The bar was packed. He could tell from the steady buzzing sound of patrons. Friends laughing, music playing, drinks clinking as couples raise their glasses in a toast.

Armie Croft sat at the bar and sipped whiskey from a heavy tumbler, listening to the hum of life around him. The liquid he drank was dark amber, and the glass had the establishment’s logo on it. In front of him, twenty different craft beer taps lined the ornate bar, and behind the small space, hanging on the wall above the liquor shelves, was a fake deer head with an eye patch. And since it was the holidays, there were Christmas lights hanging from the deer’s antlers.

He knew all this like he knew he had a scar on the back of his ass from tripping down the front porch at seventeen. Armie had been in Mr. Dearborne’s pub a million times since turning twenty-one, even before then. The sights were familiar…but he couldn’t see any of them.

Armie knew every little nick in the wood on the bar top, every funny sign on the wall or picture of past anniversaries; it was all well-known to him. But today the last of Armie’s vision disappeared, and he’d never see those little details again.

It hadn’t been an earth-shattering moment like he’d imagined. The world hadn’t ended, and he’d kept on breathing, kept living. When it happened, he was simply a conventional dude in a coffee shop, wearing sunglasses and listening to a podcast on his headphones while drinking a latte.

Nothing abnormal about that.

But as Armie listened to the voices in his ear droning on about the current state of politics, his sight slowly disintegrated and deserted him entirely. The doctors had told him, years ago, that this might happen. One possibility was that he’d keep his peripheral vision, but even that hadn’t panned out.

He was too weak to hold on to any of it, he guessed.

Armie gripped the glass, throwing back the whiskey and thanking the good Lord that he could at least still taste shit. He might not have his sight, but there were plenty of other things to be thankful for in his life.

He needed to tell himself that over and over and over…at least until he somewhat believed it.

“Armie, my boy!” Mr. Dearborne picked Armie’s hand up where it rested on the bar and shook it. The gesture made Armie’s gut curdle. He loved Dearborne. He would have been without a reliable male role model in his life if he hadn’t had the old man and the JCA’s rabbi, but at this moment Armie resented him and everything Dearborne took for granted.

Armie only wanted to resent anyone who could still see.

“Hey, old man,” Armie said in his usual greeting. “Can you top me off?” He tipped his empty glass forward.

“Ralph says that’s your fourth, kid. You sure you want some more?” There was uncertainty in Dearborne’s voice, but Armie couldn’t give a rat’s ass about anything right then.

“So? It’s not like I’m driving anywhere.” Armie grinned, knowing the joke and congenial attitude would reassure the old man.

“Ha, too true. Sure, Armie. Let’s make it a double, and I’ll have one with you.”

Dearborne shuffled around behind the bar. Glasses clinked, then snapped together as they were placed on the bar. The sound of liquid pouring blanketed Armie like an old friend, a comfort he sorely needed when the last familiar remnants of his life had just died.

Helpless. He hated feeling helpless.

Armie slid his hand across the wood until he found the glass, crawling his fingers around the edge to grip. He raised it, then for some reason beyond his comprehension, took his sunglasses off, embracing the darkness though he knew his eyelids were open.

“L’chiam.”

“Salud,” Dearborne said in their usual toast.

Armie tossed his fifth drink back, sixth because of Dearborne’s generosity, then slammed it on the counter. “Another!” He’d meant the order to sound celebratory. Instead, it came out dejected, needy. He rubbed his useless eyes, his head beginning to tilt and whirl with the effects of the alcohol.

He needed to get out of there, needed to do something physical to get this shitty feeling out of his head. Armie stood, his heart pounding, the darkness a claustrophobia he would never be able to escape.

“Never mind, Dearborne. Put this on my tab. I’m good for the night.”

“Need me to call you a cab, son?” There was a tone of pity in Dearborne’s voice that made Armie want to punch the old man. The thought struck him motionless for a second, so ashamed of himself. He would never hurt this man, who only wanted to be kind.

He was fucked up, and he needed to get out of there ASAP.

“Nah, man. I’m good.” He held up his phone. “I’ve got the voice-command stuff and all.”

“Right. If you’re sure. Good night, Armie.”

Armie deftly navigated his way through the tables, utilizing his white cane to check for any abnormal obstructions. He used the vocal program in his phone to call for a Lyft, making sure to inform the driver ahead of time that he was blind and wouldn’t be able to locate the car once pulled up. The driver was kind and no-nonsense about it, having had many passengers with disabilities in the past, but nothing the man said assuaged Armie’s anxiety as he stood in the cold and waited.

It took five minutes for the car to arrive, another ten to get to his destination. He said a quick good night to the driver, then made his way toward the entrance to the local JCA, the Jewish Community Association. Armie and his sisters had grown up half and half, Jewish and Christian, and the town had a slightly run-down but still nice YMCA for working out. But he had always identified with the Jewish side of his heritage more, even if his parents hadn’t exactly been the religious type. It was a good year when they’d remembered to light the candles on the menorah for the consecutive eight days.

No, he went to the JCA because it was comfortable, homey, familiar. It never changed, and that was an assurance he needed more than anything tonight. He swiped his key card, providing the late-night access he paid an extra fee for, rounded the corner to the right, then took the long hallway toward the men’s locker room.

Twenty-nine steps. The door was on the right. Push through the door. Walk three steps to avoid hitting the bench, turn right, then trail a hand along the lockers until he reached the fifth one on the top.

Easy enough to remember.

Armie took his time changing into his bathing suit, making sure to place his goggles on the bench first so they didn’t get buried beneath his clothes. He folded everything neatly, placed the item he would want to change into first at the top of the pile, then set his personal belongings in the locker, closing it with a satisfying snap.

Grabbing his cane, he walked the fifty-two steps to the edge of the pool.

“Hello?” he called out. Nobody answered.

There was a nighttime lifeguard who also doubled as a janitor. He technically wasn’t supposed to swim without the guard there, but Armie didn’t want to have to wait until the guy finished his janitorial rounds. Armie bent, checking to make sure the boundary ropes were in place—they helped him stay in the lane—then jumped into the pool and began his laps.

Yes, that’s what I need.

It felt so good, the rush of physical exertion, being able to move swiftly without having to worry where he was going, unimpeded by the use of his cane. No one watching him swim would think him blind.

He was free.

He was so free that when he turned at one edge of the pool, he didn’t realize that he swam underneath the rope and out of his lane.

Leighanne Misra loved her new nighttime job. It was the perfect way to be alone, listen to music, and compose lyrics for the millions of songs she had in her head. She’d finished the lifeguard training last week and had worked out a schedule with the usual nighttime lifeguard/janitor. His wife recently had a baby, and he wanted to spend more time with them in the evenings. So sweet. She was more than happy to learn the ins and outs of the JCA. Don, the former night staff, said there was a man who came to swim late at night every now and then, but it was only a couple of times a week, and so far not one person had shown up while she was on duty.

Easiest job she’d ever had.

She kept her headphones on, emptying the trash in all the offices and wiping down the counters. She sang beneath her breath, bobbing to the rhythm of the new song she couldn’t get enough of. It was pure bliss. She entered the last office in the hallway near the pool, then made a beeline for the trash can and, when the beat dropped, did a little two-step. This music was tight. She seriously couldn’t wait to press repeat just to experience this moment in the track again and again. She turned to bring the can out to the larger one she pushed around on wheels, and screamed when she saw someone sitting at the desk, watching her with a big amused smile.

“Hi.” She saw his lips move but couldn’t’ hear him.

Oh right, her headphones.

Pulling the heavy high-quality tech off her ears, she waved and said, “Hi.”

“I always thought it was a stereotype that janitors danced and sang to the music they listened to as they cleaned at night.”

Leighanne had to smile at that, no matter how horrifically embarrassed she was by the situation. She’d taken this job to be alone, not to make a fool out of herself in front of handsome men in suits that looked way too expensive and out of place for the shabby JCA.

“Nah, we’re the most talented dancers.”

He quirked his head, not understanding.

She gestured toward the hallways. “Lots of empty, open space to practice without distraction.”

He grinned. She swallowed hard. His teeth were blindingly white, and the olive tone of his skin only made them stand out more.

“Ah. Are you a dancer?”

“No.”

“So you always had aspirations to be a nighttime janitor?”

“I’m also the lifeguard,” she said indignantly, hoping he wasn’t looking down at the honest profession. All those handsome features would be completely wasted if he turned out to be an asshole.

“Shouldn’t you be in there now?” He nodded toward the pool.

“No one is swimming, and when I’m doing the janitor rounds, people aren’t supposed to be in there.”

The man stood, smoothing out his tie and coming around the table. “You might want to check, as I’m pretty sure I heard a big splash a few minutes ago.”

“What?” She looked through the windows of his office into the large pool to see legs and arms flailing about as someone swam in the direction of the ladder. “Maybe they didn’t know to wait for me.”

“Possible. Should we go scold the person?”

“I can do it—oh my Jesus!”

The guy in the pool had just swum directly into the metal pole of the ladder, hitting his head. He was still now, no movement, no splashing.

Oh shit. He was dead. He could not be dead.

Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.

Leighanne dashed out of the office, the guy in the suit hot on her tracks, and ran into the poolroom. She dived in, not bothering to take the janitor jumpsuit off beforehand. The man could be drowning.

It was only her first week, and she had a drowner!

Another splash echoed behind her. What the hell was Suit Guy doing?

She swam toward the body and pulled his face out of the water.

“Bring him this way,” Suit Guy called. He was in the water as well, holding the swimmer up by his other arm, his beautiful ensemble completely soaked with community-pool chlorine water.

“I’m the lifeguard here,” she gritted out, swimming to the edge of the pool, keeping the man’s head above water. Suit Guy clearly didn’t trust her enough to save Swimmer Man’s life. Typical.

“Where were you when he started swimming?”

Leighanne ignored the acerbic comment, attributing it to the stress of the moment. He hadn’t gone through exhaustive lifeguard training and been taught how to keep calm during these types of high-intensity moments. Which was exactly why he should have backed off the second she’d jumped into the pool.

They reached the ledge and worked together to pull the swimmer out of the water. It was subtle, but the stranger groaned. He was alive and breathing. No mouth-to-mouth necessary.

“Oh, thank Jesus,” Leighanne said, resting him on the ground, making sure to be gentle with his head.

“You get the mouth, and I’ll get the chest compressions.” Suit Guy linked his hands together in the proper form and prepared to use what looked like considerable muscles under all that wet material clinging to his body to start CPR.

“Stop!” Leighanne pushed his hands away before he could break the poor swimmer’s chest.

“We need to start CPR.” He looked astonished that she would choose not to save the swimmer’s life. Too bad he forgot to check for one key component before proceeding with the CPR.

“The guy is breathing.” She pointed at the clear rise and fall of the swimmer’s chest. “If you do CPR, you’ll make him barf and mostly likely break a rib or two. You’ve already completely soaked your fancy suit, and I don’t think you want to lose more money by paying for his medical bills.” She turned back to the swimmer. “Sir, can you hear me? What’s your name? Do you know where you are?”

The man’s chest and shoulders started to shake. He was probably in shock, having a reaction.

“Sir, it’s okay. You’re going to be fine.” She turned to her unwanted companion with an annoyed grunt. “Go get him some towels or blankets. I think he might be going into shock.”

Suit Guy didn’t listen. “I should stay in case you both need me. Should I call 911?” His face was scrunched as he stared at the swimmer, the strands of his wavy hair hanging limp or plastered around his head. Leighanne thought she might have to get him a blanket as well, the whole experience clearly too overwhelming for the civilian to handle.

“Sir.” Her voice was even and gentle, not wanting to startle him more than he already appeared. She needed to give him a task. That’s what she was supposed to do with onlookers of an incident, give them a task, make them feel useful. “Trust that I know he is okay. Will you please go get some towels for me while I check his head for injury?”

“No.”

She slapped the wet concrete. “Dude, I am the lifeguard here. I am the person trained in First Aid. You had no right jumping into the pool, with your freaking suit on no less. This is my job—” Leighanne looked down.

A sound was coming from the swimmer. A high-pitched, gasping sound. She thought she knew what it was, but she needed to check before she smacked the guy.

“Are you laughing?”

The drowner grinned broadly, clutching his forehead with both hands, his head still resting on the floor. She couldn’t tell for sure with the goggles on, but the way his expressive lips turned up at the corners definitely denoted mirth.

“You’re seriously laughing right now?”

He turned to his right, placing a hand on obstinate Suit Guy’s leg. This, for some reason, made him laugh harder.

“Sir, I think you’re in shock.”

“You—”A burst of laughter stopped him for a moment. “You jumped in the pool to save me with all your clothes on! My knight in shining armor.” He clutched his stomach now, the laughter echoing across the poolroom.

Suit Guy and Leighanne exchanged glances.

She was completely at a loss about what to do at that moment. However, knowing the swimmer was fine gave Leighanne a moment to sit back and look at the so-called knight in shining armor. He’d been attractive and composed back when he’d caught her dancing with her headphones on. He’d been in control then, smirking at her with the knowledge that he’d caught her doing something she found embarrassing.

Well, now the tables had turned.

Here he was, his breathing labored from the adrenaline, his large hands digging into his thighs as he supported himself, his clear, sea-foam-green eyes wide open, and he was sopping wet. He looked like the one who’d been drowning.

Leighanne snorted. She covered her mouth, horrified. “I’m sorry,” she spat out. But it was too late. The giggle loop had started, and now she couldn’t stop. “You—you do look a little ridiculous.”

“What was it like?” Swimmer Man asked between snorts and chuckles. “Watching him dive into the pool with his suit on? Oh man, I wish I could have seen that.”

“I was trying to save you!” Suit Guy looked stunned by their laughing. This only made Leighanne and her drowner laugh harder.

Mitchell Karmi stared at the two people lying on the poolroom floor and thought, the weirdos were cracked. Didn’t they realize he’d just acted heroically? He’d never in his life seen a drowning person, but when he had, he’d only acted…rushing to save the man in a feat of complete idiocy, he now realized.

What did he think he was going to do? He wasn’t trained in CPR. He would have blown into the guy’s mouth and then pounded on his chest like a fucking animal with a blow-up doll. The lifeguard knew it. The swimmer probably knew it too. They both looked him over, sending them into peals of laughter whenever it tried to subside.

The sound wasn’t unpleasant, and oddly it didn’t embarrass him. As he mentally stepped back and looked at the situation as though he were an observer, he had to admit it was sort of funny. But two could play at this game.

He pointed at the lifeguard. “Need I remind you I’m not the only one still clothed?”

She looked down at her body, the baggy janitorial coveralls plastered to her. “Oh my Jesus,” she barked on another fit of laughter. “I am.”

“You too?” the swimmer asked, taking his goggles off.

Mitchell almost choked on his laughter. The man was not only handsome, but his eyes were also the most shocking pale, opaque blue Mitchell had ever seen. It was as if the swimmer were a real man, but his eyes had been drawn by an artist.

“Yeah, the damn things are so baggy on me I’m amazed I was able to swim in them.” The janitor-lifeguard was smiling down at the swimmer, switching her gaze to Mitchell every few seconds. It was then Mitchell was hit with the acute realization that both the man and woman, dripping wet and one barely dressed, were quite beautiful.

The swimmer had an effortless magnetism about him. Mitchell couldn’t help but chuckle and smile in his presence. He was lying on the floor in a tight pair of men’s swimmer shorts, he’d bumped his head and had been dragged from the pool by a lifeguard—and a stupid guy in a suit—to save his life, and yet here he was, without shame and laughing jovially at the ridiculousness of the circumstances. His eyelids creased wildly as he cackled harder, the lines imprinting indelible marks that would remain with him throughout life. He had a fair amount of scruff on his face, and his hair, as it dripped, seemed to curl at the ends. It would probably look a bit like an afro if not properly cut and maintained. Mitchell knew something about that as well, his own hair a mess if not kept properly.

It was impossible to ignore the state of the swimmer’s half-naked body, especially when his defined abs tensed every time he laughed. Dark curls speckled his chest and arms, and as his trim hips narrowed on the descent from his thick shoulders, the hair thinned, almost as if it pointed to what Mitchell knew would be a tantalizing surprise underneath his skintight shorts.

“You could have used the jumpsuit as an inflatable,” Mitchell pointed out.

The woman’s laugh sounded like a wind chime Mitchell’s grandma—his savta— had hung on her porch in the old Brooklyn house. Light and breezy, musical in its cadence. The lifeguard’s dark skin was slick with water, her black hair matted in a large braid hanging over her shoulder. Mitchell thought of unweaving it from the intricate layering, running his fingers through it, and combing the strands out so they wouldn’t knot. She’d look exotic with it hanging around her petite face, framing her dark eyes and thick eyebrows. And her lips…those lips were made for laughing, smiling, kissing, and some other things he shouldn’t think of when his clothes were sticking to him like a second skin.

She caught him staring at her, and her cheeks turned dark and ruddy. She looked away and cleared her throat.

“I think we should get up and dry off.” She switched her gaze between the two of them, back and forth. The column of her neck pulsed as she swallowed, and she kept biting her bottom lip. A nervous tic? She was alone in the building with two strangers, the merriment having faded. He couldn’t blame her for being cautious; he knew all too well the perils of being alone at night.

A familiar intuition told Mitchell it was something other than nerves making her bite her lip. Something better.

“How are you feeling?” she asked. “Dizzy? Light-headed?”

“Me?” the swimmer asked, still on the floor, but now with both hands cradling his head as though he were lounging.

“No, the other guy who hit his head on the ladder. How did that even happen? Were you swimming with your eyes closed?”

The swimmer sat up abruptly, his head down, elbows resting on his knees. “They’re always closed,” he mumbled.

“Huh?” she asked, bending to look at his face. “Are you gonna barf? You might have a concussion.”

Mitchell snorted. “Is that how they teach you to address people who nearly drowned?”

“Hey.” She pointed at the swimmer. “He’s alive. I’d say mission accomplished.”

“Too right.” The swimmer stood, and when he wobbled a bit, they were both there on either side of him, grasping his arms. “Thanks. I’m Armstrong Croft. Call me Armie.”

“Croft?” Leighanne’s big brown eyes widened like saucers. “Armie Croft? Of the Croft Siblings?”

“Are we that infamous?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Mitchell and Leighanne spoke at the same time, which only resulted in another burst of laughter from Armie.

“I’m Leighanne Misra, David Goldberg’s neighbor. I was at your sister’s Thanksgiving dinner. David and I brought pie. Well, he made the pie and I arrived with him and sort of took half the credit.” Her face scrunched adorably. “To be fair, nobody would want my pie.”

Mitchell had to chant in his mind not to say something dirty. He suddenly had the brain of a fifteen-year-old boy.

“No kidding,” Mitchell said, trying to keep his mind off anything to do with the word pie. “Me too. Mitchell Karmi.”

They began to walk toward the locker room, keeping a tight hold on Armie’s hands.

Leighanne looked shocked. “You were there too? What a coincidence.” Leighanne stopped midstride, looking up at Armie. “Wait a damn minute.”

“Here it comes,” Armie muttered, angling his head toward the ceiling.

“Armie Croft is blind. You’re blind! How can you be swimming in a pool at midnight by yourself? Do you have a death wish?” Her voice dropped. “Oh my Jesus, are you suicidal? Should I call your sisters? I should call them—”

“Stop, Leighanne. Stop, please. I’m fine.” He spoke to her, his face tilted down in her direction, but it wasn’t quite right.

Mitchell remembered there had been a man at the party with a cane, a good-looking man with a mile-wide smile. But Mitchell hadn’t been able to introduce himself at the time. There had been so many people in attendance, and he’d just got into town. He’d wanted to get a feel for the residents before engaging anyone. Now that he was seeing Armie with his shirt off, though, he regretted it a bit.

“I swim all the time. It’s perfectly normal and safe. I use the barrier rope as a guide…I think I must have swam under it when I was turning around.” He shrugged like it was nothing.

“You’re not supposed to swim at night without a lifeguard on duty.”

“You weren’t around.”

She spoke slowly, as if to a child. “So you wait.”

“Fine, fine. Whatever.”

They continued on into the locker room, stopping in front of one of the benches. Leighanne let go and walked toward the clean towel cabinet. Armie’s shins hit the wood, and he bent forward, his hand stretched out, searching for the seat. Mitchell didn’t know what possessed him to take Armie’s other hand and guide it down, but as their hands touched, a shiver ran up Mitchell’s arm and down his spine.

“Thanks.” Armie cleared his throat. “Is there a towel nearby?”

“Here.” Leighanne sat on Armie’s right, placing the towel in his lap. She offered another to Mitchell. Their hands brushed as he took it from her, sending an equally intense but different chill across his skin.

This was interesting.

“I should change, I guess.” The lighthearted nature of the evening had passed, and Mitchell could see tension and awkwardness in the brace of Armie’s shoulders. Leighanne had also turned inward and quiet. He didn’t want any of that.

“I’m sorry I didn’t speak to either of you at Thanksgiving. I would have liked to get to know both of you. But since we’re here now, we might as well indulge. Let’s dry off, and I can make us some tea in the office. What do you say?”

Armie had been brushing the towel over his face and hair when he paused. The towel lowered slowly, and his head turned in the general direction of Mitchell’s voice. “You said your name was Mitchell Karmi?”

“That’s right.”

“You helped my sister with her deadbeat ex at Thanksgiving. You hooked her up with that great lawyer.” Armie stood, looking almost distraught.

“Right again.” Mitch wondered where he was going with this.

“It’s because of you that Ophi never has to see that asshole again, not unless he’s completed a series of anger management classes, attends regular AA meetings, and holds down a steady job for more than a year. A year!” Armie huffed, dropping the towel to run his hands through his hair, delightfully disheveling it. Mitch would have been inclined to help him straighten it out if the poor guy didn’t look so upset.

“All these are good things, Armie.” Leighanne stood and brushed Armie’s shoulder to calm him down.

“Yes. Very good things. You have no idea how much that meant to me, to my family.” He took a deep breath before sputtering, “I need to leave.”

Armie turned abruptly, then took a step forward and immediately knocked his legs into the bench, tripping and careening him forward. Mitch grabbed him around the waist from behind before Armie could smack his head into the lockers, giving him a real head injury.

Leighanne was there as well, pushing Armie back, both hands on his chest. They were extremely close now. Mitch could smell the chlorine on Armie’s skin, see the indentation on the side of his face left by the goggles. If Armie’s tight body was anything to go by, he really did come to the JCA to swim often. Mitch’s hands were restricted, stuffed between Armie’s hard stomach and Leighanne’s wet and baggy clothes. The backs of his knuckles pressed into her soft belly, and when he spread his fingers, giving him more access to both of them and closing the distance, Leighanne didn’t pull away. She leaned into Armie more, looking up at both of them with those big, soulful brown eyes.

Mitch liked these two. They were sexy and funny, two winning qualities in his mind. They both were driven to come here late at night. Whether it was due to working a night job to support herself, or to swim until losing his way, losing all thought. Both reasons were beautiful and sad, and Mitch wanted to make it better for both of them.

It was a quirk of his, feeling obliged to fix things if there was anything needing fixing.

“Please let go.” Armie’s voice was hoarse and dark when he spoke.

Something was clearly upsetting Armie, but Mitch didn’t think it was a homophobia thing. No, in fact, Mr. Dearborne had asked Mitch about his sexual orientation at Thanksgiving…on behalf of an interested party.

Had that been Armie?

Mitch rested his chin on Armie’s shoulder, looking down at Leighanne but speaking into Armie’s ear. “I think we should relax, take a deep breath, and go into the office for that cup of tea. I know there are JCA sweatpants and shirts we can change into around here somewhere.”

“I know where they are.” Leighanne licked her lips, her throat shifting as she swallowed. Did she smell like chlorine now too, or something better, something more feminine and lush?

“Great. What do you think, Armie?”

What did he think? What did Armie think now that a tall man with a sexy voice had his arms wrapped around his chest, his body plastered against his back, and a clear erection pressing into his ass? Mitchell wasn’t being so crass as to grind the steel pole into him, but he wasn’t hiding it either.

What was even more confusing was the petite woman in front of them. She’d been there for him just as Mitchell had, supporting him and keeping him from falling after his embarrassing freak-out. But she hadn’t taken her hands away afterward. They were spread wide now, her ring finger achingly close to his nipple. Christ, if she would move a little, she’d brush over it. If she’d come a little closer, she could take it into her mouth.

Shit, there was no way she didn’t realize he was hard. His cock pressed against the spandex of his swim shorts like a rubber band stretched to its limits. These two were devastating in their own sensual and appealing ways. There was no doubt about Mitch’s sexuality due to the pipe clearly resting against Armie’s ass, and though he couldn’t see her, the way Leighanne’s breath had become short after touching him, how her voice hitched when she claimed to know where the towels were, and of course how she pressed against him, her breasts generous and plush under the wet jumpsuit, he thought she wanted not only him but Mitchell as well.

And through all the desire, and the laughing and the way they’d both met before but hadn’t known it, Armie felt shame and embarrassment.

Mitchell had been there for his sister at Thanksgiving when the father of her first child had stormed in and threatened to ruin everything. Lyle, the asshole, was Armie’s friend before he was anything else. When Ophi started dating him in college, the guy was over at their house all the time. He was funny and carefree, and Armie had never understood why most of the people in town didn’t like Lyle, even after he and Ophi temporarily broke up for a while. But Ophi and Lyle got back together, and everything had been the way it was before. Almost as if they were a family.

Until Armie realized how deeply unhappy his big sister was toward the end, and the panic Armie felt after she went missing for a couple of days. Armie and his younger sister, Nettie, found Ophi holed up in a cheap motel with candy wrappers, empty ice cream pints, bags of takeout food, and about twenty positive pregnancy tests littering the room.

His first reaction had been gross because of all the pee on those sticks; the second was anger. Fury. Ophi’s eyes had been red, her skin sallow. She was devastated, and the father of her unborn child was nowhere to be found. Lyle had dumped her, claiming if she didn’t get an abortion, he’d leave her. Which was exactly what he did.

After getting Ophi back on her feet, Armie immediately hunted Lyle down and beat the shit out of him. It had been satisfying as hell. But when Lyle intruded at Ophi’s house this Thanksgiving, claiming they could do nothing about him being there when Richard, his son, saw him, he’d stormed in and pushed Armie to the side like it was nothing.

Armie was useless now, unable to protect the woman who had practically raised him. He was so ashamed.

But Mitchell had been there, and according to Ophi and her now fiancé, David, he had used a sharp intellect and business acumen to scare Lyle into leaving. Then he’d called Ophi up the next day, giving her the name of a kick-ass lawyer who eventually slapped Lyle with so many custody rules and laws the bastard was probably dreaming court jargon in his sleep.

Mitchell had been there for Armie’s family, and though Armie would be eternally grateful for the man’s help, he was almost glad he had the excuse of blindness because he wouldn’t have been able to look into the man’s eyes with any sort of dignity. Even the promise of sex with these two, something he clearly felt was a possibility, couldn’t make him stay.

“I—” He broke off, hating the way he’d lost his confidence. “I need to leave. Thank you, but I should leave. I need to get to my locker.” It physically hurt to ask for help these days, but this time was like a poison-laced knife to his gut.

“Sure.” Leighanne rubbed her hands up to his shoulder, finally resting them on his neck. She skimmed the undersides of his jaw with her thumbs, kneading and soothing him. She played his skin like an instrument, and the gentleness of her touch made him want to stay and sink into her. “If you can’t stay tonight, I’d love to get a tea or coffee with both of you sometime soon. Is that okay?”

“Me too.” Mitchell’s chest vibrated against Armie’s back, coaxing a shiver from the base of his spine up to his neck. Mitchell knew it too. “Or you could hang around, talk about what’s bothering you.” Mitchell pressed against Armie’s ass a little deeper. Armie reached back involuntarily, grabbing hold of Mitchell’s thigh, clutching the hard muscle.

Leighanne’s laugh was deep, sensual. “I don’t think there would be any talking going on if we went into your office.” The tickle of her breath on Armie’s skin sent a warm flurry through his belly, pushing the painful emotions back a little. He wanted to keep on, especially since his dick was telling him to stay because it would definitely be fun. But his heart was so heavy, so tired from the marathon he’d been running for years as his vision faded. It wouldn’t be right, giving in to them in this state of mind. He was only half here.

Armie stepped sideways out of the sexy sandwich, making sure to slowly slide his feet and hold his arm out in case there was anything in his way.

“I can’t.” He sighed, annoyed by his own decision but incapable of being with someone in that way tonight. “I’m sorry. Though tea sounds…delicious.”

Both Leighanne and Mitchell chuckled at that, bucking Armie up a bit.

“Just guide me to my locker. I’ll change, and if I find both your numbers programmed into my phone later, I won’t be annoyed by it.”

A small hand on his shoulder. A slow kiss from plump lips on his cheek. A feminine voice. “Count on it.”

Leighanne and Mitchell watched the Lyft taking Armie home for the night pull away from the curb and turn right at the light down the street. They were both dressed in sweatpants, the soft material a warm relief after so long in soggy coveralls.

“So, want some tea?” Mitchell offered, gesturing back toward the JCA.

Leighanne snorted, marveling at his bravado. Even in old gray sweatpants, he could put a person on their ass with his smile alone. “No thanks. My shift ended a while ago, and I need to sleep.” A thought occurred to her. “What are you doing here so late?”

“I just bought the building. I like to spend time in the places I buy.”

“Huh.” She nodded. Something clicked in her mind, a heads-up Don had given her before taking this job. The building had a new owner, and he seemed the type to bulldoze the place and put up a Walmart. “Why did you buy it?”

“It’s what I do. I buy, repurpose, sell.”

“Repurpose? You’re going to repurpose the JCA?” This place was a much-needed part of their community.

He stuck his hands in his pockets, staring up at the large but slightly dilapidated building. “I’m not doing anything with it right now. I got to town a month ago. I’m still getting to know the place and assessing the needs of the community.” He gave her a squinty side-eye. “You think I’m gonna knock it down to build condos, don’t you?”

Ah, the rumor mill of small-town life had been churning up dust.

“I may have heard something like that.” Leighanne reached into his pocket and squeezed his hand. “But I’m willing to give the big city slicker the benefit of the doubt. Especially when we team up together in a joint purpose.”

“And that would be?”

“A hunt.” She wiggled her eyebrows playfully, but the arrow of desire inside her mind pointing toward her two new friends was anything but humorous. “For a Mr. Armie Croft.”

Being in the locker room with them, looking up at two enticingly formidable men—men who wanted her—had been an out-of-body experience. It was a feeling Leighanne encountered whenever she heard a new song, one of the greats, a song destined to become a part of her favorites, traveling with her throughout life. No matter how many new playlists she made or how many new albums she listened to, she would always go back to those few songs, like an old friend she hadn’t seen in years, or a comforting memory. It was a hell of a thing to feel, and she recognized it instantly, but she’d never before experienced that sensation with a person, let alone two people.

It meant something essential. It meant she needed to keep these guys in her life, and if she listened to the heated desire of her body, she needed them in more than a friendly capacity.

Mitchell closed the gap between them after hearing her declaration, his intent clear, his gaze focused on her lips. Leighanne stopped him with a hand on his chest, gently pushing.

“Do you think Armie would mind?”

Mitchell’s smile was indulgent, his eyes ablaze. He bent to whisper in her ear. “Imagine Armie here in your place. Imagine our bodies resting against each other, my hands sliding through his hair.” Mitchell put his words to action as he spoke, but while he was describing an interaction between him and Armie, Leighanne was the one experiencing it. Hearing and living the fantasy at exactly the same moment. “I nuzzle his cheek.” His chin was smooth against her skin. “I hold his hips, rubbing my thumbs up under the sweater to touch him.” His fingers almost tickled as they skimmed her. He groaned quietly. “His skin is so soft.”

“It is.” She was breathless from the dual images and sensations flooding her mind and body.

Mitchell pulled back quizzically.

“His skin,” she said. “I touched his chest. He had short, rough hair, but his skin was smooth and taut.” Armie had a fit swimmer’s body, one he’d honed to a blade’s perfection. “I kissed his cheek.”

“Kiss mine.” It was Mitchell’s breath that came in small bursts now, and Leighanne delighted in the feel of the significant length pressing against her belly. She was inflamed by the fantasy of Mitchell and Armie in a sensual dance, all the while needing to be a part of it. No, she didn’t think Armie would mind, not if he wanted them the same way she wanted him and Mitchell.

Leighanne went on her toes to reach him, but she didn’t kiss his cheek.

Mitchell groaned at the feel of her sumptuous lips pressing against his, breasts pushing into his chest, hands framing his neck and jaw. He wrapped her in his arms, needing her closer, as close as they could get without taking all their clothes off and fucking in the street. No, this situation needed delicacy and patience, something he worried he might not be able to provide as her tongue dipped into his mouth, exploring his lips and teeth.

Mitchell sucked her tongue between his lips before relinquishing it, earning a soft yet demanding whimper. His cock rubbed against her stomach as they kissed, so close to where he wanted it to be. All he had to do was bend, push both their pants down, lift her, then spread her legs and plunge into what he thought would be a snug, slick pussy.

Fuck.

He wanted it so badly he was about to lose his head. He’d never been this spun tight after an evening of banter and one kiss. One kiss and a fantasy of another.

This could become complicated.

Mitchell pulled away, enjoying the pout on her lips as he separated from her.

“I should go,” she said, acknowledging that this might be getting too heavy. “I don’t think Armie would mind us kissing but…”

“Screwing in the street without him, yeah, that he might mind.”

“Is this crazy? Us talking about him, and waiting for him as if the three of us are entwined in some illicit affair?” She eyed him skeptically. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

Mitchell snorted. “Do I look like a libertine, running from county to county defiling the men and women of the Northeast?”

Her grin was impish. “You tell me.”

He had to kiss her then, nibbling her bottom lip. “Maybe with you I am. And with our prey.”

She tilted her head.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten our hunt for Armie Croft already?”

“No, I haven’t. I’m worried he might not want to be our prey. I think he might be…hurt by something. I don’t know what.”

Leighanne was perceptive. Armie did seem to have something weighing on his mind. If not, then there would have been no good reason to leave two people who were clearly hot and heavy for him. There were many things in life that could hurt a person. Relationships, family…walking to a car alone at night. Yeah, that one Mitch didn’t want to think about. He shook the memory off.

“Is your stuff inside?”

She nodded, pulling back from their embrace.

“C’mon, let’s go get it—I promise not to offer to make you tea again—then I’ll give you a lift home, unless you’ve got a car here.”

“No, my housemate dropped me off. Thanks.” She took his hand. Mitchell paused at the sensation. Her hand was much smaller than his, and there were callouses on her fingers. But it wasn’t the roughness of her skin that startled him; it was the openness and willingness to show affection, something he wasn’t used to. Something he feared she might want out in the real world, in public. But surely she would know, and Armie as well once they’d successfully hunted him, that putting their entanglement on display was foolish and dangerous…yet for the first time in five years, with Leighanne gripping his hand, Mitchell wasn’t utterly terrified to walk to his car at night.