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“Yeah… if it doesn’t kill me now.”
I was waiting for the next statement: something about ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’. Instead, Donovan crossed his arms and looked up at me with a smile.
“You gonna be ready for tonight?”
The treadmill beeped again. The hill steepened.
“Not if you… tire me out… right here and now…”
His smile faded, as if suddenly realizing I had a point. Reaching out, he pressed a few buttons and the belt I was running on slowed considerably.
“Thanks…”
The treadmill went into its two-minute cool-down cycle. I reached for my towel and began mopping up.
“You can thank me later,” Donovan winked. “When I pick you up for our date.”
Pick me up for our…
Dating. The word had taken on a whole new meaning over the past week. My love life had gone from zero to a million miles an hour, in all the time it took to say ‘three boyfriends.’
Of course, I wasn’t complaining. Not even the tiniest bit. What I had worried might be strange and awkward had somehow become uncannily natural. I’d gone out with Brody, with Lincoln, with Donovan too — one by one, day by day. I’d reaped the benefits of three distinct personalities; three uncannily strong, beautiful men with their own particular interests and hobbies and dreams.
And I’d been the center of their focus each time.
I’d been taken to some of the most romantic places in the City. Wooed with flowers. Showered with attention. Any initial nervousness I’d felt was long gone, leaving me free to enjoy Brody’s infectious energy, Lincoln’s unfailing confidence, and my tough personal trainer’s softer, sweeter side.
And the sex…
Between the sheets, not one of my lovers had missed a beat. They took me hotly, devouring me with all new passion and hunger. Each date ended with one of them pleasuring my body, as if trying to win a contest. Which I realized, after a few straight nights of getting my doors blown off, they probably were.
In all, it had been an amazing, intoxicating experience.
“So where’d you go last night?”
By the tone in his voice, I could tell it was the second time Donovan had asked the question. I stepped off the treadmill.
“Out.”
“I know that. But where’d he take you?”
My eyes narrowed. “You sure you want to know? I thought one of our rules was that you guys didn’t want to hear about details.”
“Oh please,” Donovan said dismissively. “That was the young gun’s rule, not mine.”
The young gun was Brody. Lincoln — not even thirty — was somehow the old man. I didn’t even want to tell Donovan what his nickname was.
“I know I’m sharing you,” he went on, “and I’m fine with it. Last night was Lincoln’s night. It’s not like it was a secret, I’m just making conversation.”
“Fine,” I said. “We went out to a steakhouse.”
“Which one?”
“Insignia.”
Donovan let out a low whistle. “Wow. Nice.”
“Yes,” I said, fondly remembering the 8oz fillet that had, quite literally, melted in my mouth. “It was.”
