“Three days.”
There’s a pause, and then, “Is this like a countdown?” He doesn’t sound impressed.
I pull my hand from my panties before shucking them off, tossing them in the direction of my hamper. For you. “It’s more like…a challenge.”
“A challenge,” he repeats, voice flat.
“Go sober for three days,” I swallow, knowing that I’ll have to commit to this, “and I’ll sleep in your bed.”
There’s more rustling, and then complete silence. It goes on for so long; I worry the call has dropped. Dimitri breaks it with a low, skeptical, “Sleep.”
“Yes,” I stress, knowing I have to be careful here. I can’t promise something I’m uncertain about my ability to give. “Sleep.”
His scoff is loud and full of static. “I can sleep alone just fine.”
Then he hangs up.
I glare at my phone’s screen, unable to really muster any anger about it. Maybe it’s the orgasm, or maybe it’s just that I know Dimitri too well. He’s hoping I’ll sweeten the pot. Even though the four of us are on different terms, they’re still who they are. Killian still wants in, Tristian still wants to watch, and Dimitri still wants to manipulate.
I just know how to handle them now.
Part of me wants to open that door and let Killian come in and make me forget everything but the rough heat of his hands. Or go outside and drag Tristian into the hot tub to ease away the tension and stress. Or I could climb the stairs and force Dimitri to play something for me. To play me, drawing me out, edging me closer and closer in that way no one else can but him. But my issues with sleeping are the least of our problems. We’ve all got something else on our mind. Something we’ve got to get through first.
Thanksgiving.
We’ve been invited to a formal dinner, and for the first time in years, it looks like I’m going to spend it with family.
My mom, my stepfather, my stepbrother, and his two best friends: My Lords.
One, big, happy family.
2
Tristian
When I reach the second floor landing, I’m just hanging up with Izzy, who’s having a Thanksgiving dress crisis of proportions that I apparently can’t grasp the magnitude of. Since she and Lizzy are going with my dad to spend the holiday with our great-grandmother, I’ve been spared an invitation. The Mercer matriarch has never thought much of me, but she adores the twins. Who couldn’t?
I’m slipping my phone in my pocket when I run into Rath, who appears from out of nowhere. Well, no. Not from out of nowhere. From out of Story’s room. Through the wall, I can hear the distant hiss of her showering. I look at the hand he’s got shoved in his pocket, and then toward her open door, raising an eyebrow.
“Dude.”
He doesn’t even attempt to pull off a defensive expression. “So?”
He’s practically daring me to say something, which is fair. We’re all coping with our Story-imposed sexile in our own ways, and Rath sneaking into her room to abscond with her panties is probably something she’d find most preferable of the three. Hell, Killer stomps around the hall at night, waiting for her to unlock her door, and he’s still more subtle than I am. I have absolutely zero room to talk.
So I just sigh, asking, “What color?” He pulls his hand from his pocket just far enough for me to catch a glimpse of blue lace. I give it an appreciative look. “That’s a good pair.”
It’s the same pair she was wearing the day I fingered her in the library.
He clears his throat, cramming them back into his pocket. “I’ll be down in a few.”
Before he can pass me, I grab his arm, giving him a more critical look. Killer and I have been giving Rath his space. We know everything that went down—his being outed like that at his performance, what happened in the pit—has been hard on him, but Christ. All he ever does now is drink, smoke, and jerk off.
Our boy is on a serious bender.
I ask, “When’s the last time you slept?” He’s got dark bruises beneath his eyes, already bloodshot, still a bit glazed. His hair is limp. “Or showered? Or ate something with a vitamin in it?”
He sneers, “Don’t mother me, Mercer,” and yanks his arm from my grip.
Before he can slink off, Killian’s door opens, and he steps out, giving us a suspicious look. “What’s up?”
Rath says, “Nothing,” but I jab a thumb at him, cutting in.
“He’s going to jack off into your sister’s panties.”