Page 31 of Lucy and Her Wicked Three

I grin, throwing a Cheeto in my mouth. "She's good."

"That's it? Good?"

"Yeah. She's good."

Noah glares at me, then goes back to his laptop. He huffs about five minutes later, slamming the screen closed. "Dude—"

I laugh and cut him off. "Okay, okay, sorry. Seriously, she's doing okay. I don't think she was upset about what we did, though we didn't really talk about it."

"Why the hell not? That was the whole point of one of us going over there. I knew I should have gone—"

"Nah, bro, relax. I mean, we didn't talk about it because she didn't seem like she was freaking out about it. I think she just has a lot of questions. She also said she has some personal shit going on… I dunno. Gotta ask Matty about that. But I think she was just overwhelmed last night. We…"

I pause, looking away. I think about her smile, how invested she got in my work, how excited. How bad she was at playing thegames. How she relaxed enough to fall asleep on my arm. About our kiss.

About the way she came last night, totally uninhibited. Matty holding her down, Noah and I working together, how perfect it all could be.

"We what?"

"Huh? Oh. We, uhh… we had a nice time." I shake my head because I completely forgot what I was going to say. "Don't worry, I swear, I think she's good. And still wants to try this. I can tell she has a lot of questions though, so be prepared. She's coming over for dinner tomorrow night."

Noah perks up. "Really? What does she like to eat?"

I eat another Cheeto. "Probably not these."

Noah narrows his eyes on my orange fingers, shudders, then opens his laptop again. Before he falls too deeply into work, I remember the other thing I wanted to say. "She has a rabid fan, I think."

"What do you mean?"

I tell him about the woman outside her apartment building. Noah immediately worries, coming up with excuses as to why she should move in here. If I hadn't spent the last few hours with her, I'd make fun of him for how over the top he's being, considering we barely know Lucy. And yet, I feel the same way, so I let him rant.

Noah's what I call an emotional fluffer. Mateo fixes shit with money. Noah fixes shit with sheer will, always at the ready to praise when people need it, to do what needs to be done to keep them healthy and happy. It'll be good for Lucy, I think. She's shy, embarrasses easily, and, even though I don't know her well, can tell she's kind of insecure.

Even though he's ranting about what to cook her for dinner, how to help her reconcile her potential interest in three different men, hoping she's okay fucking three deviants who like tofrequent a sex club, and debating stalking her to make sure she doesn't have anyotherstalkers, I admire how he lights up for her.

I love that about Noah. I always have. I don't know why, but I've always been overly protective of him, worried the wrong person would crush his spirit, cause he gives away emotional support so easily.

"You're not listening to a word I'm saying."

"Not really," I laugh, eating another Cheeto. Instead of getting mad, he smirks, rolls his eyes and goes back to work.

Chapter 12

Noah

Silas called Mateo on speaker earlier and told him all about his impromptu date with Lucy, so Mateo could stop worrying about Lucy's state of mind.

I should have predicted how easily he'd revert to his old habits, like working later than he should, once he knew she was okay. Just because she's not having an emotional breakdown doesn't mean he should work till nine o'clock at night.

Silas is busy drawing on his tablet, coming up with new characters for future games. Sometimes, even when we're knee deep in the middle of a game, or even nearing the end when we're ready to sell the prototype, we need a break from the current project and work on other shit to keep our creativity flowing. A small smile plays on his lips as he draws.

He looks different. No, not different. He looks… content. Silas is always bouncing off the walls, needing to go out, get laid, get drinks. He's unsettled in his skin, but right now he's relaxed. Happy. He chews on his bottom lip, something he does when he's concentrating really hard, his dextrous hand moving quickly across the screen while he sketches out whatever is in his head, putting it to the screen. Silas is an amazing artist. I'm always impressed by him.

His eyes meet mine, and he narrows his in question. I'm staring again. I don't know why I do it. It's just with Silas. Heand Mateo have both called me out on it before, and it used to embarrass me. Now, I've just accepted there's something about Silas that intrigues me, and I don't understand it. Maybe one day I will, and I'll be released from the trance he pulls me into.

I'm relieved when the door opens. Mateo tries to act indifferent as he fixes himself a scotch, but his irritation is obvious when he enters the living room, kicking Silas's leg for taking too long to acknowledge him.

In typical Silas fashion, he groans. "I told you when I called, she's good. By the way, you don't need a home office, do you? You didn't when you lived here."

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