The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood 3)

God, the way he looked at me. I smiled and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, trying not to think about how we were each other’s firsts in our unconventional relationship.

“So, anyway,” he continued, “I know it’s a fight I’m eventually going to lose, but I’m going to keep trying anyway.”

He held my gaze for a long moment and my heart slowed to a stop. Was he talking about Jasmina . . . or me?

“Lilith!” Cassidy came at me so fast, she nearly ran into me. Her eyes were glassy and full of laughter. “You’re next.”

“For what?”

She flung a finger toward the center of the ring and the empty saddle that waited.

Travis chuckled, but I shook my head. No matter how good of balance I thought I possessed, I had zero desire to flop down on the mat in front of a bar full of strangers. Which was kind of hilarious when I thought about it. I’d had no issue letting people watch as Travis fucked me at Eros.

But that was different. People hadn’t been rooting to see me fail like they would here.

“I’m going to pass,” I said.

But she didn’t want to take no for an answer. Her warm hand wrapped around my wrist, but when she tugged me toward the entrance, I stayed rooted to the ground.

Travis nodded and a wide, unhelpful grin smeared across his face. “I think you should do it.”

“You first,” I shot back at him.

Greg appeared at Cassidy’s side, handing her a glass of what looked like ice water. “Preston’s getting ready to go next.”

“Oh, this I gotta see,” I said, turning my attention back to the ring.

My phone vibrated with a text message. It was from Travis, sent to our group chat with Clay, and was a photo he must have snapped moments ago of the empty mechanical bull.

Travis: Do you want to see Lilith ride this?

“Don’t include him on your peer pressure,” I teased.

Clay: I’d rather watch her riding something else. Like your dick.

I lifted my gaze from the screen, pretending to be shocked and scandalized.

“That’s naughty,” I whispered.

Travis grinned as he thumbed out his reply.

Travis: I can make that happen.

TWENTY-ONE

Our group chat was active. The week after my date with Travis, private DMs from a married, conservative politician leaked online, and his atrocious and graphic texts to his mistress gave us a lot to talk about. I’d started it off by jokingly asking why I didn’t get horny texts riddled with typos from either of my men.

Me: It’s like you don’t even care about me.

That set off a slew of filthy texts, and I wondered if each man were trying to outdo the other. The conversation was scorching, and it was a miracle it didn’t melt my phone.

As the weeks ticked by, we settled into a comfortable pattern.

Weeknight sessions were carried out by Travis and usually planned by Clay, but not always. The scenes were more of a partnership than they’d been before, and I suspected the same was true of the planning sessions the men had privately. The weekends when Clay was home, things were flip-flopped. Sometimes Travis watched Clay and me on his phone and other times he’d sit over by the workbench, quietly observing.

The summer ended and Cassidy returned to school. A junior now in college, she was so busy, we mostly talked through series of sporadic texts. It gave me less opportunity to tell my friend how I was feeling or about the worry that was growing in my stomach.

Every night I spent with Clay, or Travis, or both of them, felt one step closer to the cliff I knew was coming. It was twice as risky as anything I’d had before. What if one of them fell in love with me? Would they have to exit the relationship, or would the whole thing be over? It was the last thing I wanted.

Rather than be an adult and talk about my feelings like I’d promised Clay I would, I avoided it. Everything was going so great now. I rationalized my worry away, forcing it to a back corner of my mind by telling myself I’d figure out how to cross that bridge whenever I came to it.

The three of us talked every day through the group chat.

It wasn’t always a recap of our scenes. It was filled with all sorts of topics, like Travis’s story about the crazy lady who kept bringing live lobsters to the zoo. She’d bought them from a tank at the market to ‘rescue them’ and said the zoo needed to find a way to care for them.

There was also Clay’s never-ending quest to find the best pizza in Jacksonville, and my marathon photo viewing session with my folks when they returned from Machu Pichu.

During the last week of September, I came down with a cold, so I had to take a raincheck on my session with the men that evening. Except when I went over to do my nightly check on Noir, Travis showed up with takeout and a movie—under the direction of Clay, he’d said. Our partner in Florida streamed the same movie to his computer as we FaceTimed with him so we could watch it together. I snuggled under a blanket with Noir on my lap, Travis at my side, and Clay on the screen of my phone.