When Cate starts to unload on me, I almost can’t help myself. My first reaction is always rage. It served me well when I was a kid in the slums, and it serves me well today. But this is beyond the pale. I don’t know what’s wrong with Cate, but I’m clearly not the first bad thing in her day.

That moment gives me pause, though.

Am I a bad thing in her day? Is that what I really want to be to her? And… goddamn, is that blood on her toe?

Seeing her hurt does something to me. And tears… fucking-A. They get me every time, too.

I know something is very wrong right now, and even if she’s doing her best to rip me a new one, I can tell that whatever set her off is beyond just me.

I open my mouth to speak, but she cuts me off before I can.

“This is the one thing that anyone who’s ever mattered to you has asked you for!” she shouts at me, and it hits me like a slap in the face. “This one thing! You don’t need the money from selling the townhouse! Why the fuck are you stonewalling us at every turn?”

I start to open my mouth, but think better of it. It’s not going to end well if I try to argue my position, not right now.

I think back to what Dylan told me at that lunch he’d caught me off-guard with, that she has nothing of her own and worked for every scrap. It’s hard to believe, given that she’s a MacMillan, but why would she be so upset about me not wanting to keep the townhouse if she had the money to just buy me out?

And it’s not that I don’t want to keep it…

“Why the fuck haven’t you called? How dare you come in here and fuck me that way, then leave without another word? How could you? What kind of monster are you?”

She seems finished, and I watch her sink into her chair and cover her face. Her gorgeous face. It’s something that I’ve kind of missed all these years.

“You can’t treat people like this, Jack!”

Okay, so I guess she wasn’t done. I can listen, though. She matters, and I can get past my knee-jerk reaction and do that for her.

I want to.

“You can’t just walk into my life like this and use me all up, then drop me the second you get scared! You know how hot I think you are; how hot you’ve always been to me! But I’m not that shy little girl anymore, and I’m not afraid to tell you exactly what I think of you! I don’t care how ugly you always thought I was. You bastard, you fucking asshole!”

Got to admit, that one sets me back a bit. Does she honestly think that I find her ugly? Impossible enough that, in the past, I’ve brushed it off as her just giving me shit. But now, based on the look on her face, I start to maybe she does think that.

I’m dumbfounded, but I guess now isn’t the time to try and have an actual conversation. It’s not what she needs.

I can tell she’s running out of steam, and I look down to the floor. It’s an absolute mess, and these slacks of mine are probably ruined, but I find myself not really caring. Cate’s right. I have the money. I can replace them. But I get the feeling that if I fuck this up with her right now, I’m not going to be able to replace this.

To be perfectly honest, I’m still conflicted about how I feel about Cate. No matter how good things were with her the other night, there are too many years of bad blood for me to easily say I like her, even in the privacy of my own mind.

Even if I’m pretty sure I do… once I get over myself.

And, regardless, I know that I like Dylan. It would kill him if I fucked this up yet again, and that’s reason enough to keep biting my tongue. Keep shoving down the part of me that wants to lash back in self-defense. Keep listening. Trying to hear her. Take in what she’s saying.

Listen with the part of me that really does care about how she’s feeling.

The part that maybe even hurts a little bit at seeing it.

“I’m so tired of doing my best and getting nothing in return,” she sobs. “I’m so exhausted by all of it. I’m done. I’m just done.”

Is this a good time to comfort her? I’m conflicted, not sure if my presence here is doing more harm than good. I could just leave her be. I assume Dylan is out, but he could be back any minute, and Lord knows he’s better at this shit than me.

What do I really have to offer? Dick, sure, but this other stuff… these feelings.

I swallow, the look on her face killing me. And what if Dylan’s not coming back soon? Then she’d be alone here, just soaking in her own tears.

I step over the mess to avoid tracking pie and ice cream over the floor, going with my heart for once, even though it’s scary as shit.

“Hey, Duchess,” I say, setting my hands on her as gently as I can manage. “It’s okay. I’m sorry, I mean it. It’s going to be okay.”

She looks up at me, and in that moment, I see her very clearly for who she is. Who she really is, not the version I’ve made up in my head all these years. Self-loathing, confusion, determination, they’re all over her face.

I should know, I recognize them ’cause I see them in the mirror every day.

Right now, I can also see the high color in her cheeks, and how her perfect breasts heave with every single breath... fucking gorgeous.

I swallow, refocusing so I can be here for her the way she needs. This moment ain’t about my dick, it’s about her heart.

And maybe mine, too.

“I’m a hot mess right now,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Duchess,” I say, rubbing her upper back in slow circles to help her calm down. “I’m here, and it’s okay. I’m here and it’s all going to be okay.”

I’m repeating myself, but I don’t even care. I don’t know if it matters to her that I’m there, but right now, it’s all I’ve got to offer.

And I will make it okay.

I don’t know how, I just know that I need it to be okay for her. And after a while, she calms down. Once it feels like she’s more herself, I stroke her cheek lightly with my thumb. “Hey, you. You got it all out?”

“I think so,” she says in a high-pitched, heartbreakingly sad voice. “I made a big dumb mess, Jack.”

I laugh a little, I can’t help it; she’s so damn cute right now, even tear-stained and sniffling.

“Yeah, Cate, you sure did, didn’t you? How about we go to the couch. Come here.”

She relents, and I carefully hoist her up in my arms. It’s easy, and she feels warm against my body. My cock stiffens up in my slacks, can’t help it, but I do my best to keep it suppressed. I would love nothing more than to take her to bed right now, kiss all the tears away and soothe her and then, yeah, fuck her deep enough to put her right to sleep. But behaving like teenagers is part of why our relationship, whatever it is, is in this tangled shit show.

I ignore my cock and carry her over to the big plush leather couch, setting her down gently.

“Can I get you anything?” I ask, draping a knitted blanket on top of her.

She curls into it, sniffles, and looks up at me. Oh… shit. I’m lost. This isn’t just my cock that’s swelling. She’s gotten inside me, burrowed right into my heart.

Or maybe she was always there.

I watch her gnaw her lip and have what looks like an internal fight with herself, and I’d bet money she’s telling herself some bullshit about how she’s gonna look weak, but then she huffs out a little sigh and gives me a sheepish smile.

“I was hungry, and my day went to complete shit before I could do anything about that.”

I grin. Perfect. For once, something practical that I can help her with. I’ve always done better when I can put my hands on a solution. Feeding her is simple. Straightforward. Hell of a lot easier than all these sudden feelings brewing up inside me.

I motion to the coffee table. It’s where I’d set the paper takeout bag with my breakfast sandwich and my coffee from that local spot down the road when I’d come in.

She stares at the food, and the way her eyes widen, I feel fucking ten feet tall, even if it is just a five-buck meal.

“Can I?” she asks, practically drooling.

I almost laugh, but I’m not sure if she’s there yet after that tsunami she unleashed in the kitchen.

“Yeah, Duchess, it’s all yours.” I hand her the sandwich bag and coffee cup so she doesn’t have to move from her cozy little nest in that blanket I gave her, and yeah, call me caveman or whatever, but I’m getting off on this taking-care-of-and-providing thing right now.

Plus, I can still feel heat radiating off the bag, fantastic. I’m doing right by my woman.

Cate digs in, making little noises of enjoyment that I find both adorable and weirdly hot. She had to be starving, that kind of breakdown will take it out of anybody.

I sit with her in relative silence for a few minutes, letting her eat while I wait for her to recover the composure I usually take such pains to shatter. Finally, after popping the last bit of bacon from the sandwich into her mouth and taking a long, last pull from the paper coffee cup, she collapses back against the couch cushions. Her hair bounces around her face, and the look of satisfaction on her lips definitely doesn’t help my valiant efforts not to think about getting her into the sack.

“I’m human again,” she says, cutting me another sheepish look. “Thank God.”

I snort softly, still not sure if it’s cool for me to laugh with her yet. “That bad of a day?”

“Oh my God,” she says, looking at me with incredulity in her eyes. This time, though, I can tell that it’s not directed at me for once. She’s got that don’t-get-me-started look you give a buddy at the bar. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Tell me,” I say, making that c’mon gesture with my hands. “Get it off your chest.”

Along with your bra—no, shit, goddammit Jack! Down, boy.

“Okay,” she says, smiling at me with this shy heat that fucking melts me.

A slow, shaky breath, and then she does. She unloads everything, every bit of it. The phone call. The coffee. The robe. Her mother. Her toe. The dessert-for-breakfast feast she was carrying when she finally noticed me standing there.

I sit there listening, and the more I hear, the more I’m right there with her—pissed and hurt and off-balance from all the shit thrown in her way. Not that it takes much for me to get a head of steam up against Julianne, the cruel old bitch. Even the little I saw of her interactions with Cate way back when was brutal, nasty as anything my family could dish out in the insult department.

Might not be the best time to lead with that, though, so I dial it back some.

“That sounds awful. That all sounds like the worst,” I say. I wait a bit, and then I can’t help but ask, “Was the food okay?”

And I mean, damn, but I’m still in that fix-it mode. Plus I want to know, you know, that I’ve taken care of her the way she needs. I shift in my seat, doing my best to ignore the way my cock wants to participate in the taking-care-of-her conversation.

“It was the best thing I’ve eaten, ever,” Cate says, and she doesn’t even sound sarcastic. Just… grateful. And, damn, maybe more than grateful. Maybe some of those other things I’m feeling inside, too.

I laugh at the comment, but can’t deny that it lights up that Jack Did Good center in my brain.

“You’ve been living with Julia Fuckin’ Child for the last two weeks, you sure about that statement?” I tease her, even though I’m eating up the way she’s looking at me and don’t really want to hear a “no,” even though we both know what I gave her can’t hold a candle to that magic Dylan does in the kitchen.

And… great. Now my cock really starts to swell, from the thought of Dylan in the kitchen.

Cate giggles. “Your breakfast was what I needed. It was everything I needed.” She smiles, and yeah… it melts my whole heart to see it applied to me. Shit, it really does. “Thank you, Jack,” she goes on. “I’m sorry for everything I said, I didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah,” I say, shrugging, trying to play it off. I don’t want her to feel bad, but I don’t know if I can hack a talk that gets close to my feelings right now. They’re maybe a bit too new. I clear my throat. “You did mean it it, but that’s okay. I haven’t given you much reason to think otherwise, right?”

She casts her eyes down, but she’s still smiling a little. I’ll take it, it’s not a retreat and it’s not tears. Win.

But then—

“You’ve been a huge jerk lately, it’s true. I have no idea what I was thinking when I slept with you last weekend.”

She bites her lip and doesn’t look at me, and I can feel the ground getting shaky.

I know I should have called or something but, fuck. What was I supposed to say? And especially after Dylan blindsided me with that lunch the day after?

She’s clearly waiting for something from me now, and I chicken out a bit, going for an out.

“We were all drinking, so, you know…” I let it trail off, not sure if I’m trying to give her something she can hide behind if she thinks she needs to… or do that for myself.

But it hadn’t been the wine.

Hell, no.

Not for me, and not for her, either. I know what I saw in her eyes, all of that raw hunger, and just thinking about it now, about the way we moved together, makes my mouth go dry. Does other things to me, too, but I’m still doing my best to be in ignore-the-little-head mode.

She hasn’t jumped at the drinking excuse, but she’s still looking conflicted, so I add, “Wasn’t your fault.”

“I don’t even like you,” she says through a watery laugh.

For a split second, it hurts, but… no. It’s a lie, and all it takes is looking at her—remembering—and my ruffled feathers smooth right back down. I get it. She deserves to save a little face right now, especially after how embarrassed she was earlier. And I’m not gonna lie, in a weird way, having a joke between us, even just a small one, is kinda nice.

“Hey, I don’t like you, either,” I tease back, my attention caught by those delicious lips of hers when they curve up into an answering smile.

Cate’s beautiful.

I’ve never quite seen her in this light before; I always thought she was gorgeous, but now, snugged away in her knitted blanket and kinda undone, not put together, soft…she’s just perfect.

Mine, my oh-so-helpful brain offers. Well, one of them. Okay, both of them.

I don’t want to fuck this up, I know how fragile this moment is, but God help me, the way she’s looking at me… I can’t stop myself. I lean in, and I reach for her.

She doesn’t shy away. Fuck, that alone makes me go rock-hard. Makes all those feelings I’m having for her—the heart ones—swell up, too. Cate leans into me just a fraction, just enough, and her eyes start to flutter shut as her head tilts up to give me access.

To invite me.

Cate wants me.

She’s soft and warm in my arms as I kiss her, and I can feel the muscle of her core and the tantalizing softness of her breasts pressed against my chest. All I can think of is how I want more of this moment. I’m almost painfully hard, but I’m still ignoring that.

“Cate,” I say, moving my lips along her jaw, down to that silky throat. Sucking. I can hear the raggedness in my voice, and I guess she can, too, because she suddenly stiffens, as if coming back to herself.

Shit.

Shit.

Hadn’t I been telling myself ever since I walked in that this wasn’t what she needed from me right now?

She pulls back, and I really do think I’ve fucked it up, but even though she’s biting that plump lip and looking embarrassed, she doesn’t pull all the way away. I can tell she’s still in feelings mode more than fuck-me-Jack mode, though.

“So, Mister Doesn’t-Use-Doorbells,” she says after a minute. “What are you doing here in the first place?”

Her wry smile takes the sting from the words, and I think about why I really came.

Am I seriously about to admit this?

I swallow, starting with a kind of truth. “Well, uh, Dylan kind of invited me over when we had lunch the other day.”

I leave out the part where I was sleepless last night, and most of the week, lonely and worried about losing my friendship with Dylan again. And about… the rest.

I fought so hard to not break, to stay away from this place, but in the end, I couldn’t keep up that struggle. I’d fucked up once when we were kids, and I’d fucked up a number of times since getting back in touch with him. I don’t know how I feel about myself, or all these feelings I’ve got running around inside of me, the things I want, but I do know that I don’t want to be without him again.

And now, maybe not without Cate, too.

She’s just staring at me, waiting for me, and I chicken out.

“Maybe I shoulda called first.” I shrug, playing it off like it’s no big deal, even though it’s just about the biggest deal of my entire fucking life. I go for my usual cocky. “But I do own a part of this house, you know. Kinda need to be able to get in here when the situation demands.”

“We’ll put in a dog door for you, I guess,” Cate says, with an eye roll I’m pretty sure is just playful.

Her eyes flick to mine, and I can see worry there that she overshot, pushed us back to fighting. Yeah, playful, all right. I shake my head and smile, putting my hands up as if to say yeah, guilty, and I see her relax.

“So,” she asks, not content to leave it alone. And maybe… maybe I’m grateful. “Did you come over to talk about the townhouse, then?” she presses. “Or did you want… something else?”

Her voice takes on a sultry tone, and I gotta admit, it throws me. I’d been holding back from her, seeing her as delicate, and yeah… maybe she has that side to her. Maybe she needed some non-sexual comfort there. Comfort that I’m pretty sure I did okay with. But now…

I grin. My Wildcat is back.

“We can talk about the townhouse,” I say, psyching myself up to go where I never thought I would. Yeah. Yeah. I can do this. I can say it. Do it, hopefully.

Holy shit.

I’m really going in.

“But, I mean, if there’s anything else on the menu, uh, Dylan did technically invite me over for… uh, for m-more.”

Oh, Christ on the cross. Stuttering like a freaking virgin?

But I mean, I guess in one sense, there are still some things I’d qualify as that for.

Cate narrows her eyes and tilts her head to look at me appraisingly. “So he invited you over for… sex? That’s what you’re saying?”

I swallow. Hard. “Yeah.”

Her fingers tighten on the back of the couch, and for a second I think she’s about to launch herself at me.

“With me?” she finally asks, her voice turning sharp. “He, what, volunteered me? Are we talking about the same Dylan here, Jack?”

I laugh. Wrong response, but thank fuck for the tension reliever, right?

“No,” I say, the idea of Dylan pimping her out just too… never happening. Dylan?

I get my laughter under control when I see she’s totally not there with me, and clarify for her.

“Fuck no, Cate, of course not. No, he invited me over for, uh.” I can do this. “For… himself.”

My cheeks burn and I hate it, but at least I managed to get the goddamn words out.

Cate’s staring at me, mouth agape. “He… You? Him?” she finally splutters.

She looks stunned, kinda like I felt when Dylan first brought up that he’d like to kiss me.

My cock jerks again.

Yeah, she looks exactly like that. Stunned… but turned the fuck on, too.

“Well, Dylan is bisexual,” I say, managing to sound way more matter-of-fact than you’d think I could, given how hard it’s been for me to wrap my mind around that. Not the concept, but… it being a real thing. And it being okay.

Cate looks at me for a long moment. “You aren’t joking, are you?” she finally asks. “Jack, I swear to God, this is such an inappropriate joke, if that’s what you’re doing.”

Shit, Cate’s so damn good at putting me on the defensive, I feel like she’s the one who went to law school. Gotta remember we’re not enemies, though. And fuck, I’ve already admitted I want this, albeit in a roundabout way. Can’t back out now. It wouldn’t be fair to Dylan, and… I do want it.

Christ, wasn’t I basically jerking myself raw to this fantasy just a couple of weeks ago? And after what happened in the kitchen with the two of them when I’d come over for dinner, seems like my fantasies have a pretty damn good chance of becoming reality here.

“I’m not joking,” I reassure her, happy my voice comes out steady. “I wouldn’t joke about Dylan that way. Never.”

There’s another long pause, then, “So…you want to have sex with Dylan, too?” Her fingers drum on the back of the couch. “Are you bisexual, Jack?”

I try to speak, but guess I don’t need to. My cock tents my slacks as some vivid flashes of that being-with-both-of-them fantasy run through my head, my own mental porn. Here we are talking about it, like I never, ever thought I would, but suddenly having her see the proof of the deviant things I want—no, fuck. Fuck. That’s just an old voice in my head, and it’s not one I’m gonna give into.

It’s okay to want Dylan.

Dylan and Cate.

But when her eyes flick down and a knowing smile curves her gorgeous mouth at the sight of my erection, a flood of old shame hits me again—this popped up for another man—and I feel totally out of my depth and woefully fucking unprepared for this day.

I chicken out.

Again.

“Maybe I should leave, Cate. I’m sorry about barging in, really. I’ll call next time.” I start to get up, trying to adjust my pants, as if there’s any possible way to disguise the rod there, but before I get very far—

“No, stay.”

It’s Dylan’s voice, and my head snaps toward the sound as my cock jerks against my zipper, getting even happier.

And yeah, there he is, standing just inside the door.

I’m cornered.

Fuck. Me.

Dylan laughs, real and throaty and pure, somehow, and for a minute, I wonder if I said that last bit out loud. If he took it as an invitation. If he wants to…

“I’m glad you’re back,” he says to me, and the warmth and, shit, the welcome in his voice makes me painfully aware of my aching dick again. It’s clear that I’m wanted here. I don’t know how he does it, but Dylan’s presence alone just makes everything better.

Always has.

All that chicken-shit stuff calms down, and when he adds, “Please, stay,” I don’t even hesitate.

There’s nowhere else I want to be.