He nods against the pillow. “Coffee?”
“Please.”
Broderick hefts himself out of bed, and I’m struck speechless all over again at the sight of him naked. His body isn’t perfect. He’s broad and muscular, but the man will never have a six-pack because he just doesn’t give a shit about stuff like that. He pads into the closet, and Monroe nudges me with her knee. “Stop staring at him like that, or he’s going to have an uncomfortable walk down to the kitchen with a giant hard-on. I need my coffee, Shiloh. You know what I’m like before caffeine.”
Broderick reappears wearing a pair of low-slung lounge pants and nothing else. He shouldn’t look even better with pants on than he did naked, but logic has no reason when it comes to Broderick apparently. Especially now that I’ve had his hands and mouth all over me, his cock deep inside me. He eyes us. “Stay out of trouble until I get back.”
Monroe stretches, arching her back, and both of us follow the way her breasts bounce just a little with the movement. She grins. “No promises.”
“Thought not.” He shakes his head, a small smile pulling at the edges of his lips as he leaves the room.
Dear gods, everything he does it overwhelmingly attractive. I’m in huge trouble. I knew there was no going back last night, but there’s something about having to live with the consequences of my actions that I don’t know how to, well, live with. Broderick is my best friend, and now I know my best friend fucks like a fiend. Now I know that he’s both fierce and playful in turns and absolutely ruthless when it comes to giving pleasure.
How am I supposed to go back? I laugh a little, though the sound feels forced. “Should we get dressed?”
Monroe eyes me. “That depends. How likely do you think one of us is going to be to storm out of here before the end of this necessary conversation?”
That’s a good question. Pretty damn likely, judging from past experiences. I sigh. “At least if everyone is mostly naked, it will take longer to do a dramatic exit.”
“My thoughts exactly.” She grasps my wrist and tugs. “Come cuddle me until he gets back.”
I let her pull me down to spoon me, her chest to my back. She wraps her arms around me and hugs me close, burying her face in the back of my neck. “My shampoo smells good on you.”
“Thanks,” I murmur. Monroe’s been casually touching me since we met, but this feels different. There’s a heaviness to this moment, a weight I’m not sure I’m imagining. “You okay?”
“Sure.” Her laugh even sounds off. “Just having a small crisis of faith. Hold still, and it will pass.”
Yeah, no. I twist, and after the slightest hesitation, she allows me to turn in her arms. “What’s wrong?” She tries to lock down her expression, and I’m startled to realize I know her well enough to recognize that. I cup her jaw. “Talk to me.”
“You’re killing me, love.” She closes her eyes. “It’s nothing for you to be concerned about and nothing you can help with.”
I should let it go. If Monroe doesn’t need my help, it’s selfish in the extreme to push it on her, but I can’t shake the feeling that she’s lying to me. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I feather my fingers along her temple. So much has changed for me in the past twelve hours, I’m tempted to project those changing feelings onto Monroe. That would be a mistake. She’s not one to let her emotions get the best of her, and whatever her motivations for seeing Broderick and I finally fuck, I don’t think they’re malicious. Not even she’s that cruel. I don’t think. “Are we friends, Monroe?”
“Friends?” She opens her eyes, and there’s something almost like pain there. “Yes, love, we’re friends.”
Then she definitely wasn’t motivated by revenge or any darker things last night. I knew that in my gut, and this just confirms it. No matter what else is true of Monroe, she’s fiercely loyal when she decides she cares about someone.
When she cares about someone. “Monroe—” I don’t have to find the courage to finish that sentence because the bedroom door opens and Broderick comes through. He’s found a little serving tray somewhere, and there are three mugs on it and two little cups.
Monroe sits ups too fast, almost as if she’s running, and yanks the blankets into some semblance of order so Broderick can set down the tray without spilling. Once he does, I realize the two containers have cream and sugar in them, respectively. He catches me looking and shrugs. “Easier this way.” Without another word, he doses one mug heavily with both cream and sugar and passes it to me. I take a sip and, no surprise, it’s perfect.
Broderick glances at Monroe. “Cream? Sugar?”
“I can make my own coffee.” She’s got that same strange look on her face, and the sentence comes out almost like a question.
“No one is arguing that you’re not capable of doing it. Now answer the damn question.”
“Sugar,” she murmurs.
We both watch Broderick dose her coffee with sugar and pass it to her. Monroe stares into her cup for a long moment. “Did you poison it?”
“No, Monroe, I didn’t poison it.” He’s got that fond little smile curving his lips again. This is the Broderick I know, the steady friend who cares about everyone around him. I’ve never seen him look at Monroe like that, though.
The warmth in my chest gets stronger. There’s nowhere for it to go, though. I sip my coffee and try to pretend my heart isn’t beating too hard with things unsaid. There are no words I can utter to change our situation and, more importantly, right now, in this moment, things are working.
These two people are more than tolerating each other. It might be the sex, it might be me, it might be a million other reasons, but I’m not about
