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I glance down and it’s a different part of my anatomy that’s responding to Jocelyn’s selfie of her boobs.
Me: I hope you’re not in public with those out.
Joss: Why? Feeling suddenly possessive? I mean, if I want to share, that’s up to me, right?
Me: Wrong. So very wrong, Jocelyn. You only get to share with the people I agree to share you with.
Joss: People?
Me: …
I pause, not knowing what to say. I like being watched, so does Ben. And Joss is getting used to the idea. But she’s worried that it will affect her career. And she’s right to be worried. I’m not willing to be the one responsible for her ending up with limited career options, or other men thinking that they can either manipulate her with sex or expect it from her. Because that is not going to happen. And I can’t be an over-possessive arsehole without making sure that my actions don’t have negative consequences for her. The two of them are the most important things in my life, and I would never purposefully do anything to harm either of them. I sigh.
Me: Fine. Ben.
There’s a pause before she replies, and I wonder if I’ve made her uncomfortable. I’m about to hit the button to call her when my phone pings.
Joss: I love you.
My phone rings. It’s Ben.
“Jocelyn?” he practically yells down the phone.
“No, it’s me,” I say, but then Joss answers.
“Hello?” She sounds hesitant. Most unlike her usual self which is perhaps unsurprising given what she just messaged.
“Hello? What do you mean, ‘hello?’ Who the hell do you think is going to be phoning you after you drop a bomb like that into our group chat?” Ben demands.
“Ben,” I say, chiding him. Even after all these months, I’m still the one smoothing things over between the two of them. I had always thought that our little menage would work in a similar way to a macaron — Ben and I would be the two sides, while Jocelyn was the cream in the middle. That’s… okay… I can see something immediately wrong with that idea, now that I think about it, but still… I never for one moment imagined that I would be the creamy centre.
I’m not going to use that analogy again, I promise.
“I thought you’d be happy,” Jocelyn says, and I’m not sure if Ben can hear it, but I can certainly hear the insecurity in her voice. Is this why she wrote it? Because she isn’t sure? No, I don’t think she’s unsure, but she is insecure.
“We are, baby,” I reassure her. “Aren’t we, Ben?”
“Are we happy?” says Ben and now I can hear the emotion in his voice, too. The background sound behind him changes and I hear a door close. “Jocelyn, I’m so bloody happy I’ve just had to lock myself in the janitor’s closet so that the rest of the cast don’t see my giant green hard-on.”
Whatever he says next is drowned out by both my and Jocelyn’s laughter, although I can hear the tinge of hysteria in hers. And then she sniffs.
“Are you all right?”
There’s a long silence. I check my phone screen, but she hasn’t hung up.
“Jocelyn?” I say, cursing Ben in my head. “I love you, too.”
She hangs up without saying anything else, although I’m sure I hear a squeak of some sort.
“Was that meant for her or me, or both?” Ben demands to know.
“Both. What the bloody hell, Ben?”
“What?” Ben says. “I was in the dressing room. Some woman was slathering me in green paint and she chooses that moment to tell us that!”
“Yes, and now you’ve made her feel like shit about it.”
“Did I? How? Are you sure? I just thought—”
