* * * *
Garrison smiled at Sunny as she stumbled down the hallway after changing into one of his shirts. The girl was tiny, so it wasn’t a shock she might not hold her alcohol all that well. He got the sense she was a woman not used to drinking anyway.
He doubted she liked to have her senses dulled at all.
She wasn’t incoherent, but rather at the lovely, buzzed stage when the alcohol managed to numb worries and dull the sharp edges people had to live with. It meant she smiled, had leaned against Trent the whole drive home, and had a hint of pink across her cheeks.
She stilled at the end of the hallway, her sexy legs showing from the edge of the shirt. Hesitation showed on her features, a look that said she wasn’t sure what he wanted from her.
Lucky for her, he was a man who didn’t mind making that clear. Garrison crooked his finger to get her to approach.
Sunny came forward, and she melted against him when he kissed her. He tasted the fruit juice from her lips and the rum on her breath.
It was a combination more intoxicating than even Kat’s drinks.
“Did you have fun tonight?” he asked her when he pulled away.
Sunny nodded. “I haven’t had a lot of friends, and I really like Kat.”
“She’s something, all right.” He pulled her toward the couch.
“Have you ever…?” Sunny didn’t finish the question, but she didn’t need to.
Garrison had been around long enough to see this plenty of times. People new to the scene tended to have very strict ideas of what was okay and what wasn’t. They also tended to be more possessive, which meant when joining such a community, they struggled to understand or accept that casual sex happened.
“Yes,” Garrison admitted. “Years ago. It was never serious.”
“Why not?”
Garrison pulled her into his lap on the couch. “Because Kat is trouble.” After chuckling at himself, he continued. “Kat is a brat through and through. She enjoys annoying her Doms—pushing them. That isn’t my sort of thing, nor is it for Connor or Trent. We don’t need doormats, but we also don’t want to have to fight every day with a sub.”
She shifted, as if she wasn’t sure she liked his answer.
“Does that bother you, sweet?”
“No.”
He lifted his eyebrow at her obvious lie, an offer for her to rethink her response.
She let out a sigh. “I don’t know—maybe a little. She’s my friend, and you’re my…”
She tripped over a title, and it made Garrison chuckle. It was something she’d made clear she was trying very hard not to think about.
Just what were they to her?
“We’re your what?”
She offered him a sharp look, one aided by the alcohol no doubt as she never gave him such glares when sober. Still, she answered him. “I guess I don’t know. I just know that I don’t like the idea of you with her.”
“Well, as I said, it was years ago. We’re just friends now.”
She snuggled against his chest, her hair smelling of peaches like the shampoo she used, something floral he’d ended up a huge fan of.
The moment was sweet, peaceful, and yet Garrison couldn’t stop himself from what he needed to ask, to hear. “What do you want us to be?”
“Hmm?” she asked, her voice clouded in sleep, as if she were already halfway there.
“You don’t know what we are, and that’s fine, but what do you want us to be? What are you hoping for here? After we know you’re safe, after we deal with your intruder and you can go home, what do you want?”