“I could, too,” Mr. Capulet says.
I look between them, knowing if I went home with either, more of this might happen. Neither of them got to come, or even tried. I feel selfish for shutting things down now, while at the same time I yearn to watch each of them lose control.
Alone. I need to be alone. “I’ll stay here for the night—my parents won’t mind. Thanks, though.”
They look like they want to argue with me, but instead they each nod in defeat.
“Very well,” Mr. Capulet says. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“So will I.” Tag shoots him a look.
Oh great, now they’re competing with each other?
I straighten my skirt and stand, hinting that they should head for the door. Once I walk them there, each man leans forward and places a soft kiss against my cheek.
“Goodnight, Janie,” Mr. Capulet says. “We’ll speak tomorrow.”
“Sweet dreams, sweetheart.” Tag gives my hand an extra squeeze. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
I close the door after them. I enjoyed my sugar cookies tonight, but it seems as far as men go, I bit off far more than I can chew.
5
TAG
She doesn’t not like pain. That’s what she said.
Is my vanilla ex more open to kink than I’d thought?
I don’t want to hurt her. That’s why we broke up.
Christopher walks down the driveway next to me, toward our cars parked on the street. “Do you want to grab a drink?”
I stare at him, this rival for Janie’s affection. “A drink?”
“Yeah. We should probably talk.”
I follow him to Abdul’s in downtown San Esteban, stewing the entire way. Why did I agree to this?
Curiosity. Idiocy.
Maybe a thirst for violence. I would fight for Janie. Physically, even. I don’t know who would win in a fight between me and Christopher. It might come down to who is more desperate.
We walk into Abdul’s together. The place exudes wealth, with its dark wood-paneled walls and the comfortable, low lighting. Christopher orders a whiskey, and I ask for a dark beer. We face each other from our high stools, sitting across a small table.
“So. Janie’s pretty special,” Christopher says.
“Yeah.” Fight me, you old bastard. I’m at least five years younger. Which means I’m old enough to stop acting like a child. I shove aside the violent thoughts and admit, “I lied about her being my girlfriend—we’re exes.”
“I figured. But you don’t play with anyone else at Salt that I’ve seen, and you’ve never brought her with you. Why not?”
“She—she’s vanilla.”
Christopher snorts. “She’s a lot of things. She isn’t vanilla.”
“Well, yeah. I figured that out tonight.” I knew when I pinched her thigh and she shivered against me, her eyes rolling back in pleasure.
“I have some of my own shit to figure out.” He takes a sip of his whiskey. “But I like her, you like her, and I think she likes us, too.”
