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I don’t like this guy, if I’m being honest. He’s a bit of an asshole, acting like he can determine what’s worth something and what’s not. But whatever. I need his help, and I’m committed to my plan.
I sit there for the rest of class, turning my thoughts over and over again in my head. There has to be some way to get the information Paul wants for the Jackals. One of the three men I’m living with has to know where the accountant lives, and it should be written down somewhere. It’s just a matter of figuring out how to get to it, which is kind of easier said than done.
I can’t count on them all being gone at the same time again, or one of them leaving their phone unlocked so I can snoop, but I guess that’s what I’m going to have to hope for.
The rest of class is a blur, and I don’t pay attention to any of it. Paul keeps himself busy looking at his phone, and when class is dismissed, I leave first like last time, getting to my feet and following the stream of students back out into the overcast morning.
Levi is there waiting for me, like he always is, and he smiles when he sees me. It takes a lot to smile back, but I manage what I hope is close enough. He drapes an arm around me, the weight settling over my shoulders, and the gesture is comfortable, possessive, and familiar.
Anyone who looks at us will think we’re a couple, and probably not give us a second look. It’s completely normal for pairs to walk around campus holding hands or with their arms around each other, and most of the time everyone else just tries to duck out of their way if they’re taking up too much space on the paths.
We blend right in as if all of this is so perfectly natural, and I have no idea how to feel about that. I have no idea how to feel about any-fucking-thing anymore, especially not when it comes to the men I’m living with, and the anxious little knot in my stomach just seems to get bigger and bigger.
I’ve already made my peace with the fact that I might die in my attempt to wreak havoc on the Black Roses.
But even if I somehow survive all of this, I’m not sure my heart will make it out in one piece.
17
It becomes pretty clear that if I’m going to get the info I need, I’m going to have to step my game up. I can’t wait for opportunities to come to me—I’m going to have to create them myself.
So over the next week, I start pushing harder to find out more stuff.
I hang out around the guys more, finding ways to be around them. When Rory’s in the kitchen making food, I sit at the island, laughing at his jokes and teasing him while he does the same to me. When Levi’s working out downstairs, I go to watch, declining to join in, just admiring his form and making small talk.
Spending time with Sloan is the trial it always seems to be, and things have been especially awkward since our date—if you can call it that—but I sit in the living room when he’s there, pretending to do my homework while watching him type on his phone or laptop.
Rory and Levi make it easy, of course. They both seem into it and welcome my attention whenever I’m around. It gets to the point where they call for me to join them even if I’m just passing through one room on my way to another, and I usually do, hoping to be rewarded by some slip of the tongue or useful revelation.
One night, all of us end up downstairs in the living room hanging out. It feels comfortable and easy, like it never used to at the beginning of this arrangement, but clearly we’re all getting used to our living situation.
Sloan is working on his laptop, head bowed while his fingers fly across the keyboard and the trackpad. Rory has a movie on, something with loud explosions and bad car chases like he likes, and Sloan ignores it and us while he works. Levi seems to be reading something on his phone, but he glances up every now and then to check out what’s happening on the screen.
I haven’t slept with either of them again, not since Levi and I fucked on the same couch Sloan and I are sitting on, and I’m trying to keep it that way.
I know it’s a good way to get them to let their guard down around me, but it’s fucking up my own head too much. It makes me think they care about me, and it blurs the lines between lies and truth—between my act and what’s real. It’s too much to handle, and for my own sanity, I have to stop it. I can’t afford to get more compromised than I already am.
So I just let the sexual tension simmer between us, never giving in to it.
In some ways, that definitely makes it worse. It makes my attraction to them pull at me harder, and sometimes I find myself staring off into space, thinking about Rory’s hands on me or Levi kissing my neck. Every time I go into the garage, I can’t help but remember what Rory and I did on the hood of his car, and just sitting in the living room is enough to remind me that Levi ate me out like I was a piece of cake or something right there on the couch.
It would be so easy to give in like I’ve done too many fucking times already, but instead I keep my walls up, making the barriers around my heart more secure than they’ve ever been.
Even as I’ve spent more time around them than I usually do, Sloan’s been surly and closed off, like he always is, although he never openly objects to me being around. Usually, he seems content to pretend I don’t exist, except for a glance or two here and there.
Rory and Levi are easier to play off of, and I lean into their interest in me, using the banter and flirting between us to piss Sloan off.
I remember what he said about me not being able to make up my mind, and how he reacted when I teased him about maybe wanting to share me. He hardly ever says anything when the others flirt with me, just grinds his teeth and clenches his jaw, glaring at whatever’s in front of his face like he wishes he could set it on fire with his eyes and the force of his irritation alone.
I’m doing the same thing tonight, just to see what kind of reaction I can get. Rory’s sitting in the armchair, and Levi’s on the floor, leaving Sloan and me on the couch. There’s not much space between us, which is a change from how it usually is.
When I first started joining them for their “fucking around in the living room” time, I would sit way on the other side of the couch, putting the middle seat between us and keeping my distance. But gradually, I’ve been inching closer, day by day. Now there’s less than a foot of space keeping us apart, and I’ve been making a show of leaning over him and getting in Sloan’s space.
One night, I purposefully put my drink on the end table at his side of the couch and then leaned right into his personal space to retrieve it, making him glare at me and lean away. I’ve “dropped” my phone between the cushions and had to lean in closer to fish it out, and sometimes I just get close to him for the hell of it.
On the outside, I’m sure it looks like I’m just flirting with him. Either that or trying to get on his nerves. But really, there’s a method to it.
Sloan types his password into his computer every night, sometimes more than once if he gets distracted enough by whatever’s on TV and the laptop goes to sleep. Getting close enough to him has let me see as he types his password in. I never stare for too long, not wanting him to figure me out—just enough to get a couple of digits each night, filing them away in my brain.
