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Surely a soulmate kind of love can last even after death.
I stumble getting out of the cab once we reach the Four Seasons. I'm beyond exhausted and my dying body is yelling at me.
"Are you alright?" Logan asks, racing over to wrap his arm around me and help steady me.
"Just really jet-lagged," I lie. "I'll be perfect in the morning."
We get to the suite and the guys all nod impressed, just not as impressed as I'd been when I arrived. These two have had much more access to the finer things in life.
Awkwardness descends on the three of us now that it's time for bed. It's too fast to ask them to sleep with me tonight. Isn't it?
And I do mean just sleep.
As much sexual tension as I've felt tonight, my body still won't be able to muster the energy to act on it. Not with how tired I'm feeling tonight.
Three months. That internal clock I've got going blares in my mind.
I'm just going for it.
"I've spent the last ten years all alone," I tell them, wringing my hands. "And I do mean that. I think I will always feel all alone if I'm not with you both no matter who was around. Will you sleep with me tonight? We can figure out everything else in the morning, but tonight, I just want to hold onto this feeling of belonging. Because it's felt like a lifetime since I've felt it."
Quaid brushes his hair out of his face, a vulnerable look in his eyes. "I'd like that," he says softly.
"Me too," says Logan with a smile.
They follow me into the master bedroom. It comes equipped with an en suite bathroom and a giant king bed, plenty big enough for the three of us.
The addition of Carter might make it a bit tight, but it would be a sacrifice that I would willingly make if given the chance.
"I'm just going to get cleaned up," I tell them in a tired voice. "I think there are at least two other bathrooms out there somewhere."
Once I'm in the bathroom with the door closed, I stare at myself in the mirror, suddenly not wanting to wipe my makeup off.
Will they be able to tell that I don't look right? That I'm too pale, that I have huge bags under my eyes, that something's wrong with me.
I don't have that youthful glow anymore. It's been dragged forcibly from me.
I sigh, sucking up my courage and hating my insecurity. It's not like I can go three months without them seeing me without makeup. And it's only going to get worse as time goes by.
Might as well get it over with.
I clean off my face and throw on a camisole and sleep shorts, not taking a second look in the mirror. My pills take longer than anything else. I have an entire bag full of what seems like every medicine and vitamin on the planet that has a chance of extending my life. I fill up a cup with water and dutifully go through the process of taking each and every one of them, trying not to gag at a few that are enormous.
I shiver when I take the last one and quickly gargle with some mouthwash. It's the worst tasting one, but also the one the doctor says is the most important.
Yay for me.
Taking a deep breath, I open the door and exit the bathroom.
Neither of the guys are in the room yet when I come out, so I hustle into the bed and throw myself under the covers, nervously waiting for them to come in.
Quaid walks in first. He's shirtless, just dressed in a pair of loose basketball shorts that are situated obscenely low.
Or maybe they would be obscene if he wasn't a Greek Adonis come to life. He's literally perfect. That's all I can think as my gaze darts across the valleys and ridges on his torso. He was always built growing up, but this is on a whole other level. It was one thing to see him in thosePeople Magazinespreads, to see it up close is mouth-watering.
I think I may be drooling.
His build isn't the only thing that's changed since we were teenagers. He also has quite a few tattoos spread across his torso, with some peeking out from the edge of his shorts. I'm just praying to whoever's listening that I get the chance to discover each and every one of them.
