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Shit! Make that three men.
“Damn! Are you okay?” This from the guy who she’d just been feeling up.
He sat up and did his best to extract her from the very surprised, and rather antagonistic stare of the third guy in the bed, whom she had just landed on top of. But she was all flailing arms and legs and instead she managed to kick him in the shin.
The second guy. The one whose morning wood had obviously been nuzzling her buttocks sat up and looked around in confusion having obviously been roused from a deep sleep. As he caught on and started to get up to help, guy number three with the brooding cobalt eyes which were right now lit with icy, blue fire tipped her unceremoniously into the space he created and covered her with an extraordinarily scratchy blanket at the same time.
There was a moment of stillness and silence, during which everybody took a breath.
Then in another flurry of movement the blue-eyed guy, who appeared to be mostly dressed, surged to his feet, and stalked off into what she could see was a kitchen area.
Where the hell was she?
She pushed the thought from her mind as quickly as it appeared. First things first.
She looked at the other two guys, one standing above her rubbing his leg, the other kneeling, still a little befuddled, his own dark hair standing adorably on end.
They were not naked, like her, and somehow that small nugget of information both relieved and disappointed her.
She’d think about the disappointment later.
“I’m so sorry,” she said into the silence that stretched between them. “I didn’t mean to…”
Shyla didn’t know quite what to say. She looked at the guy's boxers and then back at his face, relieved to find a touch of humor there, since the man who had stalked off was definitely not giving off that kind of vibe.
“I thought I was dreaming…” she trailed off lamely.
“No harm done,” he said with a wink which had Shyla melting with relief.
“Umm… this blanket is really itchy,” she said with a grimace.
The other guy grinned. Groping and tugging underneath he finally pulled out a much softer looking blanket. “Here,” he said, opening it out for her. “Why don’t you wrap up in this one, instead.”
She took it gratefully and shimmied out from the burrito the third guy had rolled her into. For a moment she considered her modesty, but decided it was a bit late for that since they’d obviously seen her in all her glory.
The guy who passed her blanket shuffled around on his knees until he faced the fire, then proceeded to feed a few logs to the glowing embers.
“I’m Lazarus Fortney,” the first guy said, once she’d tucked the blanket around her. He stuck his hand out to shake and Shyla tried not to laugh at the incongruity of the late introduction to a man she’d spent the night snuggled up naked with and had recently been touching up.
“I’m Shyla,” she replied. “Shyla Digby. And I’m pretty sure I owe you a debt of gratitude… and um, maybe an apology for um… you know…” It was awkward, and she trailed off, leaving her meaning hanging in the air between them.
Awareness arced between them, taking her by surprise, so she was relieved when the guy who’d tended the fire turned back to her and also introduced himself. “Hi Shyla, I’m Jeri, and the grumpy fuck in the kitchen is our brother, Dante.”
She shook his hand and was surprised to feel the same awareness with him as she had with Lazarus. Maybe it was because of her recent X-rated dreams. She ducked her head as the thought made her blush and scrambled for something neutral to say. “Jeri?” she asked. “Somehow that doesn’t quite seem to fit when you have brothers called Lazarus and Dante.”
Shit! What was this garbage coming out of her mouth? She hoped she hadn’t offended him.
Thankfully Jeri just laughed. “Ah well, that’s because my name is actually Jericho. And yes, our mother was a bit of a classics buff. We paid for it when we were kids, but we’ve grown into them now.”
“I think they’re great names,” Shyla replied, honestly. “But I like Jericho better than Jeri.”
It seemed somewhat inane that they were discussing names rather than confronting the elephant in the room, but the normality of the conversation settled her and for that Shyla was grateful.
While Lazarus and Jericho dressed in long-sleeved, form-fitting thermal tee-shirts which molded to their leanly sculpted chests, Shyla knew a moment of disappointment that they were covering up, which took her by surprise. Normally how a guy looked was not big on her agenda. There were far more important qualities.
Of course, she’d be lying if she said she didn’t appreciate a nice example of the male form, and both Lazarus and Jericho - and Dante, too, she suspected, though she hadn’t looked - were prime specimens for what Shyla privately considered the ‘perfect’ physique. In her own, personal opinion, of course.
She liked a guy who was strong and defined, but not overly muscled. She wasn’t into guys who looked like they were about to audition for Mr. Universe. They always looked like they had no neck. Shyla preferred something leaner. Not that she’d say no to a nice six-pack, but she wouldn’t hold the lack of it against anyone.
