When I wake again it's nearly ten. Jake is next to me but Deke’s side of the bed is empty.

I pull the cool sheet over me and stretch my legs out long. I'm sore — who wouldn’t be after last night? — but also simultaneously relaxed and exhilarated.

The sheet is draped over Jake’s body just right, making him the picture of a Greek god brought to life.

Last night was amazing. So much better than I even imagined. Times two.

But all good things must come to an end. Sure, I called off work, and I could use a day off, but I can't stay here all day. That's not what this is about.

I hear noises that sound like they're coming from the kitchen so I slip from the bed to use the bathroom that's right outside Deke's bedroom door.

I'm shocked by my reflection. My hair is wild. It doesn't look so much like I've been fucked as it looks like I've been riding a roller coaster all night.

That nearly apt comparison makes me smile, and I notice how happy I look, too. There's a glow to my skin and my eyes are sparkling even under severely smudged makeup.

I guess I needed a night of fun.

I take care of my needs, including a hot shower and makeshift toothbrushing using Deke's paste and my finger.

I don't snoop, but can't help but note the manly products and accessories in his bathroom — and the lack of any feminine counterparts. I breathe in the delicious scents of his soap and cologne, missing them already. It gives me a pang.

I slip into yesterday's clothes, run my fingers once more through my damp hair and venture out.

Glancing to my right, I see the bedroom is empty. The smell of sex hits me hard and kicks at my belly when I go in to collect my purse.

In the kitchen, I find Jake seated at the small table, coffee mug in hand, and Deke unpacking a grocery bag. Deke’s dressed in jeans and a tee, but Jake’s chest is tantalizingly bare, and I try not to look.

“Mornin’, sleepyhead,” Deke says.

“Mornin’, sugar,” Jake chimes in.

“Morning,” I say, suddenly, irrationally, feeling a little shy.

“You could’ve borrowed a robe,” Deke says over his shoulder, as he puts a carton of milk in the refrigerator.

“Why put clothes on at all?” Jake says, eyebrow arched in a come-hither look that I also try not to notice.

“I can’t stay,” I say, but it comes out much more half-hearted than I intend. Damn naked man chest.

Deke is back at the shopping bag, where he pulls out two small boxes. “Then what are we going to do with these?” Condoms. Twenty-four more condoms. Holy hell.

I open my mouth, but no words come.

“Want some coffee? Or tea?” Deke asks, ignoring both my dumbfounded look and my intent to leave.

Trying to marshal my willpower, I accept his offer of coffee. Jake takes a sip from his mug, then gets up and offers his chair to me, even though there are three others at the table. “Have a seat,” he says, before he retrieves two pans from a cupboard and bacon and eggs from the grocery bag.

Though having breakfast with them feels like a slippery slope back into the bedroom, I don’t want to be rude. The view of the muscles in Jake’s back as he moves about the kitchen is also not helping my resolve.

I take the seat and gratefully accept a giant mug of coffee from Deke. As I inhale the aroma, I realize I’m starving. I can’t even fathom how many calories we all burned last night. And earlier this morning.

“Do you both live here?” I ask. I’ve only seen the one bedroom, but we didn’t exactly take time for a tour last night.

“No, I have a place across town,” Jake says. “Deke’s closer to Wheels.”

“You own the bar together?” I ask after taking a sip. “How long have you had it?”

“Five years,” Deke says. “We worked construction and had some savings. It gives club members another place to hang out, and brings in a steady income.”

“And the club?” I’m a little hesitant to ask, but it can hardly be prying after everything we’ve done together. “When did you get involved with that?”

“Our uncle was a member. We were recruited right out of high school.”

It makes me wonder about their father, but I don’t ask. I do respond to something else he said, though. “Was?”

There’s a silence before Deke says, “He’s in prison. Assault.”

The words come out matter-of-fact, with no evident emotion, but I still say, “I’m sorry.”

Deke shakes his head. “The club was …” He glances at Jake, who looks at me, then back at his brother. Jake’s expression doesn’t change, but it seems to give Deke permission. “In our uncle’s heyday, it wasn’t too worried about which side of the law it was on — individually or collectively.”

I’m treading on thin ice here. “And now it’s … different?”

“Since we took it over, yeah.”