Page 82 of Four More The Merrier

I watch them move around the room, feeling an unexpected warmth bloom in my chest. These men—who I'd thought wereonly about bravado and rockstar antics—showed me another side tonight. And now, they’re slipping into bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

"Wait," I say, sitting up and pulling the sheet around me for modesty. "You’re all sleeping with me?"

Austen grins, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously. "Honey, we played in shitty bars and stayed in shittier hotel rooms before we had a tour bus. We’re used to sleeping in close quarters."

Jarron nods, sliding under the covers next to me. "Yeah, it's no big deal."

Beau climbs in on my other side, wrapping an arm around my waist protectively. "And besides," he says softly, "we want to make sure you're okay."

Lyle settles at the foot of the bed, stretching out with a contented sigh. "It's like one big sleepover," he jokes.

I laugh despite my exhaustion, the sound lightening the atmosphere even more. "Alright," I say, lying back down and nestling into the pillows. "But if any of you snore..."

"We'll deny it vehemently," Austen finishes for me with a smirk.

Jarron chuckles as he reaches over to switch off the bedside lamp. The room plunges into darkness, save for the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains.

As I drift off to sleep surrounded by these men who’ve become so much more than bandmates or casual lovers, I feel a sense of peace settle over me—a feeling that maybe this unconventional arrangement might just work out after all.

And then there's silence—the kind that's comfortable and familiar. The kind that speaks of shared experiences and newfound bonds.

I close my eyes and let myself be carried away by it all, feeling safe for perhaps the first time since I left home.

37

BEAU

Iwake up with a pounding headache and Quinn's hair tickling my nose. The early morning light filtering through the hotel window is way too bright. As memories from last night flood back, my stomach does a somersault that has nothing to do with the hangover.

"Morning," Lyle mumbles from somewhere to my left.

"Yeah," I grunt, carefully extracting myself from the tangle of limbs. Quinn stirs but doesn't wake.

I stumble to the kitchenette, desperate for coffee, and find Austen already there, staring into an empty mug like it holds the secrets of the universe.

"Well, that was..." he trails off, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

"Unexpected," I finish lamely, grabbing the coffee pot.

Jarron emerges from the bathroom, looking like death warmed over. Our eyes meet briefly before we both look away. The silence is deafening.

"Should we..." Lyle starts, having joined us in the kitchen. He gestures vaguely toward Quinn's sleeping form.

"Wake her?" Austen asks.

"Talk about it?" I suggest at the same time.

Nobody moves. The coffee maker gurgles accusingly.

"Fuck," Jarron mutters, slumping against the counter. "What were we thinking?"

"We weren't," Austen says with a hollow laugh. "That's kind of the problem."

"We just went from zero to 100 in like 2.8 seconds," Lyle says as he taps out a beat with a spoon.

I pour coffee into four mugs, my hands surprisingly steady despite the chaos in my head. The familiar routine feels absurdly normal given the circumstances.

Quinn's soft footsteps make us all freeze. She appears in the doorway wearing my flannel shirt from last night, and suddenly I can't remember how to breathe.

---