Page 371 of End Game

His eyes sharpen. “Then turn the movie off.”

That shouldn't do anything to me.

It does.

“Bossy.”

“You like it.”

True.

But tonight feels different already.

Less like Ronan is taking control of the room and more like he simply happened to be the person closest to the remote.

Which might be progress for all of us.

We’ve already done the talking—a lot of it.

More talking than any version of me from two years ago would have believed people could possibly do about sex without killing the mood permanently.

Griffin, Ronan, and I have been together a few times now. The second time required considerably less negotiation and considerably more laughing because nobody was standing in my bedroom wondering whether someone was supposed to yell go.

Ronan and Micah have built their own relationship.

Micah and I have ours.

Griffin and Micah have talked about being in the same space for this more than once—not this specific outcome, but the reality that someday they'd probably be naked in the same space, touching me at the same time.

Incidental contact is fine.

Sharing me is fine.

Neither of them is interested in sexual contact with the other.

Also fine.

We've talked about stoplights.

We've talked about what happens if someone's brain suddenly catches up to their body and decides absolutely fucking not.

By now, nobody needs Ronan to conduct a pre-sex board meeting every time someone gets horny.

Thank fucking God.

So when we get upstairs, there's no summit—just one last check.

“Everybody still good?” Ronan asks.

We all three affirm we are—Micah closes my bedroom door, and everything changes.

Quickly.

Griffin kisses me first.

Ronan kisses Micah.

I watch, with my back pressed to Griffin’s chest.