Page 20 of Bred Winner

“So that’s one large veggie, light cheese, and one large carne everything, extra cheese. Is there anything else?”

“Do you have fresh cannolis?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Five of those.”

“Great. Delivering to the address on file?”

“Wilscher Street, yes.”

“Thirty to forty minutes.”

“Thanks.” I hang up and turn my car off as the front door opens, Tristan smiling at me from the threshold.

“Hey, babe. You’re early.” He opens my door as I unfasten my seatbelt. I have an overnight bag in the backseat, but I’m going to leave it there until after our talk.

“Hi, you. Yes, and I ordered us pizza.”

“Oh?” He raises his brow.

It’s time I take control here. Being courted is great, but I need to assert some of the boss babe energy I know these guys love. “Yes. Are Coen and Oakley home?”

“We’re all inside.”

I slip my hand inside his and interlace our fingers, feeling the nervous energy rolling off him. I know the worst thing a woman can say to a man iswe need to talk,but it was unavoidable given the situation. The last thing I wanted was a game of telephone going on, which is what would have happened if I had only told one of them what I was thinking. Plus, they need to see my face—as I need to see theirs—to ensure there is no misunderstanding. Can’t leave something this important up to text or a phone call.

He smiles and leans down, kissing me hard, considering he keeps his hands to himself. It’s a claiming, reassuring, maybe punishing kiss—and I suppose I deserve that for making him wait almost six hours to have this conversation.

We walk into the living room, and I make eye contact with Coen in the kitchen. He winks and raises the seltzer water in his hand. I nod, answering his silent question.

Oakley comes out of the garage, wiping his hands. “Hello, love.” He flashes me a big smile and leans forward, kissing my cheek. The scent of motor oil wafts off his shirt. “I’m going to clean up a bit. Be right back.”

“I ordered us pizza,” I announce. All three men exchange a look and nod. Ordering pizza in is a clear indicator that Tristan and I are not going out tonight. At least not for food.

Oakley reappears minutes later, pulling a clean T-shirt over his head. “Alright, out with it. The tension is too bloody thick in this room.”

“Okay,” I laugh, accepting the seltzer water on ice with lime slices from Coen. He’s so sweet to go the extra mile for me when he’s drinking his out of a can. “The last six days have been amazing. And I appreciate the time and care you put into our dates. But there are three of you and only one of me, and I’m exhausted.”

“What do you mean, bird?”

I try to remain calm, but I feel a rant coming, and before I can stop it, it spews out of me. “This has been the last six days of my life. We go out every night for a couple hours, then we have sex until God knows what hour, getting maybe five hours of sleep. I need my eight hours. I’m not twenty-two anymore. Then after you leave in the morning, I have to strip my bed, get ready for work, go to work, come home, wash and dry those sheets while I make my bed fresh—I only have two sets of sheets, by the way—and then get ready for another date. I have had no time for myself. I need a night where I wash and set my hair, wax body parts, exfoliate. My nails need to be done. I need to go to the grocery store, eventually. Where am I going to fit all this stuff in if I have a date every night?”

Coen leans forward and rubs his head as Tristan and Oakley stare at me.

“Why are you changing the sheets?” Oakley asks.

“You change the sheets daily?” Tristan says at the same time.

While Coen says, “Fuck, I’m sorry, sweetness. You tried to tell me this Sunday night.”

I plop down next to Coen on the couch and pat the cushion on the other side of me and the big wooden trunk that serves as a coffee table in front of me. Tristan takes the seat to my left while Oakley perches on the trunk. All three of my men are within touching distance, which is exactly what I want.

“Of course, I change the sheets. I’ve had sex with a man on them and then I’m bringing another man into my bed.”

Tristan and Oakley share a look, and then their faces change as if a lightbulb flicked on. Tristan scoffs. “Yeah, but it’s us. I mean, no, I don’t want to sleep in someone else’s dried wet spot, but we can work around this. We’ll use towels.”

“Or—” I lick my lips “—I stay the night here.”

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