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Petra looksme in the eye and asks, “What’s going on with you, Callum?”
The frank question takes the wind out of my sails. I go from angry and jealous to resigned in one second flat. I press my hands to the kitchen countertop and sigh. “I don’t know. I’m all messed up in my head. I walk in here expecting to have a nice lunch with the two of you because I brought home a new recipe I came up with, and I find you wrapped around each other like you want to crawl into Weston’s skin. If the two of you are getting it on, it’s not my business. I know that. We’ve been over that before, but I just feel… I don’t know what.”
“Left out, maybe?” she asks in a kind voice.
I give her a sharp look and it hits me. She’s right. I’m not sure I feel like admitting that though. Right at this moment I want to pick her up the way Weston had her and kiss her so hard, she’ll forget his name. But the stupid thing is, I also want to do that to Weston. I’m a mess. How can I explain this? I know I need to focus on my job and making something of my cooking—not worrying about who I’d like to fuck. Neither of them seems inclined to want to fuck me as much as they do each other, but they also both give me mixed signals. What’s with all that touching the back of my neck from Weston? Or the way Petra lets me hold her hand?
I want them both—I’m honest enough to admit that, at least to myself. But I don’t want to mess up our living dynamics in the house.
Instead of manning up and admitting anything, I go on the offensive and ask, “I’ve been meaning to ask, do you think you could shop around and find yourself a quieter vibrator?”
Petra’s jaw drops with a gasp, and her face floods with red. “Y-you can hear it?” she squeaks.
“I’m sure we can both hear you. It’s damn distracting when I’m trying to go to sleep, if you must know.”
She screws up her face and asks, “How do you know Weston can hear me too? Did you guys talk about it?”
“No.” I don’t bother to tell her we didn’t need to discuss it because we were both standing outside her door when we heard it together the first time. “But I doubt the wall between his room and yours is any thicker than the one between yours and mine.”
She covers her face with her hands. “Could the ground just swallow me up right now, please? I can hear his client calls sometimes, and that’s across the hall. That’s why I don’t work in my bedroom very often anymore. Oh God, I’m sure you’re right. I just never considered that I was making noise. The ad for the vibrator said it was ‘discreet.’” She groans into her hands again.
I feel like a complete jackass, so I backtrack. “Look, Petra. I’m sorry. I’m making things worse. That was totally out of line for me to say that or even to bring it up. If you want to use a sex toy, it’s up to you. Hearing you just makes me… you know… want things. Things I shouldn’t want. You’re clearly into Weston, and he’s into you, and whether or notI’dlike to be a part of that… ohcrap.” I see the surprised look on her face. “Now I’vereallymade things worse.”
“Callum, are you saying that you’re bisexual?”
The question sets me off again, and I turn my back to her as I say, “Well, I didn’t mean to be saying that, but yes. I’m bi. If you think there’s something wrong with that, it’s your problem, not mine. I was born this way and can’t do much about it.”
Petra’s hand curls around my arm and she pulls, turning me to face her again. “No, Callum! I’m not put off by that at all. Please don’t think that.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “You’re sure?”
Laughing, Petra replies, “I’m a ghostwriter, remember?”
“So?”
“A lot of what I write these days is romance. Sometimes whole books, sometimes books from notes and outlines I get from a publisher, and sometimes I get hired by individual authors to write particular scenes they aren’t comfortable writing.”
“Still not following.”
“Sex scenes. I’ve written about couples, ménage scenes, and every combination of genders you can imagine. That has required a lot of research, so there is very little that shocks me. It’s all good. Now do you see?”
“Um. Okay. When you say research, what do you mean exactly? Have you tried…?”
“No! I’ve never done anything other than normal—I meanregular—I mean MF sex.”
“MF?”
“One male, one female. That’s what we call it in romance book descriptions. There are lots of acronyms to describe the various combinations as well as tropes and genres. MM, MMF, MFM, FF, MFF, et cetera.”
I nod like I know what she means. I guess I sorta do.
“I didn’t mean to imply that anything other than MF sex is abnormal or wrong in any way. It’s just… um… different.” She looks down and then raises her eyes back up to mine. “It’s all actually pretty hot. But when I say I’ve researched it, I mean I’ve done a lot of reading and sometimes I look at videos for… inspiration.” She blushes.
I’m warming up to this idea, and when I say “up” I mean I’m starting to get hard thinking about Petra watching porn and taking notes like it’s for an exam. I can’t help but wonder if she uses her vibrator then too.
But then Petra breaks the spell by asking, “How old are you?” and I deflate like a week-old balloon.
Not understanding how that’s relevant, I answer, “Twenty-six. Why?”
