They say a girl’s first love isn’t the first person she kisses or the one she gives her virginity to. Her first love is the guy she’ll compare all others against. He’s the one she never forgets, even when she convinces herself she’s over him and moved on.
As Cole rests a hand on mine and leans so close I smell the recognizable scent of his skin, I know with certainty I never got over him.
The heat radiating from him, the dark depths of his gaze drilling into mine, his very presence speaks to my soul, enchanting and ravishing and slaying. It’s the sweetest torment, drugging me into a Cole-induced stupor.
If he kisses me, I won’t be able to stop him. I haven’t tasted his intoxicating lips in four and a half years, and I’m helpless against the magnetic pull he has over me.
I still haven’t come to terms with the fact that he’s here. Sitting on the floor in my kitchen. Alive and real and a kiss away from spiraling me into total bliss.
“Danni.” He stares at my mouth, and his tongue slips out to wet his own. “I need you so fucking much I can’t see straight.”
I whimper, angling closer, until all that separates us is a finger-width of air and a head full of uncertainty. My uncertainty. Given the way he’s looking at me, the only thing he’s worried about is his ability to strip off my clothes before I change my mind.
His fingers glide around my neck and twist through the hair at the base of my skull, his breaths growing shallow, heated. He edges closer, oh-so slowly, deleting the minuscule distance between our lips.
I close my eyes. Part my mouth. Tense against a riot of nerves. And jump at the burst of noise on the kitchen counter.
Try by Pink blares from my phone, sounding an incoming call.
“Ignore it.” Cole clenches his hand in my hair.
But I’m already pulling back, shaking out of my trance and scrambling for the distraction.
I was going to kiss him. With Trace within hearing range. What the hell is wrong with me?
Grabbing the phone, I groan at the caller ID.
“My sister.” I hit ignore and peek at Cole.
He drops his head and clutches the back of his neck as frustration ripples through his bent posture.
“I haven’t talked to her since you returned.” I crouch beside him. “I need to tell her what’s going on.”
He slides his hands to his face, scrubbing his forehead as if struggling to dial back his temper.
That’s where he and Trace differ the most. Trace is the master of self-restraint. Hell, he spent nearly every day with me for four months burying his feelings for me.
Cole would never do that. I don’t think he can. He has zero control over his emotions. When he wants me, he takes me, and the claiming is a powder keg of hunger and ferocity. At least, that’s how it used to be.
Nothing is different between us, the chemistry and passion just as wild and uncontainable as the day we met. Yet everything has changed. When he died, part of me died with him, leaving behind a ghost of the woman he fell in love with. I can’t connect with him when it comes to his career, and he’ll never be part of my relationship with Trace. We didn’t have those separations before, and in some ways, it makes us strangers.
That doesn’t mean he isn’t the one for me, but it’s a scary revelation. I might have gotten him back, but that doesn’t mean our relationship is recoverable.
“You better call Bree,” he says, “before she shows up and pisses herself when she sees me.”
“You need to walk me through the cover story.”
Ten minutes later, I’m alone in my bedroom, listening to Bree’s heavy gasps through the phone.
“Holy shit cakes, Danni.” She makes a strangled noise. “All that time in an Iraqi prison? Is he okay? Mentally, I mean. Surely, they’re providing therapy for him.”
“He’s doing okay.” I hate lying to her. It goes against every instinct I have. But I don’t know the truth, and that’s probably a good thing, because I’d be tempted to confide in her.
In the next room, the shower turns on, the pipes groaning through the walls. That means Cole’s in there. Removing his pants. Revealing inch after inch of his mouth-watering physique.
Does he still go commando? I haven’t seen him without jeans on since he returned. Is there a black snake still tattooed around his thigh or did he have that one removed, too? What does he look like now without clothes on? Thinner? Harder? Any new scars?
I have so many photos of him, pictures I stared at for days on end after he left. But none are of him naked. He doesn’t have a body one could easily forget—broad chest, narrow cut of hips, and a well-endowed package between powerful legs. Nevertheless, I ache to see him in the buff again.
The door to my bedroom opens, interrupting my thoughts as Trace steps in, wearing only a towel.
Bree continues to blabber in my ear about what-ifs and what-nows, but my attention fixates on Trace, on the definition of muscle along either side of his spine as he stands in my closet, selecting something to wear.
I feel like a hussy, imagining one naked man and two seconds later, ogling another. My ability to switch so easily from Cole to Trace and back again is upsetting. It shouldn’t be that way, but I don’t know how to shut off my feelings.
“Are you shitting the bed right now?” Concern spikes through Bree’s voice. “Oh my God, does that mean you’re engaged to both of them?”
“I don’t know what it means.”
“Oh, Danni. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. You love them both so much.” Her whisper rasps through the phone. “There’s no way you can choose between them.”
Cole suggested I keep his connection to Trace a secret. It opens too many questions that would raise suspicion. Since Bree thinks he and Trace just met, she has no idea how deep the heartache goes. Whoever I don’t choose doesn’t just lose his fiancé. He loses his best friend, too.
Trace releases the towel at his waist and drops it to the floor. My nostrils widen with a sharp breath, my gaze sliding over the hard flanks of his backside. He’s ridiculously, beautifully sculpted, with layers of lean muscle, a high tight ass, and long legs, all enwrapped in taut flawless skin.
He glances over his shoulder at me, and whatever he sees on my face makes him smirk. Without looking away, he slowly, methodically, pulls on a pair of black boxer briefs, followed by charcoal slacks, letting both hang low on his butt without zipping up.
“Tease,” I mouth.
His smirk transforms into a full-fledged grin that cartwheels across the space between us and hits me square in the chest. His smiles are so rare that when he gifts me one, I hold it tight to my heart.
“Do you want me to come over?” Bree asks. “Angel has a soccer game in a couple hours, but I’m free until then.”
“No, they’re both here, and I need to hash things out with them.”
Trace loses his grin and turns back to the rack of clothes.
“This is crazy.” Bree exhales. “Do you have a plan?”
“Do I ever?”
“No, but surely you have some idea of what you’re going to do.”
Trace emerges from the closet, tucking a white button-up into the open fly of his slacks. I have a fascination with watching him put himself together. His meticulous movements, attention to detail, the way his hands move confidently over his body—it’s as if every action is intended to seduce. He’s too damn sexy for his own good.
He finishes dressing and approaches the bed, with a curious glint in his eyes. His blond hair brushes his brow, not yet tamed for the day. Stubble dusts his jaw, waiting to be shaved. Yet he looks like he’s ready to take on the world, prowling toward me in that effortless way he moves, his suit molding to every delicious inch of his frame.
“Hang on a minute,” I say to Bree and mute the phone.
He places a knee on the mattress and leans over me to graze his lips against my cheek. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” My veins flood with warmth as I recall something he said the day Cole returned.
You’re all that I am, and the moment I accepted that, protecting you was no longer a favor or a job. It became a prerogative.
“When did you know you loved me?” I run a hand through the corn-silk strands of his hair.
He slants into my touch and sighs. “The first time I saw you at Bissara—”
“When you went there to check up on me.”
“To watch over you and keep you safe.” He turns his head and kisses my wrist. “I walked in and saw you dancing. I haven’t caught my breath since.”
My heart skips, knocking the wind from my lungs.
“When did you know you loved me?” His blue eyes bore into mine.
“When you gave me the concert ticket for Beyoncé.” I grin.
His expression falls, and he nods stiffly. “That’s the night you saw me with that woman on my lap.” A tic bounces in his jaw. “It was all for show. You know that, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m so sorry. Despite what I said that morning in your basement, I never wanted to hurt you. I made so many foolish attempts—”
“I understand why you did it.” I trail my fingers along the honed lines of his face and shift back, glancing at my phone. “I need to finish this call with Bree. I’ll be out in a minute, okay?”
Dense lashes fringe pale blue eyes that roam over my features, as if absorbing every detail to memory.
“Take all the time you need.” He rises from the bed, straightens his collar, and leaves the room, shutting the door behind him.
With a heavy exhale, I un-mute the phone. “I’m back.”
“You need to date both of them,” Bree bursts out, loud and rushed, as if the words were burning her lips for weeks rather than the thirty seconds I had her on hold. “Two men. Lots of sex. That’s an order.”
“I’m not doing that.” I press the heel of my hand against my chest and whisper, “It’s selfish.”
“You know what? Fuck that. For once in your life, you’re going to put yourself first. Jesus, Danni, you give and give until you have nothing left. You love with all your heart, and you never ask anything from anyone. You don’t even know the meaning of selfish.”
The shower shuts off in the next room, reminding me how thin the walls are.
“I’m going to turn on some background noise.” I slide off the bed and grab my tablet from the dresser.
A moment later, Issues by Julia Michaels strums through the bedroom.
“You know them, Bree.” I move to the full-length mirror on the wall beside the closet door and flatten a hand against the glass. “We’re not talking about your everyday, passive men here. They’re overbearing, jealous, growly cave-grunters who don’t share their toys.”
“You’re not a toy,” she says harshly.
Cole used to call me his dirty little fuck doll, and it turned me on like nothing else. But I’ll keep that tidbit to myself.
“Figure of speech. You know what I mean.” The crisp plucky notes of the song snap through me, gripping my hips and hooking me into the rhythm. “I’m not going to string them along.”
“You didn’t put yourself in this position.” She blows out a breath. “Cole did this.”
Trace played a part as well, but she doesn’t know that. It’s something I’ll have to keep in consideration if she starts rallying for Trace, which is likely since she was never a Cole fan.
Examining my form in the mirror, I ripple my core, sending vibrating waves of motion to my ribcage and pelvis. As the melody races up and down the scale, I hold my hand against the glass and twitch my hips to the contrasting beats, as if dancing with my reflection.
“You need time,” she says. “Am I right?”
“That’s exactly what I need. I feel so blindsided by this I’ve been walking in a fog for the past week.” I sway my head through the song’s haunting chorus. “This is a for-the-rest-of-my-life kind of decision, you know? But how long can I drag it out before it becomes a pathetic excuse for procrastination?”
“For however long it takes. They love you. They wouldn’t be there if they didn’t. So they’ll wait for you. They’ll wait indefinitely, while you figure out which one deserves you the most. Meanwhile, you need to spend time with them. Get to know them on every level under the sun and…under the covers—”
“Bree—”
“Enjoy yourself. Enjoy them. Let it evolve naturally, organically. As you spend time with each of them, you’ll gravitate toward one more than the other.”
“What if I don’t?” I splay my fingers over the reflection of my face as the song slows.
“What if you do? Think of it like one of those online dating sites. Except you don’t have an algorithm narrowing down the choices. You already know your top two picks. You don’t have to weed through hundreds of overinflated profiles or go on dozens of painful dates. You’ve vetted two candidates, and you know you’re matched in every way.”
“I guess that’s one way of looking at it.” I prowl backward, away from the mirror, exaggerating the flex of my legs with the low bass drop and breathy vocals.
“Whatever you do, make sure you’re doing it for you.” Bree hardens her tone. “I’ll be severely disappointed if you’re not one-hundred-percent selfish about this.”
“Wow. Aren’t you full of well-meaning advice?”
“It’s my job as the smarter, prettier sister. Your job is to listen to me.”
I roll my eyes. Her grade-school-teacher-ness is shining through. It makes her forget she’s eighteen months younger than me.
“I’m hanging up now.” A smile teases through my voice.
“I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I end the call and turn my attention to the intermittent rhythm of Issues, moving with the beat, starting and stopping. It’s a flow and a snap, a ripple and a crash. I stretch up, up, up, and let my limbs tumble down, as if I’m tied to puppet strings that are tightening and slackening.
The lyrics are so angsty I feel every word, from the curl of my fingers to the flick of my head. My skinny jeans restrict the energy that vibrates to let loose, but as the music melts through me, I’m possessed by it, swaying and jerking to the tempo that circulates through my blood and dominates my muscles.
My hands rove over my body, caressing each joint and encouraging every deep bend. By the time the song ends, I’m breathing lighter. My insides feel softer, and there’s a warmth in my core that wasn’t there before. A peace that connects me to life. And love.
Five minutes later, I stand in the living room with my arms at my sides and a steady flow of confidence in my veins.
Trace and Cole settle into opposite corners of the couch, both fully dressed. Trace, with his face now shaved and hair slicked back and textured. Cole, in a white t-shirt and jeans, with whiskers darkening his cheeks and raw intensity in his eyes.
“Before I get into this, I need you to answer something.” I hold up my left hand and meet Cole’s gaze. “You put this ring on my finger. Twice. Is it safe to assume you still want to marry me?”
“Yes.” He leans forward, expression aglow with eagerness. “You’re my heart, Danni. I can’t live without you.”
I swallow and look at Trace. “I’m still wearing your ring. Do you—?”
“I’ll marry you today. Right now.” Trace licks his lips, his eyes wide and unblinking. “My path has never been this clear, my future never so beautiful.”
“Thank you.” My stomach flutters. “I’m just going to talk through this, because I really don’t know what I’m going to say.” I flex and relax my hands. “Just…let me speak without interrupting me, okay?”
They’re both perched on the edge of their cushions. Cole shifts first, seemingly forcing himself to recline and loosen up. A heartbeat later, Trace follows suit.
“The way I see it, I have three options.” I stare down at my hand. “Option one. I return one of these rings and end that relationship. Then I plan a wedding with the one I keep.”
A wave of tension ripples through the room, and my pulse goes erratic. I breathe through it and continue.
“Option two. I return both rings and start over. Without you.” I glance between them, meeting their hardening gazes. “We go our separate ways, or at least, I do. I like to think you two could resolve your differences in that scenario.”
Cole works his jaw, and Trace’s mouth forms a flat line. I can tell they’re chomping at the bit to speak up, but they respect my wishes and remain silent.
“Option three.” I twist the bands on my finger, my throat scratchy. “I return both rings and start over. With you. Both of you.”
Cole adjusts his position, leaning forward then back while rubbing a hand over his mouth. Trace is still—calmly, eerily frozen.
I don’t want their reactions to influence me, because Bree’s right. Whatever choice I make should reflect who I am, not who they are.
“Part of me wants to put these options up for a vote.” I draw in a steeling breath and strengthen my backbone. “But I’m not going to do that. I’m going to put on my big girl pants and tell you how it’s going to be. Can you live with that?”
Their nods are stiff, but what shines from their eyes threatens to knock my feet out from under me. Pride, respect, loyalty—it’s all there in bright sheens of love. There’s a chance I’m about to destroy one or both of their worlds, and they still have it in them to look at me with admiration.
I grip the engagement rings, eyes on my trembling fingers as I rotate the bands around and around, aching to keep them right where they are.
Love has been good to me. It’s also been vicious and cruel. I don’t know what it plans to do to my heart next, but there’s a blessed kind of comfort in knowing it isn’t finished with me. I have to give up one of the men I love, but I don’t have to give up on love altogether.
I remove the first ring from my finger and hold it out to Cole. He sucks in a breath, and another, refusing to take it. His face turns stark white, and a horrified look seeps into his eyes.
I set it on the coffee table before him and slide off the second ring, offering it to Trace.
Trace’s throat bobs, and a tremor races through his fingers as he reaches for the band.
“I choose option three.” Nervousness crops up in my voice. “I want to start over. I want to date both of you.”
Tension visibly loosens from Cole’s shoulders, and he exhales softly.
Trace is harder to read. He closes his hand around the ring, and an indiscernible quietness falls over him. If he’s upset, I don’t blame him. He went from blissfully happy and engaged to this frightening place of uncertainty. In a way, it feels like I’m breaking up with him, and it makes my stomach erupt with dread.
“What’s the living arrangement?” Trace asks, low and hushed. “If you’re dating both of us.”
In my mind, dating two men requires separation. I need to be with them individually, not crammed together under the same roof.
“You’re moving back to the penthouse.” I lift my chin, bracing for an argument.
“And him?” Trace scowls at Cole and turns his glare back to me.
“Cole can get his own place or stay in the basement—”
“He’s not staying here!” Trace leaps to his feet, hands on his hips. “You’re not going to shack up with him while I—”
“Sit down and let me finish.” My shoulders tense as I wait for him to lower onto the couch. “I spend half of my waking hours at the casino, where you live. We’ve been going back and forth between here and your penthouse for months. I’m okay with continuing doing that for a while. But…” I narrow my eyes at both of them. “I’m not sleeping with you. Dating two men is complicated. Adding sex to this would be a disaster.”
As my words sink in, silence creeps through the living room, heavy with apprehension and maybe a little bit of relief. I’m doing this to give myself time, but it gives them time, too.
“For how long?” Cole lifts his head and meets my eyes. “How long will you date us?”
“Until I know.”