99 Percent Mine: A Novel
99 Percent Mine: Chapter 19

His knees press on the mattress, one, two, either side of my calves. He’s a huge shape in the dark above me. Hands either side of my head, one, two. I feel the downward dip of his body, and he’s breathing against the side of my neck.

I say up to the ceiling, “Tell me I smell right.”

He senses the uncertainty underlying my sharp order. “You smell like the only person.”

I exhale. “Well thank fuck for that.” I hold my arms above my head and he tugs my top off.

“Your obsession with lace has destroyed my sanity. Do you know that your bra is always visible, no matter what you wear? It’s like your clothes don’t really want to be clothes.” He gives me a kiss on my neck that gives way to a suck and a bite. “You’re like a self-peeling banana.”

I start laughing. “That’s how I feel around you.”

“It fucks me up when guys look at the lace on your skin.” The thought has him returning to my lips, and jealousy is a spice in his mouth.

I know how he feels. I’m keeping my hands on this skin for the rest of his life, so there’s never any doubt of who he belongs to.

He arranges me across a dim stripe of light from a gap in the drapes. My lace is admired, complimented, rubbed on his cheek, then it’s slingshot-gone into the dark corner of the room. He slides his tough, hardworking palms all over me.

The nipple piercing is a blip that interests him intensely. He drops down from his elbow to investigate, and I finally realize the full potential of that metal, slid into such a sensitive tip. Other men have tried tuning me like a radio, but Tom knows what to do. I shiver and shake as he tests my reactions.

I wonder if he likes it. “So, pierced tough chicks are your thing?”

“God, yeah,” he says with it in his mouth. “How is this metal so sweet?” His tongue touches it as he speaks and I’m levitating off the mattress. He laughs, pleased, and does it more.

“Every single time I’ve thought about this mystery piercing I’ve walked into a wall. Arch up,” he adds with the right amount of bossy. His forearm slides under me, and I’m tipped up and he plays with me until I put my hand on the button of my jeans.

He releases me to speak. “Is this actually happening? Or did I walk into a wall too hard?”

“Yes, this is finally real.” I break the remaining buttons on his shirt. It falls open and I run my hands up his torso. His elbows lock and unlock. His hips bump forward. The involuntary reactions of his body are sublime.

His tight T-shirts have not been lying. Body, body, body. He’s the most spectacular combination of flat and curved. Muscles for days. Lines and hips and so many hours of manual labor that I nearly hurt for him. Why does he have to toil this hard? His body loves my hands.

“This is really happening, unless I’m having another one of my vivid Tom Valeska sex dreams. In which case, I won’t be able to look at you in the eye tomorrow.”

He replies with amusement, “You probably won’t anyway, after all I’m going to do with you.” He feels the squeeze of my thighs and kisses me again. He loves my lips. “DB, I am going to get to know you tonight.”

“You know me pretty well already,” I shudder out, and he shakes his head.

“Not the way I want to.” He feels me lift my hips in reply and his hands jerk my jeans to my knees. Everything pauses. When he speaks he’s trying to compose himself. “But now’s a good point to ask if you want to continue. And if you don’t, that is completely fine.”

My heart swells with love. He’s the best possible guy. The perfect man. And I’m in a bed with him. I’m so lucky I could cry. I try to sit up but my body is saving its strength.

“Please, please. Enthusiastic yes. Pitiful begging, et cetera. I’m not even kidding. Put me out of my misery.”

“Darcy Barrett, begging me in bed. I’m having one of my fever dreams.” He laughs softly and I feel his hand wrap my ankle. Then I’m rolled onto my stomach. When he pulls back on my hips I jolt inside with surprise. For a second, I expect the painful drag of elastic and a blunt breaching pressure, maybe tight hands marking my hips. It’s a bad-sex flashback and I’m quaking.

He says, “Control freak.” Then I understand. He’s just reading what’s printed on my Underswears. I love him so much all I can do is laugh and put my hands over my face.

Now he’s rubbing the stubble of his jaw up my spine. I feel his brow bone press into my shoulder.

“Your skin has this silvery shine to it, and all I want to do is . . .” He shows me. It involves his tongue and teeth. My groans are muffled in the mattress. He uses his palm to turn me over. He spoils me, soothes me, and wants to know me. I feel him filing away every eyelash quiver and exhalation. He passes fingertips over me, chasing and creating goose bumps.

“You and your beautiful skin have been haunting me for years. One Christmas I kissed you on the cheek to say hi. It . . . overwhelmed me. I had to go sit in my car.” He does it now, shaking his head like he can’t believe it. “It was the best gift I got.” Over and over, he presses on my cheekbone. “Thank you.”

He’s so sweet and open; how can I ever hope to match him? I have no experience being truthful or soft in bed, but I have to try.

“You’re so lovely.” I thread my fingers into his hair. “Well, I spent every Christmas waiting for the goodbye hug. Yeah,” I sigh as he squeezes me to him. That deliberate pause that makes me feel like he’s saying my name in his head. “Oh geez, that’s even better now that we’re horizontal.”

“You spent every Christmas waiting to say goodbye to me?” He has heartbreak in his voice, even as he pulls down my underwear. “DB, I gotta make it up to you.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you do.” I feel his hesitation. He’s gone shy. Biting my lip to hold back my smile, I take his hand and slide it up my leg. “Start now.”

He feels me, he inhales how ready I am, and now we’re back to vicious.

He bites my earlobe to hold me still while he tests and plays, his fingers easy and sure. He’s very good at solving problems. My body shivers in the cage of his body, and his breath in my ear sounds inhuman. I tense; he tightens. I relax, he rewards me. He wants me compliant and soft. He wants me liquid and silky.

“Slow down or I’ll come,” I blurt, then I laugh in disbelief. “I’ve literally never said that before.” I grab desperately at my nightstand drawer. “Lucky I’m in bed with the world’s hardest worker.”

“I’d better go easy on you.”

“Why?” I’ve barely got enough light to see the glint in his eyes when he bites the foil square like it’s a pack of candy. Then I access my memory vault and laugh. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot about your dick.”

“Oh, you forgot?” He laughs and gives me a little slap on the butt. “Thanks a lot, DB.”

“How could I forget, really.” His hand is between my legs again, giving me the sweep of his thumb, kind and tender. “Everything about you is sublime. I have been hurting from wanting you. Tom Valeska, get in me.”

He always gives me what I ask for.

I can’t shut my mouth to silence my moan. “Oh fuck. You feel like the world’s most perfect man.”

He’s laughing even as his endless gentle push turns into an easy back and forth between us. He’s bigger than anyone I’ve ever had. I hate the intrusive thought—how dare my brain even think of any of the others? But it’s coupled with the realization that he’s taking care of me, and it’s the hottest thing.

“Thanks,” he says with affection. “You feel like a dream come true.”

My body is lit with pleasure. He has a reserved quality in his movements. If I can just get Tom Valeska to lose his mind over me, I can die happy. “No way. Don’t go easy.”

“Just . . . Just let me be careful.”

“I don’t want careful. I want honest.” Finally, that first slip of his control. It’s brain-meltingly good, feeling his body being so authentic. “I’m getting this every day. Deeper. Tom, I want you harder.” Automatically, I put my hand down between us. My orgasm is my responsibility. Except, apparently it isn’t.

“That’s what I’m here for, dummy,” he admonishes me in between freestyle-stroke breaths. He tickles his fingertips against me, even as he holds himself back. “Is your heart—okay?”

It’s the first time a man has ever asked me that in bed, because no one’s ever known. I bite back the automatic sure and assess myself. My heartbeat is a dim sloppy drum in my ears.

“I’m okay, but if I get too overheated or if you press me down, I’ll start to feel all dizzy and claustrophobic. Then the palpitations happen and I won’t be able to . . .” My private parts will shut up shop and I will not be able to release this agonizing lust.

He pulls away from me. Long and lush.

I scrabble with my legs. “Give it back. Have I just ruined the mood?”

“No, of course not. What about,” he says with a thoughtful tone, “this.”

“You don’t have to change a thing,” I beg, but he’s rolling me onto my side and he’s curling around me. It’s comfortable enough for sleep, just a pair of platonic naked spoons. The blankets are lifted away and cool air is on my skin. For a dreadful moment I think he’s given up on me.

Except I’m wrong. Like always, he’s found a solution. He’s kissing the back of my neck as he pushes into my body again. Now he rocks against me, a hand on my hip.

“Don’t you worry about anything,” he suggests, sliding his hand down. “Just relax and breathe.”

I would never have thought that concern could be sexy. I speak into the dark. “Can I confess?” I feel him nod against my shoulder and the silky friction eases. “Coming sometimes triggers off my heart. And this is gonna be a doozy. So, if that happens, do not take it personally.”

“I’ll try to not completely blow your circuit boards.” He groans when I squeeze him. “You want to try me out, see how I do?”

Have I ever had such a luscious offer? Tom’s voice is sounding more like a growl.

“I want you to get in me.” I press my cheek against his bicep to anchor myself as his touch gets me closer and closer to the edge. “Deeper. Harder. Not like you’re sorry for me, or worrying about me. I want you to put yourself in me like we’re doing this daily, from now on. For life.”

Heated blood is prickling under my skin but I’m prepared to deal with what might happen. He does exactly what I tell him to do. He gives me everything he’s got.

The orgasm hits me like I’ve just run face-first into a brick wall.

I contract and I hear my own inward inhale. Everything coils and I’m exhaling. Free-falling. And while I can barely hear over the noise inside my chest, I’m held safe in these arms, with someone who knows me, A to Z.

I don’t have to worry about pretending to be normal. Just as I’m thinking how nice that was, he puts himself so hard into me that I’m now shaking with aftershocks, and I sound like I’m crying. But he’s smart and doesn’t let up. Now I’m wrung-out spasming, tears on my cheeks, contributing a nonsensical string of more, yes, more. His arms have to hold me against him or I’d be halfway across the bed.

“Now, now,” I order, and he obeys me.

Tom is sharing this secret part of himself; I’m bitten, spread, gripped, and I have never been wanted this intensely. He will kill and live and die for me. It’s big, what he’s feeling. All I know is, I’m his now. I put a hand on the back of his neck as he presses a kiss to my shoulder.

“Now, that’s what I’ve waited for,” he says after several minutes of trying to breathe. “Turns out Loretta’s books didn’t give me unrealistic expectations.” He extricates himself from me with difficulty. In the dark, he says, “That’s what it’s like with you. Just . . . electric.” I feel him lean away from the bed.

Hands smooth over me. I’m not remotely tired. I need another kiss. I need his skin against mine, so I’m never hungry again. I hear a cardboard sound in the dark, and a soft scraping sound. Is he putting away the box of condoms?

“I said to you at the bar that being the focus of Darcy Barrett is intense. I had no idea what I was talking about. That was intense. Okay, I count four more of these,” Tom says about the condoms, and I thrill down to the marrow of my bones. “Shall we see how far we get?”

I can’t resist. “Don’t you have an early start?”

“Smart-ass. I’d better get to work.” His mouth touches mine, we inhale, and we begin again.

* * *

I’M WOKEN BY a Chihuahua scratching at the door to the studio. Tom’s gone, there’s barely any light outside, and the sheets are cold. I wrap myself in a black silk robe and my reset alarm clock flashes midnight, over and over. All I know is, the power’s on and it’s incredibly early. “Yeah, yeah,” I tell Patty. “Where’s Daddy?”

I’m disappointed. I’ve never woken up with a man, and I was looking forward to another first. With each step I take toward the door, I feel echoes of what he gave me last night. I’m wrung out, gloriously so. Last night was a rough, soft playfight.

Let me spoil Darcy Barrett a little. Let me get a taste of that feeling.

It was the best night of my life. I wonder if he’d be weirded out if he knew that? I’ve finally got the one person I don’t have to pretend to be cool with. If I told him, he’d smile. Then he’d use that boss voice that I like. Get that robe off.

I slide open the door. “Tom?” I call out. Instead of going to her usual patch of lawn, Patty sets off with determination in her stride. She’s heading for the side of the house, with replaceing her owner the only thing in her mind. “Patty, come back.”

The nearest shoes are a pair of heels I left against the wall. I jam them on. I inwardly shudder as the soles slip on mud and there’s a repulsive snail crunch. My thigh muscles stretch and cramp until I yelp.

It turns out Chihuahuas can set an Olympic pace. She’s now a tail disappearing around the corner of the house. She’s hammering up the drive when a car pulls in. Patty has the survival instinct of a lemming. My heart leaps in fright. I blink and my eyes trick me; I think I see her go under the wheel. I blink again and she’s fine, her tail waving like a flag in greeting.

“Watch out,” I call with the last of my breath, and wave my arm to get attention, and when the truck brakes I see it’s Tom. Where has he been this early? The sun’s not even up.

I put my hands on my knees. If I could just catch my breath . . . Huff, huff, huff. I’m not this unfit, surely. My heart is pounding strangely, faster and faster, until I know what’s happening. I feel like I could put my hand on my chest and take it out like a hamster. I press down on it, willing it to slow. The driver’s door opens, I look up, and Tom’s completely appalled.

The passenger door opens too, and there’s a blond haircut the same as mine, and I close my eyes and will myself to get it together, because this is the worst possible moment for this to happen.

I’d know my brother’s smell anywhere. Expensive cloth and a snooty Italian fragrance that smells like lemon peel mixed into window cleaner; it’s supposed to be attractive to women, and it is to most. He’s at my elbow and Tom’s at the other, both talking at once. Tom’s frantic. Fingers press on my wrist and when Tom leaves, I twist around to try to follow him.

“He’s getting your medication,” Jamie tells me, and I crumple against him. My heart? It still thinks it’s a twin, because it sticks to my brother like a magnet until Tom is putting a dose in my hand, a bottle of water, and I’m swallowing.

Everything’s gray. Everything’s gone wrong.

“I’m fine,” I manage, but I can’t seem to unstick from Jamie. My hands are clutching and I’m pixelating into fainting when Jamie’s steely voice brings me back up.

“Don’t you dare, Darcy.”

“Am I making the call?” Tom is holding up his phone. “Jamie, am I making it?” He’s desperate. I shake my head vigorously. Jamie shakes his head, too. He’s confident he’s more qualified than a paramedic.

“You’re too important,” Jamie tells me in a hush, like it’s our secret and not even Tom is supposed to hear it. “You’re way too important to me. Come on, now, just breathe and let that heart settle down.”

He’s giving me a hug that only he can give. I missed him so badly I’m shaking. Fucking hell. I tried so hard, but I’m his twin sister now, more than ever. Until one of us dies, we’re stuck with each other.

It’s a minute or two more before the palpitations begin to slow. Tom’s hands are on my shoulders, and I manage to cram my own personal whirlwind back into the lockbox in my chest. I try to push away from Jamie but fall backward into Tom.

“Congratulations on giving me a heart attack,” Jamie says, and that’s how I know I’m okay now. “We could have shared a cemetery plot to cut down costs.”

“Any room for me in there?” Tom’s voice says faintly above my head.

“Patty got out and ran away,” I say, and Tom’s arms hug tightly around my middle. I can feel the tension in his body, shivering out in palpable waves. “I thought she was gonna get squashed.”

“And this is exactly why I’m here. I knew it.” Jamie is furious. I’m certain we’re busted—I’m lying against Tom in a robe and his arms are around me. But then he adds, “She can’t chase a Chihuahua these days. Two weeks working here and she’s nearly dead.”

“I’m sorry.” Tom is cringing behind me like it’s his own personal doing. “She said she was okay—”

“She’s been lying.” Jamie takes my shoulders and pulls me away from Tom, setting us side by side like Barbie and Ken. “Look at her. I knew I had a bad feeling!” He walks a few paces to the car and then wheels back on us. “You are the only person I trust to take care of her. You’ve fucked up.”

My brother, when he’s angry? He’s sort of spectacular, in a blood-thickening, terror-inducing kind of way. He makes me want to get my camera, just to show him what he looks like.

Tom sighs but doesn’t deny it.

“He hasn’t fucked anything up. He just got here! My health is my own business.”

Jamie’s beyond exasperated. “You know that isn’t true. You’re our business. Go get some clothes on. What time do the guys get here? A robe and heels.” Another look at Tom, like that’s also his fault.

“Let’s all just relax,” Tom says in this tone he uses, the words and cadence always exactly the same. I don’t know why, but it always works on the Barrett twins; it has for all these years. We blow out matching angry breaths and then Jamie begins to laugh.

“I was nearly full owner of this house,” Jamie says with a grin. He’s relieved—but he’s also a jerk.

Tom gives him a dark look. “Are you really okay now, Darce?”

I pull at my shoe, which is sinking into the mud. “Yes, I just had a fright and it triggered me off. And yes, there’s room for you in our cemetery plot. Open invitation.”

“Gremlin, you’re gonna kill my sister,” Jamie tells Patty, and she stands on her hind legs and puts her muddy paws on his expensive trousers. He loves her secretly. He tickles behind her ear and her tongue lolls out. Then he remembers the pants. “Down.”

“You came all the way here because you had a feeling?”

“Yes, my twin senses were tingling. You’re right,” Jamie adds, and I really don’t think he’s ever said that to me. “Watching this happen through a window is no fun.”

I pull my robe tighter but wherever I tighten it, it loosens somewhere else. Thigh, neck, over and over. Tom’s correct. My clothes don’t want to be clothes. The memory of last night shocks through me, and we make proper eye contact for the first time.

Tom’s got ruffled hair, pink lips, and dilating pupils, giving him away. He looks like he’s been rolled around in bed by me. He looks like he’s been licked and kissed and brought to the brink by me, over and over, minutes melting into hours, gasping and groaning, please, please. Who even knows what I look like. Probably pretty much the same.

Tom’s attention is caught on my neck, then he stares up at the roofline with grim concentration.

“Come on, get dressed. I want to see the house.” Jamie goes to the car and takes out an overnight bag. “Thanks for picking me up.”

“You knew he was coming? What the hell, Tom.”

Tom picks up Patty. “I did tell you.” He’s so impossibly cool, given the circumstances. “I was up pretty late, checking on the water damage, and saw the message from Mr. Impulsive. You always gotta get the red-eye flights, don’t you?”

“Cheap” is all Jamie says.

“The title of your autobiography?” I grin when his gray eyes cut to me.

“Don’t even start with me. What the fuck were you up to last night?” Jamie puts his hands into my hair and tousles it with expert fingers. He’s doing my hair like his. I’m pathetic, because it feels wonderful. “I get the feeling my baby sister has been exerting herself horizontally, judging by that hickey. Are you sure you weren’t chasing a guy up the side of the house?”

“Ha, ha,” I respond.

Jamie looks at Tom. “That was one of your jobs. Get rid of the guys until I replace her the husband option. I take it you weren’t in your security post last night. I don’t blame you.” He means the tent and the rain. He’s looking now at the mud on my shoes. “Seriously, go get changed. That robe is gross.” Jamie takes his bag and walks to the front door, rummaging for his key.

I manage to make it halfway down the side of the house before my shoes completely sink in. “I’m beached.”

Tom picks me up with an arm around my waist and carries me the last few yards to my private bathroom. When it was delivered he drew a lady stick figure on the door with a Sharpie. I love him for it. He puts me on the metal stairs, and Patty is still on his other forearm. It’s honestly the only way to travel.

His skin smells different and lovely.

“Thanks,” I say. The robe has sprung open indecently and he tries to pinch it together one-handed with not much success. The stair has me at eye level with him. Lip level. I lean in but he evades me.

He gives up. “Can I please buy you a new robe?”

“That would be a very romantic gesture. Make it something short and silky.” I grin at his exasperated expression.

“Shorter and silkier than this? Please, don’t walk around like this in case guys turn up early.”

“This was an emergency and you know it. Don’t be telling me what to wear, I don’t like it.” I lean on the door behind me and bite my lip. “Hey. We smell like each other.”

He shushes me desperately. I cross my bare feet at the ankles and look at his body, my brain full of grateful thoughts and erotic memories, until he replaces words.

“You really need to stop looking at me like that. I did wake you up to tell you I was leaving for the airport. We had a complete conversation about it. You were comatose.” He smiles despite his stress. “You said, Okay, Valeska. Go fetch.”

We hear Jamie’s voice, echoing in the empty space. He could be on the phone, or just as easily talking aloud to himself.

“I swear, he even talked in the womb. Tom, I can barely walk. Every step, I can feel you. My body is just . . . squeezing. Now that you’ve been in me, all I can feel is hollow.”

His eyelashes flutter and he swallows. “If he’d gotten a cab . . .”

“We’d be kissing on a cloud in heaven right about now. It’s okay. We’ll just talk to him.”

“What, now?” Panic has him crazy-eyed.

I go into the bathroom and shut the door. “Yes, of course, now. You think I’m going to miss out on more of what I got last night, because of my brother? I’m surprised how calm I am, actually.”

I wash my hands and dry them on one of Loretta’s hand towels. My cosmetic bag is here, but I look in the filmy mirror and don’t need it. I’m smoky eyed, with pink-marshmallow lips and a purple mark on my throat. Boy hair and girl body. I’m sexy as hell.

“This is a good look for me. Could you mess up my makeup for me every morning?”

He says nothing. I hope he’s still there.

“This was a nice touch.” I open the door and indicate my neck. I put my hand up to scrape his hair neater, but he steps away out of my reach.

“We can’t say anything to him. We can’t.”

“You’re a big boy,” I tell him sharply, even though my confidence is starting to falter. “I’m a big girl. None of us are eight anymore. Let’s just tell him and work through it.” I look up at the house. “He might be glad. He hates my usual selections. You’re like, the supreme option.”

My brain mimics Jamie so loud I flinch. The husband option.

“Listen to me,” Tom says, his voice like steel. “He is not going to be glad. He’s going to cut my dick off.”

“I’ll protect you. I absolutely love your dick. Did I make that clear enough last night?”

His expression says yes. “If we tell him, the renovation is a guaranteed fail.” He looks back up at the house. The first pink rays of sunrise mean that the crew will turn up soon. Tom’s got even more on his plate, more roles to juggle. Employees and invoices to pay. Inheritances to secure.

“I’m helping you now, dummy. We’re a team.”

“If we tell Jamie he’ll be angry and hurt. He thinks he knows everything, but he never saw this coming.”

I’m remorseless. “He can deal.”

“He’s been working in the city awhile now and he suspects everyone of backstabbing. Except me. I’m one of the only people he trusts. The same way that you trust me. Completely and blindly.” He softens a bit. “You don’t know what that kind of responsibility feels like.”

“Maybe he’s a secret romantic,” I try, but it’s ridiculous to think that.

“He’ll be so betrayed he’ll fight us on everything, on principle. If we want to paint the house blue, he’ll insist on pink. He’ll want that wall put back up. I’ll have to cancel every single thing I’ve ordered. This is the one person who will make my life a living hell.”

“Maybe I’ll be the second one.” I give him an exasperated look. “I’d better get dressed so I can support you through this mental and professional crisis.”

“Take this seriously. You’re going to get forgiven, no matter what, Princess.” Tom’s eyes are angry now. “Me, I’m completely screwed.”

Tom puts Patty down and hooks his arms under me. I’m easily hoisted, like a little dog being carried over the dirty ground. There’s no exertion evident in him as we round the corner of the house, pass the fishpond, and take the path to my door.

“You know what he’s like. Please, Darce, we have to keep this under wraps until the house is done. If we can’t get a good sale . . .” He stops himself from saying more.

He puts me down over the threshold of the studio and looks at my robe, and I have never seen a more conflicted human being. He must rue the day he was found by the Barretts. My feet are princess-clean. Patty walks in behind us, muddy and miffed.

“You never did have to care about money. I have to care.”

“I care. Why do you think I work at the bar?”

He huffs insultingly. “Surely that doesn’t even cover your wine habit.”

“It covers my health insurance,” I fire back, angry. “You really think I’m a lazy little princess, leeching off my parents, don’t you? I don’t take a cent from them.”

“But if you needed them, they’d give you anything you needed. That’s not a bad thing,” he says, softer. “It’s what helps me sleep at night. You will always be taken care of.”

It’s true. Below me are multiple safety nets. If I lost everything here, I’d just go stay in one of the many empty bedrooms at my parents’ place. Mom would probably bring me breakfast in bed and open the French doors so I could see the ocean.

“And you’re about to inherit. Your financial situation is looking good. Meanwhile, I need cash.” A ghost of a smile is on his mouth. “You think I break myself on a worksite for fifty weeks a year like this just for fun?” He blows out a long breath. “I don’t think I can handle it if my business fails before it begins.”

I wince in sympathy. There’s no way I’d want him to live with the dreadful mix of failure and embarrassment I feel every time I look at the empty screw holes by my front door. Then I think about how the last three times I’ve been impulsive, it hasn’t worked out. Tearing up the development offer, trying to buy Jamie’s ring.

The get in me incident, barely a minute after learning Tom was single.

“Okay. Okay. I’m willing to wait and get a strategy together. You know I’ll do anything to help you. Stupid Jamie.” I look in the neck of the robe at my piercing. Tom’s brought it alive. The chafe of my silk robe against my skin is unbearable. “He literally never takes time off work.”

“He’s here, and here’s your chance to be his best friend again.”

“That’s you,” I point out, and Tom shakes his head.

“How do you always have it wrong? It’s you. You’re his best friend and he’s been miserable without you. If you guys don’t realize it now and get over this little meaningless fight you had, it might be too late for you both. Don’t throw that away over me. You’re twins. I’m the stray from across the street.”

“You’re not!” I can now see the full breadth of what he’s trying to accomplish here. The renovation of the twins’ relationship. “This is so you. Sacrificing and fixing and stepping aside. Fading into the background. Not on my fucking watch.”

“Where are you guys?” Jamie is at the back door. “Tom, what the hell is wrong with the kitchen ceiling?”

“The kitchen?” Tom is dismayed. “I’ll be right there. Please, Darce,” he finishes in a hush. “Please help me keep it together.”

“Give me your phone, then,” I say, and he slides it into my robe’s fun-sized pocket. “Where the hell is that guy Chris? He was supposed to be here by now. Should I call him and kick his ass?”

“I would be very grateful,” Tom says, stepping a few paces away as the back door bangs open. It triggers off a sense of déjà vu. I think we’ve always stood a little too close.

“Quit wasting his time,” Jamie barks at me as he clatters down the back stairs. “We’ve got stuff to do. I hope you’re fixing these stairs, Tom.”

We watch Jamie walk around to the Porta-Potties. He opens the door to the male one. “Oh fuck no.” He goes into mine.

“That’s my bathroom. Now I want to cry harder than ever.” I exhale and put my hand over my eyes.

I will myself to trust Tom and see this from his perspective. I see everything he has to lose more clearly than my own potential losses. He’ll always carry me. He’ll never trip or drop me.

But I just can’t help myself. I’ve felt this way before, so many times. My insecure, spiky self says: “So, last night was a one-off.”

“Of course not. But as long as he’s here, I can’t touch you. You can’t look at me. We’re not . . . anything.”

“Wow, so we’re nothing,” I marvel in a stage whisper as the hurt begins to shimmer. “Funny, it didn’t feel like nothing. I feel like I had every glorious inch of Tom Valeska last night. Repeatedly. Just . . . over and over, making me come more than I ever have in my life.”

My words cause a chain reaction; my body shifts, his shifts, and we look at the bed. It’s a messed-up wreck. We want to be flat in it or bent over it. Any possible variation, we want to be moving, and deep.

I would have sex with him on a pencil sketch of this bed.

I stand up on tiptoe, grab him by the scruff, and bring his mouth down to mine. It’s instant. He’s giving me everything in a blink, an intensity so strong I lose the ability to see color. I feel a surface under my butt; I’m on the edge of my workbench and he’s between my legs. Ten seconds. I swear it would take another ten seconds for him to be back inside me. I yank at his leather belt and loosen the buckle.

“In, in, in,” I order him when he changes the angle of our kiss. Against me, I feel a tremor run through him. Last night didn’t ease anything between us. It’s made it worse. So much worse.

Now he’s facing away from me, shoulders heaving.

“Shit,” he huffs. “You see what I mean? We can’t do this all over the worksite.”

“Shit, indeed.” I put my hand on my throat where my heart is lodged like a frog. “If we’re not careful I’ll be three months pregnant with your giant triplets when the sold sticker goes up.”

His shoulders shiver and roll. He turns on the ball of his foot and I’m sure he’s going to step back and finish what we just started. Hard. Everything in him is straining. My God, his eyes. For one second, I’m terrified. I’ve provoked something I don’t know if I can handle.

But he’s got the willpower I do not, and I watch as he packs it all down again.

I cross my legs and try in vain to pull my robe tighter. “You think you can stop doing that to me for another three months? You think we can just pretend?”

His body says no. But he replies, “I’ve been pretending around you since I hit puberty. I can do a few more months. Look, I thought we had time, and I didn’t say much last night.” He’s rueful. “DB, you know you’re special to me, right?”

“I know you love me,” I reply without thought. He broke my world apart last night. His love is pressed into my skin and kissed into my cells. “How could you not?”

He bursts out laughing in response. “There’s that Barrett confidence I like so much.” He takes a risk and steps close, pressing a careful kiss to my cheek. “Yes. I do. But you don’t know how much.”

I put my palm on his jaw and kiss his cheek back. “Don’t worry. I know it. You’ve always told me, one way or another.”

Jamie’s probably toweling his hands dry by now, or snooping through my cosmetics bag. Maybe dotting concealer under his eyes. I wouldn’t put it past him.

“You don’t really know. Princess, you’re the one girl I never in a million years thought I’d get.” He presses a kiss to my temple. “Hold on for me just a little longer. Please.”

We hear Jamie’s voice—“TOM!” The door slides closed behind him and he’s gone.

I sit down heavily in his office chair. What is this beautiful complicated thing we unfurled last night? Maybe it’s not a bubble that we have. A deflating silk hot-air balloon is filling this space. It’s every color; it can float and take us places, but one single loose seam could end it all.

But still, I need to learn to be an optimist. After all, Tom didn’t end things with me just now. He asked me to wait for him. He loves me. I stretch luxuriously in the knowledge—he’s mine, he’s going to be mine forever, until he dies.

As I turn over that last little part of the conversation in my mind, I realize something that makes me feel sick.

I’ve made the same mistake as when I was eighteen. He loves me? I know.

I do nothing but take, take, take. I never talk feelings with a man I’ve had sex with. My brain just doesn’t take that logical path, to reply in kind.

“Oh fuck,” I say out loud. Patty tilts her head at me, hearing the desperation in my tone. “Patty, I didn’t tell him I love him back.”