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A pair of lips crashed against mine, and then I was kissing them all. Valerio. Kade. Brock. All three of these gorgeous, thoughtful men, holding me in their arms. They’d been more than roommates, or lovers, or de-facto boyfriends. They’d taken care of me in ways that made me feel like a princess, or even their queen.
“We love you too,” Kade said, his lips finally leaving mine. He’d kissed me the longest, as well as the hardest. “All three of us, Sloane.”
My heart sang. “Really?” I couldn’t believe it.
“Oh yeah,” smiled Valerio. He squeezed me around the waist. “Probably from the moment we saw you in that Christmas tree lot.”
“Technically I saw her first,” Kade countered, “back near the gravel and concrete. I was the one who brought her to you guys, remember?” Something occurred to him, and he smiled. “That must mean I get first dibs on the art show then,” he added. “Right?”
“It’s not anartshow, it’s an exhibit,” Valerio corrected him. “And it’s not just art, but sculptures and ceramics and—”
“You’reallcoming!”
The three of them stopped arguing, just as Brock was suggesting they draw straws. Kade was even looking around for sticks when I held up my hand.
“All three of you are my boyfriends,” I said, enjoying the all new flavor the word had in my mouth. “So no one’s getting left out. Besides, you helped with my pieces. You’re honorary artists now! So you’re all coming along… somehow.”
Brock stepped in, the warmth of his body adding to that of the stainless steel propane heater. It all felt amazing.
“How are you going to swing this?” he asked.
“Dunno yet,” I told him truthfully. “But the three of you booked the foundry for me. You came up with the money. You even helped with the casting, and set up the trip.”
Looking back at all three of them, I winked.
“You letmefigure out this last part.”
Forty-Two
SLOANE
New Year’s Eve was never anything big in my life. There was a party here, a party there, but mostly just champagne, midnight kisses, and passing out drunk a few times just before the event. One year however, I made my way all the way down to Times Square in the heart of Manhattan to watch the ball drop. I considered it a pilgrimage that every New Yorker had to make at least once in their life. A rite of passage, so to speak, for anyone who called this state their home.
As fun as that was, this year would certainly top it. And that’s because this was my breakout year. The year I’d go from a starving artist to a well-known sculptor whose work is recognized and even sought after.
And hopefully, maybe even valuable.
This New Years’ Eve however, things would be different. And that’s because this year it would be all business.
Knock. Knock.
I still rapped on Valerio’s wide-open door before entering his bedroom. He was sitting at the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, staring at the floor.
“Valerio, what is it?”
He whipped his chin up immediately, his face breaking into his trademark innocent smile. “Who, me?” he grinned. “Nothing at all, why—”
“Because you look like your dog died,” I told him. Then, with a horrifying thought: “Your dogdidn’tdie, did it?”
“No,” he smiled weakly. “As far as I’ve heard Samson’s still alive and kicking.”
“He’s seventeen,” I pointed out, trying to inject some humor. “Maybe you should check.”
“Eighteen,” Valerio corrected. “But yeah, he’s okay.”
“Are you going to your family’s place tonight?” I asked nonchalantly.
“No.”
