Page 31 of Turning Back

His hand on my thigh slides up to grab my hip. “What do you want?” he asks.

I force myself to look at him, no matter how hard I want to look away. A tear falls down my cheek and he swipes it away with a fingertip.

“Come on, Rochelle. Just tell me what you want.”

“You.” I shrug. “Bric. I want all of it back. I want to stay. I want to redo everything. I want another chance, Quin. I want another chance.”

“I heard my name,” Bric says, coming back into the living room. “What’d I miss?”

Quin doesn’t answer.

Bric walks over to the couch and sits down on the other side of me. “No one wants to fill me in?”

“She wants to play the game with us again,” Quin says.

“That’s not what I said. I want you guys back. That’s what I said.”

“What does that even mean?” Quin asks.

“I get it,” Bric says, saving me for once. Good God, this was his fucking idea and he goes and leaves me here to sort out all these messy feelings on my own. “A new game, Rochelle?”

“Fuck that.” Quin sighs. “I’m not into it.”

“You’re not into me?” Bric asks. “Or her? Because you just told me yesterday that we were gonna find a new girl. Just the two of us. And now that Rochelle’s back”—I look over my shoulder in time to see Bric shrug—“why not just play with her?”

“Because it’s not a fucking game, Bric. It’s a whole lot of feelings.” Quin hesitates, then adds, “And the baby. Once we get that DNA test we’ll know who the father is and things will be different.”

“So why get a test at all?” Bric asks. “Why not just let that shit ride? Do we need a test?” Bric is looking at me.

This is a new position. Last night he said we should give in to the test.

“I mean, look, Rochelle. I’m sure you want to know who your baby’s father is and all, but does it matter? If you want to be with both of us?”

I look back at Quin, his eyes squinting down in confusion.

Oh, I get it. If no one knows who the father is, then they’re both the father. “As long as it’s unknown, there are two equal possibilities.”

“We’re both the father,” Quin says, catching on. “Even if we’re not.”

“Exactly,” Bric says, wrapping one hand around my front to squeeze my breast. Quin is still holding onto my hip bone, like he’s afraid to let go. “Why do we care who the father is? If we’re gonna be together as a threesome anyway?”

“Are we?” Quin laughs.

“Aren’t we?” Bric replies. His hand lets go of my breast, falls down to where my hand is resting on my leg, and cups it in his palm. He leans into my back as he uses my hand to reach across Quin’s lap and rub his crotch.

Quin isn’t hard, but it only takes a few seconds. I feel him grow bigger under our touch.

“Come on, you guys,” Bric says, rubbing Quin using my hand. “This is us, right? We’re good at this.”

“I don’t know if I want to play another fucking game,” Quin says.

“Who says it’s a game?” Bric replies, making my hand squeeze Quin’s growing cock. “It’s a ménage à trois. A family of three. Well, four,” he corrects. “But the baby belongs to all of us, right? We made her. The three of us. We don’t need a test to tell us that.”

Bric begins to unbuckle Quin’s pants. He leans into my neck and whispers, “Take off his shirt.”

I look at Quin, who stares down at Bric’s movements, then looks up at me with more lust in his eyes than I can ever remember. I stare into him as I reach for his tie, loosen it, and then slip it over his head and drop it to the floor.

Bric stands up. Quin’s gaze tracks him as he tugs on my over-large t-shirt until I lift my arms and he slips it off. I have no bra on, so Quin’s eyes immediately go to my breasts. They are fuller than they used to be. Round and perfectly shaped. Quin just stares as Bric begins to undress himself. The jacket, the tie, the shirt—all come off as I unbutton Quin and hold his shirt open to reveal his muscled chest. I place the palm of my hand on his chest, flat against his beating heart, and look up to find Bric hovering over us, ready to move forward.