Ready to walk over, I send a quick text to Myla.
Ryot: Need me to bring anything over?
She texts back quickly.
Myla: Just your sweet ass.
Speaking of ass . . . Myla and I got a sex swing installed in the room, and last night, she swung on it while lying on her belly. That’s all I’m going to say about that, but Jesus Christ, it was an experience still living in my brain.
I lock up the house and head on over. The walk is short since she’s only two houses down, and the neighborhood is incredibly peaceful. I truly believe the fresh air and the sun are helping Nichole. And sure, I might be just telling myself that to make myself feel better, but every day, it seems like her smile’s becoming more genuine.
I don’t bother heading to the front door. Instead, I enter the pin to the keypad that keeps her side gate closed and then head to the back deck where I know they’re sitting. It’s where Nichole spends most of her time. As I approach, I hear their voices. I’m tempted to stop and listen to their conversation, but I’m also desperate to see my girl, so I round the corner and find them lounging together on one of the oversized loungers under a large black and white umbrella.
“Our cabana boy has arrived,” Nichole says with a wink.
Over the past month, my relationship with Nichole has grown to where we used to be before Myla’s dad passed away. It didn’t take much. We both found out we were rooting for one another after a serious conversation and, ever since, we’ve been a solid support for one another.
“I’ll be your cabana boy, but not free of charge. You’re going to have to tip me this time.” I walk up to them and lean down to give Myla a kiss. “Hey, baby, I missed you.”
“I missed you too.” She smiles as I pull away.
“Enough with the heart eyes, can we please eat? I’m starving,” Nichole says.
“Can’t let the girl starve.” I bring over the food that’s in a take-out bag and set it on the lounger. While I divvy everything up, I ask, “How was your day, Nichole?”
“Good. Those binoculars you got me have been a godsend. I caught a couple behind some rocks today doing the old blow job. I learned a thing or two.”
“How could you possibly have learned something?” I ask in a teasing tone.
“Ask your brother. Not the greatest at a blow job, not like my girl here.”
I glance at Myla, who is smirking.
Yeah, she’s fucking good.
Really good.
Having her mouth on my cock is probably one of the best feelings ever.
“My gag reflex is too strong, but this girl was doing all sorts of wizardry with her hands.”
“Well, don’t be opposed to sharing, you know . . . that’s caring after all,” I say. I hand Myla a plate of food and say, “What about you, babe?”
“Well, besides the fact that I just learned my friend is a total voyeur and that my husband believes there could be improvement made on my blow jobs—”
“What, no, I didn’t say that,” I backtrack. “Just you know, if she ever wants to share information, that’s all. Babe, you know you give me the best head.”
She chuckles. “Wow, what an accomplishment. I should put that on my résumé. Gives best head.”
I take a bite of falafel and say, “I’d hire you.”
She rolls her eyes. “Anyway, while I was going over some designs with Kelsey today, I got an email from my professor. You know the design I did for my year-end project? Well, the company loved it so much that they want to use it. They’re commissioning me to assist with the project.”
“Holy shit. Really, babe?” I ask.
“Wait, seriously? You’ve been sitting on that information this whole time while I’ve told you about how I watched a seagull poop on someone today?” Nichole pushes Myla playfully.
“I wanted to wait to tell both of you. But yes, my design was chosen, and I’m freaking out. I asked Kelsey if I could do both, work for her and handle the project, and she said absolutely. She thinks it will be good for me to take on the job, as it would be great to have it in the portfolio when we approach other buildings.”
“Baby, that’s amazing,” I say as I stand from the lounger and take her hand in mine, coercing her to stand so I can wrap my arms around her. I pull her into a hug and lean down to her ear, where I whisper, “I’m so proud of you. Jesus, babe, you’re amazing.”
“Thank you.” When she pulls away and rests her hands on my chest, she says, “I know we don’t talk about those few months when things were difficult between us, but there is something that I never told you. If it wasn’t for those months when you were focusing on yourself, I don’t know if I would have taken the time to focus on me and what I needed to be happy, separate from our marriage. I found myself, and I found you all over again.”
I drag my hand over her cheek and whisper, “You amaze me.” Then I lean down and kiss her on the lips, reveling that everything feels so right, connected, and in tune with the universe.
Nichole’s journey might be up in the air, but she’s propelled us forward in ours, so weirdly, I think this was all meant to happen this way.
It’s odd. When you feel like you’re at your absolute worst, total rock bottom, it could be the universe letting you know that you need to build a new foundation, a stronger one—a foundation that will jumpstart the next chapter in your life.
Myla handing me those divorce papers was more like the universe giving me a shovel with a gentle nudge to encourage me to start digging.
“All right, enough with the lovey-dovey stuff,” Nichole says. “I need you to tell me more about this design. And then when you’re done, I have some tea to spill about Banner and Kenzie.”
Myla’s head snaps to the side, and she says, “Forget my design. Give us the tea.”
Do you want to read more about the Cane brothers? Keep flipping for an excerpt from Breaker’s story, A Long Time Coming, and be sure to check out JP and Kelsey’s story, So Not Meant to Be, as well as Huxley and Lottie’s story, A Not So Meet Cute.
Excerpt - A Long Time Coming
Prologue
LIA
“Excuse me,” I say, bumping into a lanky guy in a jam-packed dorm hallway. “Sorry, didn’t see you there. I’m all kinds of lost.”
“Not a problem,” says a deep voice that pulls my gaze up to the tall figure with shaggy-brown hair, dark-rimmed glasses, and a mustache so thick that it almost looks fake. Who knows, maybe it is. “What are you looking for?” he asks while he brings a sixty-four-ounce Slurpee cup to his lips.
“Uh.” I glance around, then whisper, “Room 209. But I keep getting turned around because it doesn’t seem like there’s a room 209.”
A smile tugs at his lips. “Scrabble nerd?”
“What?” I ask.
He leans forward and whispers, “It’s okay. I’m part of the SSS. Room 209 is hidden for a reason.”
SSS = Secret Scrabble Society.
But the first rule about SSS is that you don’t talk about it. At least, that’s what it said in the invite I received last night. It was a letter delivered to my dorm room. A thick envelope sealed with wax with an SSS melted into the red liquid. When I saw the symbol, I quickly locked my door, turned off my lights, and switched on my desk lamp. With bated breath, I delicately opened the envelope and unfolded the sides, revealing the writing on the inside.