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“We didn’t ask. Isn’t that—doesn’t that count as—” He can’t even say the word.

“Cheating?” I say it for him, and he flinches. “On who, Brady? On our boyfriends? Our girlfriend? The people we’realldating?”

“I don’t know how the rules work.” His jaw ticks. “Nobody said whether we’re allowed to. Just us. Without everyone.”

And there it is. Twenty-five years of a father’s belt and a church pew telling him that wanting affection is a sin, and now he’s found four people who want him back and he’s still waiting for the punishment.

“Look at me.” I wait until he does. “We’re all in this. All five of us. That includes every combination of us. Me and you is not a betrayal of them. Me and you ispartof it, ofus.”

“You’re sure.”

“I’ve been in a poly relationship before, remember? This is how it works when it works.”

The relief that moves through his face becomes a physical thing in an instant—shoulders dropping, breath leaving him in a rush. And then the relief burns off and what’s underneath is hunger, pure and focused, and before I can say anything cleverhe shifts his weight, and I’m flat on my back with a hundred and fifty-five pounds of striker pinning me to the mat.

“Well,” I manage. “That’s one way to work on your top game.”

“Shut up, Cruz.”

He kisses me again, and this one is different. Slower. Deliberate. When all five of us are together it’s beautiful chaos—too many hands, too many mouths, never enough time with any one person. This is the opposite of chaos. This is every ounce of Brady’s attention aimed at me like a spotlight, and God, no wonder Dakota looks wrecked every time he’s done with her.

His hips settle against mine and I feel him hard through his shorts, feel my own body answering, and my hands slide up under his shirt to the sweat-damp muscle of his back. He makes a sound into my mouth that I want to record and keep.

I want to strip him bare right here on this mat. I want to find out what he tastes like without an audience, I want to take him apart slowly with nobody waiting their turn.

“Brady.” I pull back an inch. His mouth chases mine and I have to put a hand on his chest, laughing. “Brady. Hold up.”

“What?” He’s panting. “You said we’re allowed.”

“We are. I believe that. But we never actually talked about it as a group, and I don’t want you lying awake at three AM. convincing yourself we broke a rule that doesn’t exist.” I brush my thumb along his jaw. “Text them.”

He stares at me. “You want me to text the group chat. Right now. While I’m—” He gestures at the obvious situation in his shorts.

“Consider it foreplay.”

“You’re the worst.”

“I’m the best, and you know it. Phone.”

He climbs off me with a groan and retrieves his phone from his bag outside the cage. I prop up on my elbows and watch him type. Delete. Type. Delete. His hands are actually shaking a little,and it’s the most endearing thing I’ve seen all week from a man who breaks people’s faces professionally.

“What do I even say?”

“The truth. Keep it simple.”

He types one more time and hits send before he can chicken out, then holds the screen where I can see it.

Brady: Me and Cruz are at the gym alone. Things got heated. Is it okay if we keep going, just us?

The responses land fast enough that they must have all been on their phones.

Dakota: OH MY GOD YES. Details later. ALL of them.

Dante: Green light. Have fun. Take care of each other.

Eli: You don’t need permission. We’re all each other’s. But be careful and make sure you are truly alone there. Now put the phone down.

Brady reads Eli’s message three times. I watch the last knot in him come undone.