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Apart from the obvious conflict going on in his mind, West’s face is unreadable. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he didn’t like having a third party involved.
But I remember the way he tossed Raleigh on the bed, so casually. So easily. Like Raleigh weighed nothing at all.
Like maybe he’s done something like that before.
Which is maybe a silly thought to have, but now that the thought is there, I can’t help but picture it—West tossing Raleigh on the bed and crawling over him, like they were alone.
Oh, my God, that’s hot.
West keeps looking at the door. Finn’s standing right outside of it, his left hand on the handle, ready to pull it open, swiping at his phone with his right.
“I don’t—” mutters West, still watching Finn. “I’ve never—”
“Never what?” I prompt.
West shakes his head. “Finn’s coming.”
I take a deep breath. West excuses himself as soon as Finn gets to the table, making a beeline for the restroom. I wish I’d thought of that myself.
“Weddings,” says Finn, swiping his phone open again as soon as he sits down. “I swear, I’m stressed out. And I’m not even one of the grooms.”
He goes on, telling me all about the latest wedding planner foibles and I nod, making the appropriate noises, but my attention is stuck on that conversation with West.
He wants me. And I think he wants a threesome—like, a real one. With Raleigh and me. And I think maybe, just maybe, he wants the kind of threesome where he gets to touch Raleigh.
I don’t know what to make of that. I’ve never really thought about it before, about two men together, but the thought has my pulse tripping over itself. Watching the two of them…
I pull away from the thought, because we’re in public and I’m having coffee with my brother and there’s nothing appropriate about that line of thought. Now is not the time to be thinking about these things.
But I keep thinking about it the rest of the day, long after Finn and West go off to run wedding errands, long after I get bored with sitting on the beach by myself. By the rehearsal that evening, I’m about ready to burst.
13
Raleigh
The rehearsal itself is pretty hilarious. The flowers and ribbons and stuff are already set up, everything just so for the big day tomorrow. The bride and grooms couldn’t look more excited, though they’ve got different ways of showing it. Elliot is the most obvious—that man is practically bouncing off the walls and wound up enough to bark at the officiant for not talking fast enough. When Alex reminds him the wedding isn’t until tomorrow, Elliot turns bright red and tones it down long enough that they get through it without too many more hiccups.
My parents know everybody here, and while I’m happy to chat with the other guests at our table, I keep pretty quiet. The people I’d prefer to eat dinner with are two tables away, sitting at the perfect angle for me to observe without making it obvious that I’m staring.
Callahan is wearing a shimmery gold dress that appears to be held up by one shoulder and magic. West looks imposing and untouchable in a suit I recognize as several zeroes outside my price range. They’re seated together near the wedding party, along with the parents of the bride and grooms.
I spent most of my day trying to focus on anything but Callie and West. It helped to have something else to think about; after that skeptical conversation with my parents, I got in touch with a few of my old teammates from school. Two of them are swimming instructors now, and they both suggested that I get in touch with our old coach. The longer I thought about coaching, the more I felt that this was something I could do. Not just something I could get by with, like the way I’d skated through a communications degree in college. I’d be making a difference. And maybe I’d even be able to make a living at the same time, rather than selling my soul to some corporation until I’m sixty-five-plus.
The thought is encouraging. Coupled with the high I’m still riding from the hottest sexual encounter of my life, I’m feeling pretty damn good tonight.
Callahan catches me watching her and blushes, ducking her head and smiling to herself when I wink. West bends to whisper in her ear and her blush deepens. She must have ratted me out instantly; West sits up and looks at me, his expression narrowing with intent.
“Stop fiddling with your collar, dear. You’re going to mess up the silk,” scolds my mother, waving my hands away and adjusting the knot at my neck. I can see West and Callie watching, their faces a combination of amusement and speculation.
“I’ve got it, Mom, thanks.” I force myself to stop fidgeting, but it’s no use. “I think I’m gonna go get some air.”
“Don’t be too long,” says Dad. “I think they’re starting the music soon. Wouldn’t want to miss that.”
“Right,” I say, smirking along with him. “Because the world needs more Griffins dancing in public.”
“Suit yourself,” says Mom. “I say it’s what weddings are for.”
I shake my head and let Dad take over the argument from there. Mom loves to dance; I avoid it at all costs. Every person in our family has two left feet except my sister Kelly, and it’s a running joke that she’s probably adopted.
