Page 99 of Carnival Mayhem

I set down my coffee on the nightstand, grabbing a garbage bag to help collect smaller pieces of debris. The sooner we finish, the sooner we can christen our new bed. From Nash’s heated glance, I can tell he’s thinking the same thing.

“Better finish your coffee, little bird,” Nash says. “We’ve got a lot more work ahead.”

I work alongside Nash and Colt as we clear away the last of the debris. My muscles ache from hauling pieces of drywall, but I’m satisfied watching our shared space take shape. The wall that once divided the bedrooms is gone, leaving a wide open area perfect for our new bed.

Colt dismantles his old bed frame with practiced efficiency. At the same time, Nash and I vacuum every corner, ensuring no dust or debris remains. The empty space feels full of possibility.

“Last piece,” Colt announces, carrying out the headboard.

I’ve just finished wiping down the baseboards when a knock echoes through the trailer. Nash opens the door to two delivery men with our new bed.

“Right this way,” he directs them to our newly opened room.

The delivery guys work quickly, bringing in pieces of the massive Alaskan king frame. I stand back with Colt, watching them assemble it with professional speed. The dark wood perfectly matches Nash’s existing furniture, making the space cohesive.

When they bring the mattress, all four men have to maneuver it through the trailer and onto the frame. It’s enormous and exactly what we need. The delivery guys quickly set everything up, and then we signed the paperwork.

“All set,” the lead delivery man says, handing Nash the warranty information. “Enjoy your new bed.”

I catch one of the delivery guys giving us a curious look as he glances between Nash, Colt, and me. His eyes dart from one to the other, clearly trying to piece together our dynamic. The slight furrow in his brow and how his lips purse tell me he’s figured out we’re more than roommates.

He opens his mouth to say something, then thinks better of it. Instead, he busies himself with gathering their tools while his partner folds up the moving blankets.

Nash hands them each a tip, maintaining his professional demeanor despite the obvious judgment in the delivery guy’s expression. Colt stands protectively close to me, his hand resting casually on my lower back.

The curious delivery guy’s eyes linger on Colt’s possessive gesture, then flick to Nash’s matching stance on my other side. His cheeks flush slightly as understanding dawns. But to his credit, he keeps his thoughts to himself, simply nodding politely thanks for the tip.

I help Nash unfold the crisp new sheets, their deep burgundy color rich against the dark wood of the frame. The fabric feels impossibly soft between my fingers. Nash insisted on the highest thread count they had.

“Finally, room to stretch,” Colt says, helping tuck in the corners of the fitted sheet. “No more elbows in my face at three a.m.”

“That was one time,” I protest, tossing a pillow at him. He catches it with a grin.

Nash spreads out the matching duvet, its weight settling perfectly across the massive expanse of mattress. “I still can’t believe how big this thing is. Could fit half the carnival in here.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” Colt warns playfully, arranging the decorative pillows I picked against the headboard.

Once everything’s perfectly arranged, I can’t resist anymore. I take a running leap onto the bed, landing in the middle witha bounce. The mattress is heavenly—firm but with just enough give.

“Come on!” I pat the spaces beside me. Nash and Colt exchange amused looks before joining me, one on each side. We lay there staring up at the ceiling, the bed so wide we could all spread our arms without touching.

“This is weird,” Colt declares after a moment. “I’m too used to being squished together.”

Nash rolls onto his side, propping his head on his hand. “We’ll just have to get creative about filling all this space.”

I stretch luxuriously, enjoying the room to move. “At least now, when one of you steals all the covers, there’s enough left for the rest of us.”

“I do not steal covers,” they protest in unison, making me laugh.

“Sure you don’t.” I burrow into the plush duvet, sighing contentedly. “This is perfect.”

Nash wastes no time turning to more enticing prospects, saying, “We have to christen this new bed properly.”

Colt’s smile widens as he shifts closer to me, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Any suggestions for how we should do that?”

Nash’s answer comes without hesitation. “A train, of course.” He reaches out to brush a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch gentle. “Colt’s dick in my ass, my dick in you, Flora. Like we’ve done so many times before.”

My cheeks heat at the memory. It’s true—the three of us have become intimately familiar with the pleasures of this arrangement. As Nash calls it, the train has become our new favorite way to connect, a physical manifestation of the bond we’ve formed. I nod my agreement, my voice hoarse as I say, “Sounds good.”

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