“Yeah, maybe.” And Wren’s big into charity work with wanting to start her own foundation. I know she volunteers at the neonatal unit at one of the hospitals with her mom every week. It’s not quite the same as outreach and creating sustainable communities, but at least our goals sort of seem to align.
“I haven’t seen you this into anyone since … well, ever. I’m just saying, if you want this to work, Linc, there are ways to make it happen.”
Several hours and many beers later, we’re all sitting around the fire roasting marshmallows. Well, Wren is roasting marshmallows like it’s her profession, and Cosy is charring hers. So far, she’s lit every single one on fire. Wren, on the other hand, inspects her perfectly toasted ones before offering to share with me. Her cheeks are pink from the drinks she and Cosy have been consuming.
“So, how exactly did you two meet?” She motions between Griffin and Cosy.
I chuckle. “Oh, please do share this story.”
Griffin gives me the cut-eye and opens his mouth to speak, but Cosy interrupts. “He was buying a double-headed dildo.”
“What?” Wren’s eyes bug, and the word comes out garbled since her mouth is full of marshmallow.
Griffin rolls his eyes, but his cheeks heat. “You love leading with that, don’t you?”
“I love watching you blush.” Cosy leans in and kisses the end of his nose, but her chair tips toward his and she has to scramble to right herself.
“Cosy used to work in an adult toy store.”
“Called the Sex Toy Warehouse,” Cosy adds.
“I drew the short straw and had to buy a bunch of stuff for a bachelor party,” he explains.
“Why didn’t you buy it all online?” Wren asks.
“It wouldn’t have arrived on time.”
“Not even with express shipping?” she presses.
I burst out laughing, because this was exactly my question.
“I couldn’t risk it,” Griffin grumbles.
We spend the rest of the night talking, sharing college stories, and I love that Wren fits in so seamlessly with the people who matter most to me.
By the time we finally get into bed—we get the trailer and Griffin and Cosy take the tent, although it’s big enough to sleep ten people and it’s set up on a platform, complete with a king mattress—Wren is drunk and languid. “I had fun tonight.” She sidles up next to me and throws her leg over mine.
She’s not wearing panties based on the sudden heat against my thigh.
“So did I.”
“Thanks for inviting me.” She trails her fingers down my chest. “I know time with Griffin is pretty rare, so the fact that you’d included me was nice.”
“You’re my girlfriend, why wouldn’t I include you?”
She lifts her head. “I’m your girlfriend?”
“Uh, is that actually a question?”
“No. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” She bites her bottom lip. It’s still a soft shade of pink. At least it’s not the red I find so distracting. “I hadn’t defined us in my head.”
I grin because she looks unsure now. “So up until now, how would you have defined me in your head? Am I the project whose bed you’ve been sleeping in and whose cock you’ve been riding?”
Her mouth drops open, and her eyes go wide with something like horror. “What? No! Of course not. It’s not, you’re not … I just—” She scrambles for an explanation.
I roll her onto her back and edge my thigh between hers. She parts them automatically. “Am I your fuck buddy? Is that it?”
“I’ve never had a fuck buddy.”
“Really?”
“Why do you sound so surprised? It’s more a guy thing, isn’t it? I bet you’ve had loads of fuck buddies.” She sounds annoyed at the possibility.
“Actually, it’s never really been my thing either.” Have I had casual, no-strings sex? Sure, but it’s never been something I was all that comfortable with, nor was it something I sought on the regular. I prefer to connect with the person I’m sleeping with, whether it’s on a superficial level or deeper—like what I have with Wren.
She runs her fingers through my hair, allowing them to trickle along my neck until she cups my face. “You must’ve had a few in college.” I think it’s supposed to come across as playful, but her expression is serious and somehow sad. I don’t understand why this conversation has taken a sudden serious turn.
I draw a line across her temple and down to her chin with my fingertip. “Not a lot. I lived with Griffin; he was the king of monogamy. It felt wrong to bring home an endless stream of women who didn’t matter. I didn’t ever want to be like my father, uncommitted and absent.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“It’s okay. I was mostly absent too, so I wasn’t exposed to most of it. I never wanted to be that way when I was in a relationship, whether physically or emotionally. I didn’t find the thrill in things that were meaningless, so I didn’t pursue meaningless things.”