Page 147 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
“We wore her out,” Asher says quietly. “Endorphin crash. Her REM cycle should begin in approximately twelve minutes.”
“She barely ate dinner,” I note, frowning slightly. I look at the sushi platters on the table. They’re mostly demolished, but her plate is still completely full. “She picked at the sashimi. She didn’t touch the spicy tuna at all, and that’s her favorite.”
“She said she wasn’t hungry,” Ethan dismisses, closing his eyes. “Nerves. Sterling. The stress of the contract.”
“Maybe,” I say.
But the unease scratches at the back of my mind. I look closely at her face. In the moonlight filtering through the window, she looks younger and significantly softer. There are faint purple shadows under her eyes that her makeup had been hiding earlier.
“She looks tired,” I say quietly. “Really tired. Not just ‘long day’ tired. Deeply tired.”
“We’ve been pushing too hard,” Ethan says. He opens his eyes and reaches out, brushing a strand of hair off her forehead. His touch is impossibly gentle for a man with hands that big—hands that can casually dismantle a weapon or build an entire company. “Once the funds clear, she can take a break. We’ll send her to a spa. Or force her to take a vacation.”
“We should go with her,” Asher says. “A remote location. Highly secure. No cell service.”
“A honeymoon,” I joke.
Ethan looks at me, but he doesn’t laugh. His gaze is incredibly intense, stripping me bare.
“Careful, Owen,” he warns softly. “Don’t say things you can’t take back.”
I look down at Tessa, remembering the exact words I whispered when she was on the edge. I wonder if saying it during sex terrified her more than when I said it during our fight.
“I never say things I don’t mean,” I tell him.
Ethan stares me down for a long moment before giving a single nod. A silent acknowledgement.
A shifting of the lines. We aren’t just sleeping together anymore, and we all know it. We’re in extremely deep water, and none of us are swimming for shore.
“Let’s get her to bed,” Ethan says.
He moves to pick her up. Tessa stirs, making a small, whimpering sound in her sleep. Her hand immediately goes to her stomach, curling protectively over her navel.
“Mmm… no,” she mumbles, her face scrunching up in distress. “Sick.”
“You’re not sick, baby,” Ethan soothes her, lifting her effortlessly into his arms. “Just tired. I’ve got you.”
He carries her toward the bedroom. Asher follows, quietly turning off the lights as he goes.
I stay on the rug for a second, picking up the Queen of Hearts from the scattered deck of cards.
Sick.
A weird feeling prickles the back of my neck. Intuition. It’s the exact same gut instinct that tells me when a UX design is wrong, when a line of code is going to break, or when a massive disaster is right around the corner.
She didn’t drink the sake. I poured her a glass, but it sat full on the table all night. She didn’t eat the raw fish. She’s completely exhausted, and she’s complaining of being sick in her sleep.
No, I tell myself, shaking my head. It’s just stress.
The launch is eating us all alive, and the threat of Sterling’s contract is hanging heavily over our necks. We’re playing an incredibly dangerous game, and she’s taking the absolute brunt of the anxiety.
I toss the card onto the table. It lands face up, and the Queen stares right back at me.
I stand up and follow them into the bedroom.
We crawl into the big bed, pulling the duvet up and surrounding her to form a fortress of body heat and protection against the world. We secured the bridge funding. We have the company. We have the girl.
Everything is absolutely perfect.
