Page 5 of Me Three
“That’d be great,” he says.
He helps me put my jeans back on next, and when I’m all dressed up again—with his help, which is kinda nice—he walks me to the door.
“Stay in touch. And drive home safe,” he says and gives my lips a kiss. Then he closes the door behind him and I get on my way.
I’m so confused. Why didn't they want me to spend the night? I get the no-strings-attached thing, but spending the night doesn’t mean we’re married all of a sudden. I would have thought what we did, how hot we were, all three of us would count for something.
Maybe I wasn’t their best. Maybe what I thought was—undoubtedly—the best sex of my life was their mediocre one-night stand.
Or maybe they’ve got work early tomorrow? Yeah, let’s go with that. It hurts my ego less.
I don’t know why I care, anyway. It wouldn’t be the first time I don’t spend the night with a hook-up, and I don’t want to sour the memory of what we’ve just shared.
I’d rather think of them as the two hunks I was gifted with for an hour of uninhibited fun.
A week later, they’re still all I can think about. Every time I beat off, I think of our time together. Of how much fun it was being between them. Being kissed by them. Sucked by them.
By the forward and outgoing Carter and the shy, teasing Everett.
“Hey, you. Where are you?” Freddy asks next to me.
I shake my head and clear my thoughts, focusing instead on the board over the counter with the list of drinks.
“Nowhere. I just got distracted,” I say.
Freddy puts his arm around my neck and presses his nose on my cheek.
“Distracted by…” he slurs.
“By all these drinks,” I say, trying to sound normal.
Freddy’s eyes pop, and he pulls away.
“Oh my God, Mx. Tru. Are you still thinking about your hot threesome?” he asks.
My sigh is response enough.
“Was it that hot?” he says. “What am I saying? It was a threesome. Of course it was.”
I elbow him and he fakes getting hurt, crying for help.
“I think I liked you better when you were a shy wallflower, you know,” I tell him as we finally reach the counter.
“Fuck you. I was never a wallflower,” he says.
“Uhm, yes you were. But you were the prettiest wallflower,” I tell him, and he grins from ear to ear, batting his lashes at me.
We only met last semester in Poetry class after I hooked up with his friend Julian, and we kinda clicked. Of course, my fling with Julian didn’t last, but we’re all still friends.
“I just… why didn’t they message again?” I ask him when we come out with drinks.
Julian is there typing on his phone and smoking, just like we left him before we went into Espresso Blues to get our drinks.
“Oh my God. Are you still crying about those guys?” Julian asks.
I elbow him, too.
“You people don’t understand how hot it was! How could they not want to do it again?”
