“I have to go now, Dad,” I insisted. “Sorry.” I hung up the phone.
Tossing it to the other side of the bed, I sat there and stared at the blank screen. I felt like I was going to throw up. Talking to my father brought up all kinds of negative emotions I didn’t want to deal with.
I left my bedroom and went across the hall to the bathroom. Standing in front of the sink, I splashed some cold water on my face. I cupped my palm under the stream and swished fresh water around my mouth before spitting it out.
The day had been spectacular up until that point. My father had ruined my good mood and left me feeling hollow. I drifted out into the hallway and back to the living room. Taking a chance, I looked around for Flynn.
I found him in his office, working at the computer. He looked up, pleased to see me. I compared this desk at home to the desk at work, the one that I had so recently been bent over. This desk was bigger and older, but the man behind it was the same.
“Do you have a minute?” I asked.
Flynn hit one more button on his keyboard and then swiveled away. Standing up, he crossed to my side of the barrier. Putting his hands on my shoulders, he guided me to his chest. I felt warm and protected, as if nothing could touch me. I rested there for a long time before Flynn finally made a move.
“Let’s go out to the living room,” he said.
I agreed, wiping dew from my eyes. We left the confines of the office and broke out into the massive living room. Flynn led me to one of the couches and sat down, pulling me along with him. He threw his arm over the back, allowing me to snuggle close. Once I was comfortable, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders, holding me tight.
“What’s wrong?” he asked when we were finally settled.
“It’s my father,” I said painfully. “He called just now. He wants me to meet fiancée number four.”
“He’s been engaged four times?” Flynn asked, incredulous.
“He’s beenmarriedthree times, and this is his fourth. I don’t know when the wedding is, but I don’t want to go.”
“Luckily we’re having a crisis that weekend, so I can’t spare you,” Flynn proclaimed.
I smiled, threading an arm around his waist. It was good to have someone in my corner, especially someone as powerful as Flynn. I marveled at the progression of our relationship. A week ago, I wouldn’t have dreamed of coming to him with my problems. But after our encounter in his office, this type of spooning was suddenly acceptable.
Flynn was my lover, and I had a right to his affection. And that was part of the problem. Was I too much like my father, collecting sex partners left and right? I wondered how different I really was. Maybe the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.
The mere consideration of a similarity between me and him caused me to moan. I buried my nose in Flynn’s shirt, feeling my stomach lurch again. It just wasn’t fair. Millie’s description of normal people who wanted something more than monogamy had been circling around my head. But after Dad’s phone call, I was thrust rudely back into my first assessment of the situation. I was a slut.
Flynn put a hand against my hair, and I was reminded of our encounter in his office when he pressed my head to his crotch. This time there was no sexual energy, nothing but comfort and concern.
“Am I exactly the same as him?” I moaned into the fabric of Flynn’s shirt.
“No, sweetheart.”
“But I don’t want to give up you or Connor or Declan,” I said.
“We’ll figure it out,” he replied, smoothing the hair from my face.
My heart leapt with joy. Flynn wasn’t asking me to choose between them. He was comforting me even though I hadn’t given him sole custody of my emotions. I really was free to experiment and to make love to all of them in turn. His gentle assurance gave me the strength to deny that part of me that was worried I was turning out like my dad.
I was nothing like my father. He used up and discarded women while I had enough love to share. I wasn’t looking at any of my men with rose-colored glasses. I could see that they were people, just like me. None of us knew what we were doing, but we were all committed to figuring it out together.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
CONNOR
I was in class when my phone went off. I ignored it, continuing with the lecture. But when the device beeped three more times, I had to silence it. I told my students that I wouldn’t put up with texting during class. I had to adhere to my own rules, and I should have set it on vibrate the moment I walked into the room.
I wouldn’t make that mistake again. Briefly looking at the screen before I set it to vibrate, I saw there were texts from Bre, Dex, and weirdly, Flynn. I set the phone down on my desk, going back to a discussion of repeating decimals.
I was only an hour and a half into a three-hour class. There was a lot of content left to cover, and I needed to focus. I was well aware of my reputation as a fun teacher, so I wanted to make sure to add a couple laughs along the way. Teaching was a little bit like standup comedy, only the subject was math and not the differences between men and women. I wouldn’t be qualified to give that talk anyway. I could see more similarities than differences.
Take Dex, for example. He was over the moon about kissing Bre and wanted me to congratulate him. I knew there was a lot more in store, and that a single kiss wasn’t going to bring the house down. But I knew I would listen carefully, congratulating my friend and assuring him that he was on the right path.