My brain goes:four guys, four cocks you’ve taken—
“Okay,” I mutter out loud, telling my own brain to shut the fuck up.
Finn glances over. “What?”
“Nothing.”
He goes back to scrolling.
I throw an arm over my face to hide the flush and try to actually sleep.
* * *
I’m somewhere between asleep and just daydreaming when I hear Miles stumble down the stairs.
He emerges into the living room looking like something that crawled out of a fucking dumpster, hair completely destroyed, glasses slightly crooked, wearing a hoodie that I’m pretty sure is inside out.
He moves through the room without acknowledging anybody, which is normal Miles, and goes to the kitchen. I hear the coffee maker. I know he’s just standing in front of it for the entire brew cycle, zoning out. Then he comes back, mug in both hands, and lowers himself to the floor with the careful movements of a man whose entire body is asking him to reconsider his life choices.
He sits there. Drinks coffee. Stares at the middle distance.
I watch him from under my arm.
He looks at me.
I look at him.
“Dude,” he says.
“Hey.”
He drinks more coffee. Looks at the window. Looks back at me with this expression like he’s been turning something over for a while and has finally arrived at the conclusion.
“Did I fuck you last night?”
The room does not immediately react because it takes a second for the words to land. I watch them land on Grant first. Then Walker, mid-stretch, goes still. Then Finn’s phone keeps playing but he’s not looking at it.
“I mean,” Miles says into the silence, “did I use the doll?”
I put my arm back over my face. “Yeah.”
“Okay. I thought so. It felt real, but I wasn’t sure if I dreamed it.”
Another silence.
“Wait,” Walker says, sitting up straight. “I wasn’t the only one getting in that ass?” He looks at me, sounding genuinely pissed.
“I mean—” I start.
“Hold on,” Finn says. He puts his phone face down on his thigh and looks around the room like he just found out his girl is cheating. “I thought I was the only one using the doll.”
“What?” Grant sits up, fully off his phone. “How many times are we talking here?”
Silence.
“A lot,” I say, from under my arm.
“Define ‘a lot.’”
