Page 54 of Twins for the Mountain Daddies

Wyatt's blonde hair is a mess, and Holt's dark stubble is thicker than usual. They exchange a look—the kind that passes between people who've known each other forever—before their eyes land on me. Something in their gaze makes my stomach flip.

"Morning, CG," Holt says, flashing that easy smile that probably makes women drop their panties on command. It shouldn't work on me, but my heart skips traitorously.

Wyatt heads straight for the coffee pot. "You're up early," he says, glancing at me over his shoulder. His eyes linger a beat too long, as they sweep from my head down to my toes and back.

I curl my fingers tighter around my mug. "Couldn't sleep," I mutter.

Another look passes between them. I pretend not to notice, taking a sip of my not-coffee. Maybe if I play it cool, they won’t notice I’m an absolute mess. Wishful thinking.

“All night? Because you disappeared pretty early on and we didn’t find you in the living room.”

Dammit.

Heat crawls up my neck. “I had a bad dream. Hank found me and I finished the night in his bed.”

"Must've been some dream," Holt says, dropping into the chair across from me. He doesn't bother with coffee, instead reaching for an apple from the bowl in the center of the table. He takes a loud, crunching bite, still watching me.

I shift in my seat. "I don't remember much of it," I lie. "Anyway, it's fine. I'm fine."

"You don't have to be fine all the time, you know," Wyatt says quietly.

I look up, startled by the gentleness in his voice. It's the same tone he uses with Hank's fugly cat when he thinks no one's watching—soft and careful. He’s treating me like a skittish animal. Goody. Who wouldn’t want to be treated like a flight risk by the men she’s sleeping with?

"I—" I start, but the words stick in my throat. What am I supposed to say? That I'm falling apart? That I don't know who I am anymore? That I'm terrified of going back to my life but equally terrified of staying here, where these three men make me feel things I can't afford to feel?

Or that the dream wasn’t any worse than the nightmare I’d been living. That I don’t know why it affected me so strongly that I woke up practically sobbing. I’ve been an unstable, emotional mess the past couple of days.

"We want to talk to you about something," Holt says, saving me from having to respond. He exchanges another look with Wyatt, who nods slightly.

My stomach tightens. This is it. They're going to tell me it's time for me to leave. The roads will be clear soon, and I've already stayed longer than I should have. I brace myself, plastering on the smile I use for cameras and people I don't want to disappoint.

"We were thinking," Wyatt continues, setting his mug down and crossing his arms over his chest, "when the roads are completely clear, we'd like to take you out."

I blink. "Take me out?" I repeat, not comprehending.

Holt grins, a flash of white teeth against his dark stubble. "Yeah, CG. On a date."

"A date," I echo stupidly, the word feeling foreign on my tongue.

"Or dates, plural," Wyatt clarifies. "We figured we'd give you options. This whole thing isn’t exactly conventional. So, it's whatever you want, really. They could be one-on-one, or all three of us together, or both, whatever you're comfortable with."

My brain short-circuits. They want to take me on a date? All three of us? Is that even a thing people do? And why would they want to? I'm a mess, a fake, a woman who doesn't even know her own mind anymore.

And, how exactly does one date two men at the same time? I mean I know people do it, but they usually do it because they’re cheating bastards who are allergic to monogamy, or they have multiple situationships. I mean, I know poly relationships exist. I’ve read enough why choose books to understand how they work. I’ve just…never seen one in real life. Is that what this is? A relationship? With both of them?

"You don't have to decide right now," Holt adds, misinterpreting my silence. "Just something to think about."

"No, I mean—" I stammer, struggling to gather my thoughts. "I'm just...surprised."

"Why?" Wyatt asks, genuine curiosity in his voice.

I gesture vaguely at myself. "Because I'm...me. And you're..." I wave my hand to encompass both of them, unable to articulate what I mean. That they're real in a way I'm not. They belong here, in this world of solid things and honest work, while I'm a mirage. I’m just a carefully constructed illusion that could vanish with a strong enough wind.

Holt laughs, the sound sends a shiver down my spine every time. "Yeah, we're us. And?"

"And I'm a walking disaster," I blurt out. "I burned eggs yesterday. I cried over a dream last night. Istillcannot work that damn coffee machine. Or the vacuum. And the washing machine and I are frenemies at the moment. I don't know the first thingabout living in a place like this, and I'm not sure I even know who I am anymore. Why would anyone want to date that?"

Wyatt pushes away from the counter and comes to sit at the table. His movements are deliberate, like he's trying not to spook me. Dammit. What about me seems like a skittish animal? I don’t like being treated with kid gloves. The producers used to do this, too. They acted like I was a naive child who needed to be coddled.

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