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Could I have it all? Could I have all my men? Could they have each other?
I flicked my gaze to Ryder, my heart sinking as his jaw flexed and eyes narrowed. Urgh, he always had to be difficult.
“Hey,” Ezra mumbled, then cleared his throat. He scanned the three of us sitting on the couches and swallowed before looking at Tristan. His eyes were pleading, a mix of fear and resignation in them. I hated how uncertain he was, but it was an apt match for what was going on inside my head too.
“Eat up,” Tristan ordered the rest of us before turning his attention to Ezra. He stepped close and cupped Ezra’s cheeks, pressing their foreheads together. Standing only a hair’s breadth apart, breathing each other’s air, they were completely in sync.
They looked beautiful too. Dark features against golden, casual versus sharply dressed, a domineering grump and a more go-with-the-flow personality. They were contrasts that only enhanced the way they complemented each other. I couldn’t make out what Tristan was murmuring to Ezra, as only his deep rumble was audible over the ebb and flow of the background noise in the marina, but I knew he was speaking.
Ezra buried his face in the crook of Tristan’s neck as he reached for our professor. Wrapping his arms around Tristan’s waist, he held on tight, connecting them from head to toe. Their bodies perfectly aligned, Tristan engulfed Ezra in an embrace as he kissed his temple.
It took everything in me to stay seated.
“Sit, Flynn.”
I tore my eyes away from them at Ry’s murmured order. My guy was on his feet, putting his slice of pizza down. But he hesitated, his eyes flicking between Tristan and Ezra and Ryder. Finally, he sighed and slumped down on the couch again.
“Give them a minute,” I suggested. “I think Tristan needs this as much as Ez does.”
When they finally separated, Ezra inhaled, squared his shoulders, and gave a sharp nod to Tristan. Flynn shifted to the armchair, and I stood, moving over to Ezra.
“Are you okay?” he asked me, pushing a lock of hair over my shoulder, his hand lingering like he wanted to touch me but wasn’t sure whether he was allowed.
Before I could answer, Ryder was in his face, snarling, “Don’t. Touch. Her.” His hand was raised as if he was reaching to rip Ezra’s throat out. But Tristan slapped a hand around Ry’s wrist, halting his progress.
I barked out an incredulous laugh and shoved Ry out of the way, stopping Tristan’s progress with a hand on his chest.
I asked Ry, “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“Seriously? After everything? You asked me to play nice and I did, but you’re just gonna let him come aboard and what, fuck you?” Ry was seething, fury rolling off him in waves. But he wasn’t the only person spoiling for a fight. My legs braced shoulder width apart, I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes at him.
“Have some fucking respect,” Tristan grated out, stepping around me and going toe to toe with Ry.
“You two done?” I snapped, my lips curled in a snarl. “Calm the fuck down.”
Tristan stepped back, raising his chin in an obvious challenge to Ryder. It was an I-dare-you-to-test-me look. I didn’t know whether Tristan could fight, but Ry was a scrapper, in and out of detention in school and getting suspended more times than I could count because of the fist fights he’d started or finished.
I snapped my fingers, gaining the attention of both. Ry ground his teeth. I spoke, my voice deceptively calm.
“Number one, this is my yacht. I say who comes aboard or not.” Counting it off on my fingers to hide the shake in them, I added, “Two, you arenotplaying nice. Pull your head in. Three, I am the one who has control over my body. Not. You.” I waved my hand in a circle in an “all-that” motion and spat, “You may think your stunt this afternoon gave you some say over my body, some right to punish or reward me, but you don’t. You don’t have a claim to me. You don’t control me, and you sure as shit don’t have a say in who I fuck.”
“What did you do to her?” Tristan asked.
Flynn was beside us in a flash, wrapping his arms around Tristan. “It’s okay. It was nothing.”
“She was fucking gagging for it,” Ry gloated.
“And you couldn’t deliver, could you?” I shot back, my eyebrow raised. If he wanted to play these games with me, he was going to lose. “Left it up to Flynn to satisfy me.”
“I should bend you over my knee again,” Ry threatened.
“Try it. I dare you.” I stood chest to chest with him, over a foot shorter in bare feet than Ry in his boots. But it didn’t matter. I was a powder keg with a very short fuse, begging to be given any more of a reason to explode.
Ry rolled his eyes and looked away.
“That’s what I thought. Now sit the fuck down and shut it.”
“Whatever, boss.” He huffed and spun on his foot, ready to walk in the opposite direction to the couches. “I’ve got work to do.”
