“I was going to suggest we watch a movie.” Cole rolls to his back. “According to you, there’s only one movie in existence, and you know all the lines. So you can talk until your voice is raw.”
His suggestion makes me want to jump up and down with excitement, except he knows all the lines, too, and Trace doesn’t. Is that why he suggested it? To one-up Trace? My stomach sinks. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like watching Dirty Dancing.
“Don’t freak out,” I say, trying not to freak out, “but what do you think about choosing a different movie? What do you guys want to watch?”
“I feel like that’s a trick question,” Cole says.
Trace studies me with tapered eyes.
“We’re here to grow and learn and figure out the future, right?” I stretch over him and snatch the remote off the night stand. “I can’t do that unless I expand my horizons.” I set the device on his chest and settle on the bed between them. “Might as well start with a new movie genre.”
As Trace powers on the TV and surfs through the channels, I grip his free hand, still holding tight to Cole’s in my other.
If being with one or the other is a choice, when did I decide to love them both?
I didn’t.
Love happened twice, and I have no regrets, even if the situation feels impossible, even if the looming decision makes me believe I will never survive it. As much as I fear the future, it isn’t going away until it shows me what I need to do.
I fell in love with two men and lost myself.
I’ll stay in love with one and find myself again.
I wake the next morning to find Trace staring down at me, shirtless, hair tousled, and blue eyes illuminated by the sunlight crashing rudely through the windows.
I groan. Too early. Need sleep.
Cole’s side of the bed is empty. Maybe it’s later than I thought. I peek at the clock on the nightstand.
6:57 AM. Seriously? Why can’t mornings happen after noon?
“Word of advice.” I roll over and bury my face in the pillow. “If you’re waking me, it better involve morning sex, coffee, or Beyoncé. Preferably all three.”
Trace yanks the pillow out from beneath me and flips me onto my back.
His dominant energy precedes him. He doesn’t even need to open his mouth to communicate his intention of controlling every breath I take today. His gorgeous face and steady glare kick my heart against my ribcage. Add to that, the memory of yesterday’s punishment, of his drugging kiss swirling with his bold masculine taste, and I could be coaxed out of bed. Or rather, into bed.
“Morning.” He smiles a barely-there smile that shines with more intensity than anyone should be capable of at this hour.
“You know what rhymes with morning?” I stretch, yawning. “Fuck off.”
He lifts a mug from the nightstand and brings it to his lips, sipping with a smirk.
Coffee! I lurch to my knees, reaching for his cup. He lets me have it, but a glance at the pitch-black contents has me passing it back with a grimace.
“You should know,” I say grumpily, “I totally judge you on the way you take your coffee, you un-creamy freakshow.”
“Someone left the bag of whiners open this morning.” He drinks the coffee, eyes dancing.
“You opened it,” I huff, “with your lack of creamer and flirty eyes and… Wait. You just made another joke.”
“Get up.” He stands and strides toward the closet, his crisp khaki slacks hanging deliciously low. “Your creamy coffee is waiting in the kitchen, princess. We have things to do.”
I tilt my head, watching him slide on a starched collared shirt. “Where are we going?”
“Walmart.” His fingers move deftly over the buttons. “We need groceries.”
An hour later, I sit in the front seat of Cole’s Range Rover as Trace drives along the winding road through the woods. Cole took the boat out to go fishing this morning, and I’ve yet to see him.
Slurping coffee from a travel mug, I watch Trace out of the corner of my eye. “Did Cole make himself scarce for a reason?”
“We’re dividing up our time with you.”
“Care to enlighten me on the schedule?”
“No.” He adjusts the heat controls, directing those captivating eyes at the road.
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll obsess over it.” He scratches his clean-shaved jaw, gaze straight ahead. “I only want you obsessing about one thing.”
I don’t need him to draw a picture. He wants me thinking of him and nothing else. I want that for him, too, and I hate myself for not being able to give it to him.
“Why are you putting yourself through this?” I stare at the windshield, voice quiet. “There are so many other ways to go about it, including not bothering with me at all.”