Page 64 of What We Don't Say: Part One

My phone buzzes in my lap and I look down.

Theo: Sit with me after dinner?

Across the table, Theo is staring at his plate like the chicken has become fascinating. His ears are pink. One hand rests near his phone, the other curled in the sleeve of Sloane’s sweatshirt.

The ache in my chest changes shape.

Me: Yes.

Theo reads it, and his shoulders drop.

Sloane glances at my phone because he's nosy and because I don't bother hiding it well. His mouth softens when he sees the message, and his hand slides from my shoulder to the back of my neck, thumb moving once beneath my hair.

“After dinner,” he murmurs near my ear, “we are all sitting somewhere soft.”

I turn my head toward him. “That sounds like a plan.”

“It is the only plan I'm qualified for tonight.”

I laugh quietly, and the sound makes Theo look up again. This time, he smiles before looking away.

Garrett pours more water into Theo’s glass. “Finish a few more bites first.”

Theo nods and picks up his fork. I take another bite too, with Idris watching from across the table and Sloane’s hand warm at the back of my neck. Theo has asked me to sit with him after dinner, and I hold on to that.

The table is full. The house smells like lemon and garlic and rain. Every person I love or am trying not to love too quickly is within reach if I stretch far enough. Still, my eyes keep going to the space across from me.

Theo catches me once and lifts his foot under the table, not quite reaching mine. I shift before I think better of it, sliding one foot forward until our socks touch beneath the table’s edge. His breath leaves him in a tiny rush.

Idris

Sloane has Calliope trapped against the wardrobe when I wake, and for a few seconds, I stay still and watch them.

She’s dressed from the waist down and still fighting with the buttons of her blouse, her hair pinned badly enough that half of it’s already escaped. Sloane has both arms around her middle and his face buried against the side of her neck, making low, pleased sounds every time she tries to pry him off. After several days of Theo rearranging the house around his first fragileneeds, Sloane clearly enjoys having our Beta under his hands again.

“Sloane,” she says, breathless and laughing as she braces one hand on his forearm. “I have to be on campus in ten minutes.”

“Then you should stop fighting me,” he mutters against her skin, his hands tightening at her waist when she manages half a step forward. His mouth follows the line of her throat with enough intent that her next breath catches. “You’re wasting time.”

“You are wasting time.” Calliope looks toward the bed, flushed and exasperated, like she expects me to save her from him and already knows I’m in no hurry. “Idris.”

I push myself up against the pillows and take in the way she’s trying to glare at me while Sloane’s mouth ruins her concentration. His scent is thick in the room, smoked cedar and brown sugar warmed by sleep and satisfaction, while her pear and vanilla tea brightens every time she laughs. “Come here, princess. Kiss me before you make yourself late complaining about him.”

Her eyes narrow, but the corner of her mouth gives her away. She slips out of Sloane’s hold only when he lets her, then crosses the room with her blouse still unbuttoned at the top and her cheeks warm from his mouth. When she climbs onto the bed, one knee sinking into the mattress beside my hip, I reach for her before she can make the kiss quick and practical.

Her mouth is warm from laughter. She kisses me like she’s in a hurry and resents the clock for existing, one hand braced beside my shoulder while the other curls briefly against my chest. I hold her jaw and slow her for a few seconds, letting her feel the room around her, Sloane behind her, my hand steady at her face. She softens into it quickly, the way she always does when she lets herself stop moving.

Then Sloane catches her by the hips from behind.

Calliope makes a startled sound into my mouth as Sloane drags her back an inch and presses his body along the line of hers. Her hand tightens in the sheet, and her scent lifts sweetly enough that Sloane makes a rough sound behind her. The sound hits my blood too, but her meeting is close enough that I know exactly how late she’ll be if I let this continue.

I break the kiss before Sloane can follow his hunger anywhere useful. His mouth is already at the back of her neck, his hands sliding with familiar want over her hips, and Calliope’s breath has gone uneven in a way she’ll blame on us later. I reach past her, sink my fingers into Sloane’s hair, and pull him off to the side.

He goes with a low, irritated growl, his eyes dark when they meet mine over her shoulder. I keep my grip until his hands stop moving on Calliope’s hips, then let my thumb press once against his scalp. He breathes through his nose and settles by force of will.

“Go to your meeting, Callie,” I tell her, keeping my voice firm enough to make all three of us listen. “Before he talks himself into making you miss it.”

Calliope presses her lips together, like she’s trying to hide how close we came to convincing her. “Thank you,” she says, then looks down at the state of her blouse and exhales. “I need to leave this room immediately.”