Mia flips through every damn Netflix show she can find before settling on something that’s in fucking subtitles. Ashton groans and Drew chuckles.
“We need a bigger couch,” I say, twirling a long strand of Mia’s hair.
She’s curled up in my lap with her feet in Ashton’s lap as he gives them a massage. Drew’s on the other end of the couch, his arm around Ashton. We barely fucking fit.
Mia’s phone buzzes and she reads the text, groaning. Since I can see, I read it too.
Mom: A reminder that the California Actors’ League Winter Soiree is in two weeks. I expect you to be there. I’ve ordered a stunning ice-blue Vera Wang ball gown in your size. That is, if that’s still your size. If not, call Dayna about some weight loss supplements. I can’t make a change this close to the event.
“What a bitch,” I grumble.
Ashton grabs Mia’s phone to read the text. “Tell her you’re in great shape from fucking all your boyfriends.” He tosses it at Drew.
“Delusional-ass woman,” Drew complains after he reads the text, handing it back to Mia. “Ignore her.”
The phone buzzes in Mia’s hands.
Mom: Will you bring the same young man again? I’ll need to accurately RSVP if you intend to bring a plus one.
“Tell her you’re bringing a plus three,” Ashton gripes when she shows him the text.
She sits up. “You want to go?”
“To fuck with your mom and support you? Hell yeah,” Ashton states. “They’ll come too.”
“Of course I’ll be there,” I tell her, pressing a kiss to her neck. “Just like last time. I’ve got your back.”
She turns her attention to Drew. He frowns, a sad as fuck look on his face.
“Mia,” he mutters. “I’ll come too, but…”
“You can’t be seen at such a public event because of your position,” she says, reaching for his hand. “But you’ll still come? We can stay at a hotel together. The four of us.”
He pulls her hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it. “I can do that. The event itself, I can’t, though. I hate that. I want to be there to help protect you from your wicked witch mother.”
“As long as you’re waiting for us when the dumb thing is over, I’ll be happy.” She beams at him and then texts her mother back.
Mia: Plus two.
Mom: Two? Whatever. Make sure they know it’s a black-tie affair. Don’t embarrass me.
“I can’t wait to meet Mommy Dearest,” Ashton says in a sinister tone. “Cannot fucking wait.”
“Are you going to be good?” Mia asks, poking him with her foot.
“MiMi, I think we both know the answer to that question.” He playfully bites her toe and then we go back to watching the dumb show we have to pay extra close attention to so we know what the fuck is going on.
Everyone goes quiet and the mood is content.
I could get used to this.
Every damn day.
Two Weeks Later
I want to bite her ass.
It’s delectable as fuck. The light blue, sparkling evening gown she was supposed to wear was waiting in concierge when we arrived at the hotel. Shoes. Accessories. A goddamn stylist. I’d been pissed to watch Mia transform into this doll for dressing up, but when they finished, my dick wasn’t pissed at all.
Mia is the hottest goddamn woman to walk the face of the earth.
Even now, as I follow behind her and Brayden into the fancy-ass hotel this event is at, I only have eyes for her. The other women—celebrities I recognize well—don’t hold a candle to my girl. Our girl. Brayden is proud as fuck to have her on his arm. I’d be on the other side, but she seemed nervous and I didn’t want to make a scene. Besides, I’m enjoying the view of her perfect ass.
“Cristal?” a man asks, holding a tray filled with champagne flutes.
“Thank you,” she says. She takes one and then Brayden and I each take one.
I’ve had Cristal plenty because Mom is a fancy bitch like Mia’s. It’s okay. I prefer the cheap vodka that makes me puke and hate my soul when I’ve had too much. I’m not a fancy guy.
Brayden sets his down on a table as we pass.
He sure as fuck isn’t a fancy guy either.
I pull out my phone, texting Drew.
Me: Cristal. Y or N.
Drew: Is this a trick question?
Me: Are you a fancy fucker, boyfriend?
Drew: My dick is fancy.
Me: Send me a pic.
He sends me the middle finger emoji instead.
Me: SOS.
Drew: Really need a savior?
Imagining Drew blazing in here all hot as fuck in his sweatpants—since that’s all he was wearing when we left—makes my dick hard.
Me: I’ll keep you advised.
Drew: The answer to your question is no. I prefer beer.
Me: I love you.
It’s meant as a joke, but I suddenly don’t feel as though it’s a joke. For the past couple of weeks, we’ve all grown closer. I thought we’d split off maybe, but those big-ass hockey players join Mia in my bed every damn night. My bed is an oversized king, so we all fit, but I wouldn’t complain if we got a bigger one.
Drew: Love you too, Ash. Love all of you.
My heart squeezes in my chest. It feels right with the three of them. So right. At first, I was worried I would fuck things up with Mia, but I’ve never seen her so happy. She really rocked my world when she said how deprived of love she was growing up, and that she craves extra love because of it. It shaped the way I viewed this new group dynamic we have.
Mia deserves more.
We can all give it to her if we work together as a team.
She deserves it.
As much as I want to live in this happy as hell moment with them, I can’t help but have this niggling feeling of the other shoe waiting to drop. I don’t trust Travis with that video he has. And after Dad busting us, it’s especially worrying. Considering he hasn’t used it, he probably only intends to threaten me with it, but I still worry.
“Hello, darling,” a woman purrs. “Are you an actor or a model?”
I lift my gaze where I was staring at my phone and am confused to find my lovers are gone and I’m stuck with a botoxed woman who looks like she may have been on one of Mom’s soaps she used to watch when I was a kid.
“What?” I ask, scanning the room for my people.
“I’m Barbara Lyndell from A World Apart.” She preens. “And you are…”
“Ashton. Just Ashton. Have you seen a drop-dead gorgeous brunette in a pale blue dress walking with a sexy-ass dude in a suit who looks like he could bench her?”
“Claire’s daughter?” she asks, frowning, though her forehead doesn’t wrinkle at all—totally juiced up on the good stuff. “They’re probably over there.” She points a long red fingernail to a crowd of people laughing. “Are you friends with the girl?”
“She’s my girlfriend,” I state. “If you’ll excuse me…”
She bites her claws into my tuxedo jacket. “What a lucky girl. Claire wants her to go into the biz. It’s lovely she’s dating an actor now. Her mother will be pleased. Last I heard, little Mia was dating a poor college boy. Claire was devastated. Had to seek therapy and everything.”