Page 119 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
“Yes.”
“How?” she demands. She turns to look at me, her eyes wide. “How do we do that, Asher? How do I walk into that office and look at you? How do I sit in a meeting with Ethan and not think about…” She gestures vaguely to the bed. “This?”
“You compartmentalize,” I say. “It’s a basic survival function.”
“I’m not a Navy SEAL, Asher! I’m a brand strategist! I don’t know how to compartmentalize an orgy!”
“It wasn’t an orgy,” a deep voice rumbles from her other side.
Ethan shifts, rolling onto his back. He rubs a hand over his face, the stubble on his jaw scratching against the silence. He opens one eye, looking at Tessa.
“An orgy implies randomness,” Ethan says, his voice thick with sleep and authority. “It implies a lack of structure. Yesterday was highly structured.”
Tessa stares at him. “You’re joking. Please tell me you’re joking.”
“I never joke before coffee,” Ethan grunts. He reaches out, his large hand wrapping around her waist, pulling her back down. “Come back to sleep. We’ve got an hour.”
“I can’t sleep!” Tessa hisses, resisting him. “Ethan, the launch is tomorrow! I’ve got a to-do list a mile long! And… and Harper is going to call me at eight.”
The name is a bucket of ice water.
Harper.
I feel the shift in the bed instantly. Owen stirs at the foot of the bed, sitting up and rubbing the back of his neck.
“Did someone say Harper?” Owen yawns, blinking blearily. “Is she here? Do I need to hide?”
“She’s going to call,” Tessa says, her voice trembling. “She always calls on Friday mornings. What am I going to tell her?”
“Nothing,” I say.
“I can’t lie to her! She’s my best friend!”
“You lie to her every day,” Ethan points out, sitting up. The sheet falls to his waist, revealing the broad expanse of his chest, marked with the faint white lines of old scars and the fresh, red marks of Tessa’s nails.
“You tell her you’re fine when you’re stressed,” Ethan continues. “You tell her you’re eating well when you’re living on vending machine crackers. This is just another layer of protection.”
“This isn’t crackers, Ethan! This is sleeping with her three brothers! Simultaneously!”
Tessa buries her face in her hands. “She’s going to kill me. She’s literally going to fly back from Paris and murder me with a stiletto.”
“She won’t know,” I say.
I sit up, ignoring the stiffness in my arm. I reach out, taking Tessa’s wrist. Her pulse is hammering against my fingertips.
“Look at me,” I command.
She lifts her head. Her eyes are wet.
“We ran the risk assessment,” I tell her. “Yesterday. We factored this in.”
“That was yesterday,” she argues. “Yesterday we were… insane. Today is Friday. Today is real.”
“The variable hasn’t changed,” I say. “We’re still us. You’re still you. The only difference is that now, we’re aligned.”
“But the secrecy…” she whispers. “The press. The investors. If anyone finds out…”
“If they find out, we handle it,” Owen says. He crawls up the bed, moving with the feline grace that makes him so dangerous in a fight. He slots himself in on her other side, sandwiching her between him and Ethan.
