One glance at his set jaw and chilled eyes lets me know he’s pissed that I don’t believe him. That I don’t believe Sean. That I’m still unconvinced this won’t blow up in my face. Cowering, I tie the bag just as Sean bounds up the carpeted stairs. I have the door halfway open when he peers in. He’s soaked from head to foot and greets me with a golden smile. “Hey, Pup.”
“Hi,” I say, my eyes drop as he draws near.
I can’t do this. I can’t.
But if that’s the truth, why does it feel like my heart is capable? My body has given into the idea easily, but the damning in my head never ceases.
It’s their words, their actions and reactions that ease my mind, not my own mindset, and at some point, that has to change if this is going to work. Sean waits patiently, but I can’t bring myself to look at him. I’m naked beneath Dom’s fresh T-shirt, a sure indication that I’ve temporarily switched sides and beds.
I reply with the only safe line my brain supplies. “You were gone forever. Did you have fun today?”
“Yeah, I did, perfect hike, and then I had some work to do, you?”
I nod, emotion clogging my throat. Unsure of what to do, I don’t glance back at Dominic to gauge his read on this situation. After another painful silence, Sean tips my chin and shakes his head adamantly before leaning in to kiss me. His lips are soft, his smell making my eyes water as he pulls away.
“Still trying to make peace with the devil?”
My nod is solemn. “I want to so much.”
“I’m all yours, Cecelia.” Words, the perfect words from a perfect man I no longer feel I deserve. He nods past my shoulder at Dom before whispering a soft, “Night, man.” I open my mouth just as he grips the handle on the other side of the door and closes it with me inside.
Shocked, I stand motionless for several seconds and turn to see Dominic’s eyes on me before he pulls the empty pillow closer to his shoulder. Climbing back into bed with him, my smile grows wide just before he clicks off the light and reaches for me.
“THAT ONE,” LAYLA SAYS AS I push through the dressing room door and step in front of the full-length mirror. Tessa, the store owner, nods in agreement from her position at the register of the small shop as I critique myself in the pale, yellow sundress that hugs my every curve. I’ve toned up, due to extended hikes with Sean. The color of the dress makes my sun-tinted skin appear darker and brings out the blue in my eyes.
“Yeah, this one.”
Layla gives me a sly grin and leans in, out of Tessa’s earshot. “Which one is this for?”
“Sean. I’m going to head over to the house after we leave and cook for the boys before fireworks tonight.”
She sorts through a rack of hangers and grins. “If I didn’t love my shithead fiancé so much, and hadn’t watched those two twerps grow up, I would be jealous.”
Layla is substantially older than me, having just turned thirty, and I hadn’t realized how much older in our previous exchanges. From our conversations, I’ve gathered she’s been in the ‘club’ since the beginning. She’s a true ride-or-die when it comes to the hood, and we’ve been spending more time together in the last few weeks. She’s the only person aside from Tyler who knows my Sunday Brunch smile secret.
The secret that I’m in a polyamorous relationship.
Which is odd and wonderful, exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time.
My phone sounds from my purse, and I pluck it from where it sits in the chair next to the dressing room to decline FaceTime with my mother. I’ve been avoiding her like the plague, due to my current dating status and the fact that I don’t want to share any part of this with her. From the time I hit puberty until now, I’ve condemned her silently for sharing stories showcasing her blatant promiscuity, and now I have no place to judge. I’ve never once appreciated the fact that she played more friend than mother with her oversharing in that respect. And it’s all wrong. I shouldn’t punish her for it now that I better understand it. But some part of me wants to believe my circumstances are different. That my relationships are different. Grabbing my check card from my wallet, I brush away the guilt and see a message pop up when I hand it to the shop owner who’s done nothing but helicopter us since we walked through the door.
I just wanted to see your face. Stop ignoring my calls. This is bullshit, kid, call me back or I’ll be driving in from Atlanta TONIGHT.
I type out a quick reply.
Sorry. I’ll call you later.