I lace them together and press them into the top of my head. My lips rattle together as I blow out a sigh.

“Fuck me. Mila, Mila, Mila, what the fuck have you done to us?” I ask no one before hooking my phone up to my sound system, finding a playlist, and like a lovesick tween, I blast “Chasing Cars” as I step into the shower.

CHAPTER 17

Mila.

Stepping out of the lift into the car park, I can’t control my grin, or a little chuckle from escaping when I see not one but two hot as fuck men waiting for me.

Frankie’s leaning one shoulder against a matte black Defender, while Sam has his back against it, his arms folded across his chest. Both have their legs crossed at the ankle. Both are wearing jeans. Sam’s are faded, straight, and turned up at the bottom where they meet a pair of unlaced, tan leather boots. Up top, he’s wearing a plain white tee and a brown leather jacket. His hair is pushed back off his face, which is covered in sandy-coloured stubble and a pair of dark sunnies.

Frankie’s jeans are looser, darker, and paired with a pair of grey Converse high tops, a faded grey tee, and a dark blue blazer. His sunnies are up on his head, resting amongst his dark hair. His jaw is also covered in stubble, making it really hard for me to decide whose face I want to ride first. Is there a way I could straddle both of them? I’m sure if there is, they’d know how and be willing to teach me.

I instantly feel inadequate. I’d washed and dried my clothes after Sam dropped me off yesterday, so I’m wearing cleanleggings, my white Nikes, and a white tee I found in the wardrobe, covered by an oversized, mint green, denim shacket. Because I’d purchased it in summer and knew it would be too warm to wear in Yirabang, I’d also left that hanging in the wardrobe. It looks good, and the colour makes my eyes pop, but it’s a shacket, not a miracle, and in no way makes me look worthy to be in the company of the pair of gods standing in front of me.

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