Joe’s voice, pointed and sharp, with a tone of victory that I knew from high school. Sam’s voice was quieter, lower, more melodic and flowing. A cadence I didn’t remember came forth as he and Joe conversed. It made something inside me echo with a wondering. Would he ever talk to me like that? Something familiar and casual was in his tone, the way you talk to a best friend or an intimate confidante.
Being in the band with Trevor, and Joe, and Liam, had allowed Sam to forge a relationship with all of them in a way that I couldn’t understand. Liam I knew all too well and Joe I’d debated over the years. Trevor was a bit of a mystery to me—hot as hell, and confident and cocky, but we were just on a waving and a ‘hi’ kind of level.
I heard Joe mention Darla’s name and that nice, floaty buzzing feeling that I had as I heard Sam speak ended like someone snapped their fingers. Darla. The way she had tongue fucked Joe and Trevor on that stage and then turned to Sam...I closed my eyes, as if smashing the lids together could smash her. Who the hell was she? Some kind of band whore you pass around? That friendly affect and the whole fakey-fake Midwestern thing made my stomach turn. She’d come over to my table and been all friendly and nice and then, it turned out, she was just another hole for the band.
At least, that’s how it seemed.
“...Darla...share...” Joe said. I couldn’t catch the rest.
Share? Sam and Joe and Trevor shared Darla?
What?
Sam never struck me as the kind of guy who did that. Polyamory was big at my college among a small clique of gamers and the cosplay people. Not musicians.
Then again, four years is a long time for someone to change. I certainly wasn’t the same girl at that debate. But whatever they were saying was intense, their words hushed then loud. Dammit! If only I could get closer.
Turning my head slowly, I saw that they were behind a bush. There was no way that they could see me. My shoulders dropped and I stretched my arms out, not realizing how tense I’d been. My heart slammed in my chest as I caught a glimpse of Sam, his arms akimbo, his body loose, an old, well-worn pair of jeans hugging his hips, those long legs relaxed. They were twenty feet away from me at most, and there were enough holes in the hedge that I could catch as much of an eyeful as I wanted. His red hair was grown out in that slightly long look that so many guys had now. His eyes were narrowed and focused on Joe, who stood a few feet away, gesturing with his hands. Sam just nodded slowly and then said a few words, Joe interrupting him repeatedly.
Suddenly, Sam crossed his arms over his chest, the biceps bulging. Long tendons popped out in his forearms, those arms leading to hands that tapped out so many rhythms.
I was a goner, wasn’t I? I stood and picked up my thermos and walked closer, still hidden by the shrubbery. Phrases like ‘can you take over for me?’ and ‘Darla’ made my blood run cold. Were they really talking about swapping this woman? What exactly was his relationship with her? What were all of their relationships with her? Some sort of kinky three-men-one-woman thing? Was that even possible? This was making my head hurt.
A plume of jealousy poured up inside me from my knees, up through my pelvis, and into my throat. What kind of woman gets three men interested in her at the same time? The thought made me blush with rage. And arousal.
Anger drained out as my eyes remained riveted on the two of them and I let myself explore that idea—just for a moment—because, why not? Ideas aren’t inherently bad. There’s nothing wrong with letting yourself imagine something new that you could do, even if you never, in a million years, thought that you’d actually act on it.
What would it be like to have Liam, and Joe, and Sam, all at once, touching me? Hands on my lips, other hands on my breasts, and other hands going lower, finding a very eager red nub. Six hands.
And one me.
Sam
Joe’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He reached in, took a look, and said, “Oh, shit. I have to go—it’s my mom.”
“Dance, monkey boy, dance.”
“Shut. Up.” He looked me square in the eye and shook his head slowly. “Sam, you know for years I really felt sorry for you.”
I pulled my head back. “What?”
“You and all the shit that went down with your dad our senior year.”
A cold flush poured over me and I frowned. “Yeah, so?” Where was this coming from? I didn’t need pity.
“It’s just with this,” he held up the phone, “and my mom practically pulling on the diaper strings, sometimes I wish I had the guts that you have, man.”
“Guts?” I asked. Guts? It didn’t take guts to tell my dad off and walk away and figure all this out on my own, I thought. I didn’t really have a choice. It was that, or watch my soul die. Joe was looking at me like he expected me to say something.
“Joe, at least you have a mom who gives a shit.”
“Your mom gives a shit.”
“I know. She’s just...she’s just too weak to leave him.” Guys don’t talk like this, so there was something really awkward and weird about the fact that Joe was having this after school special moment with me.
“I’m too much of a pussy, aren’t I?” he said. Back to Guy Talk. “You’re a total pussy, Ross.”
“Hey, I owned up to it. You don’t need to dig it in.” He rolled his tongue inside his cheek and punched me in the shoulder.
“You weren’t a pussy, though, to go out to Ohio and rescue Trevor.”
“I didn’t rescue Trevor—Darla rescued us both.”