Page 21 of Bred Winner

The guys exchange another set of glances, but this time I don’t know what they are conveying to each other.

“This has nothing to do with wanting to stop seeing us?” Oakley asks.

I reach out and grip his hand. “I don’t want to stop. You’re my best friends, so I already love spending time with you—one-on-one or as a group. And, well—” I dip my head, a small blush hitting my cheeks “—let’s be honest, the sex rocks. So, I definitely don’t want to give that up.”

Coen chuckles to my right, placing his hand on my thigh.

“I’m thinking we slow things down and remove the ninety-day deadline hanging over our heads. That way, I don’t have to date every night, and sometimes, we can hang out like we normally do. The four of us. Together.”

“And pregnancy? We’re still working toward that goal, right?” Coen asks.

“Yes, but you know the last six days have only been practice. I wasn’t in my fertility window, so the chances of getting pregnant were really low.”

“And today?” Tristan places his palm on my other thigh and flexes his fingers.

“I’m entering the high fertility period.”

He waggles his brows and flashes me one of his goofy come hither looks.

I smack his shoulder and shake my head, chuckling under my breath.

“I think spending nights here is perfect. It would give us an idea of what living together would be like if we ever choose to go that route,” Coen interjects.

“The polyamorous family route?”

“Yeah.” Coen shrugs with a tilt of his head.

“I’m loving it. This is the second best idea we’ve had in a week.” Tristan kisses my cheek and then leans back on the sofa, moving his hand from my thigh to my shoulder, massaging my muscles gently, turning me quickly into a giant puddle of goo.

I glance up at Oakley. “What do you think?”

He reaches out and strokes my cheek. “If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

“Bullshit.” I roll my eyes. “Tell me what you think.”

“I want you, Alora.” He shrugs. “That’s what I think. It’s what I know.”

The doorbell rings, breaking the tension his declaration threads throughout the room. It’s the use of the wordI. Coen is always careful to useusorwe. Tristan too—as if they are of one mind. Are they no longer in sync?

“Dinner,” Coen sighs and stands up, retrieving our pizzas and cannolis.

We get up and follow him into the kitchen, making our plates and taking a seat around their small kitchen table. We eat in silence for a few minutes, a college rock playlist playing softly over the sound system they’ve run through the house. I really like my townhouse, but I love their home. They’ve done a bunch of remodeling and took an old house with a lot of character and modernized it, losing none of its charm.

“So?” I can’t take the silence. It’s not us. “Are we okay? Do we have a plan?”

“We’re absolutely okay.” Tristan smiles.

“We can tame the dates down on work nights and if you want a night or two to yourself, just say so.” Coen adds.

“I think we should have sex as a group,” Oakley blurts out of nowhere. “Tonight.”

Everyone turns big eyes his way. “What?”

“We’ve waited on the sidelines for fifteen years. Then, we jumped intothis… but we didn’t jump. We tiptoed, making things harder than they need to be. What’s the end goal here?” He looks at each of us. “Honestly.”

“To strengthen our bonds,” Coen says.

“To share our bodies,” Tristan winks at me.

---