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Is… that okay? I don’t really know the ‘rules’.
It was a legitimate question, but it was also a prod for information. The more I knew about their rules, the better. Both for the article and myself.
It’s actually more than okay. You’re dating all three of us, remember?
I gulped hard, reading and re-reading the last message. Was I really dating them? Potentially, I suppose I was.
Trey’s gonna be thrilled. He’s also very lucky.
I saw a winking emoji, and then the phone vibrated again as a contact came through. It included Trey’s phone number, email address, and even his last name: Marullo.
Still wanna see us on Thursday?
I paused for a moment, then pulled up the devil emoji myself. I flanked both sides of my next response with it:
Sure, if I’m not too tired.
There was a longer pause this time, which made me wonder if I’d gone too far. Maybe I was being too raunchy. A little too forward for their liking.
But then a photo came through, instead of a message. In it, both Adam and Dante were grinning, and winking back at me. They wore sleeveless shirts that exposed vast tracts of delicious skin. Their arms and shoulders bulged with so much muscle, I got chills.
From the mirrors and various equipment in the background, I knew exactly where they were: the gym. There was a caption under the message too:
Don’t worry, baby. You can just lie back, and we’ll do all the work.
Another pic came through, this one of them looking fierce. They were making funny faces. Flexing like warriors, leaning into the shot.
My eyes crawled their bodies, which were covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Pumped up and flexing, they looked absolutely amazing. I could feel myself actually getting wet, just thinking about—
Have fun with Trey! We’ll see you when we get back.
I let out a long, heated breath and responded with another smiley-face. I dropped the phone back to my chest. Stared at the ceiling for a couple of excited minutes…
Then I picked up the phone again and dialed Trey.
Fourteen
“HANNAH”
“So I hear you’re taking me out tomorrow…”
They were the first words I’d said to Trey. They were met with confusion, then laughter, then — after a quick summary of my conversation with Adam — an eager agreement to meet up with me the next night.
“It’ll have to be late,” Trey warned. “After I’ve finished teaching my classes.”
“No biggie,” I’d said. “I’m a big girl. I can stay up late.”
“I’ll be on campus until eight, and then—”
“And then I’ll come to you,” I jumped in. “Just tell me where to go.”
I was eager to see Trey for the obvious reasons,
but going to his place would give me much greater insight. I’d get an idea of his life at Cornell. Where he lived, where he worked, what he did for fun — that sort of thing.
Always thinking like a journalist.
It was a curse and a blessing, really. It meant I could never fully get a potential story out of my head, which made it hard to relax and enjoy the simpler things. But the constant churning of my investigative mind often led to much more interesting things than a normal one. Especially lately.
