Just Between Us: MMF Bisexual Romance Read online

  Just Between Us

  MMF Bisexual Romance

  Copyright © 2020 by Roxanne Riley

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction and any portrayal of any person living or dead is completely coincidental and not intentional. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission from the author, other than brief excerpts for the purpose of reviews or promotion.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Jackson

  Chapter 2

  Veronica

  Chapter 3

  Trevor

  Chapter 4

  Veronica

  Chapter 5

  Jackson

  Chapter 6

  Veronica

  Chapter 7

  Veronica

  Three Days Later

  Chapter 8

  Jackson

  Chapter 9

  Veronica

  Chapter 10

  Trevor

  Chapter 11

  Veronica

  Epilogue

  Veronica

  Six Months Later

  Special Inside Look into Just This Once!

  Chapter 1

  Jackson

  “Passengers of flight 214, Group C is now boarding.”

  Finally.

  I shuffle forward in the line, boarding pass in hand and ready to go. It feels strange to be boarding a plane with nothing but the clothes on my back. But since the clothes on my back aren’t even my own, it makes sense.

  That part was still sinking in, though.

  Finally, it’s my turn, and I hang the agent my boarding pass and the printed copy of my id. She eyes it for a moment and gives me a funny look, and I gear up to have to explain, for the thousandth time that day. But to my relief, she simply scans the pass, hands me back my papers, and mutters a robotic: “have a nice flight.”

  This flight will be my third of the day, and the last leg before I’m finally back in my hometown. It’s been five years since I’ve been back for a visit, and even then, it had been a brief one. I’d been busting my ass in law school, and didn’t want to waste precious study time on a visit. Not if I was going to keep my scholarships.

  And it wasn’t like Dad and I were close. He and my mother had split up when I was just a kid and I’d gone to live with Mom. Even living in the same city, he’s always been a busy guy, so I really never saw him much after the divorce. He’d remarried just after I graduated high school and inherited a stepdaughter who was around seven years or so my junior.

  After I graduated, I’d moved across the country and didn’t make it back home much. I’d been back to visit more often when Mom was still around, but after she died in my sophomore year of college, I stopped going as much.

  There’s no assigned seating on my flight, so I grab the first open window seat I can find near the front, skirting easily past people lugging carry-ons and travel pillows and settling in for another three hours in the air.

  Fortunately, it’s a pretty empty flight and I end up with no one in the seat beside me. The teenage girl who ends up sitting in the aisle seat of my row offers a polite nod before slipping earbuds into her ears and cracking open a book.

  It’s a welcome relief after the last flight I was on. The old man I’d been seated next to had been incredibly chatty, and honestly, after the last few days, I just didn’t have the energy to tell my story again. Even if it was damn near all I could think about.

  This visit wasn’t just some casual social call. I’d be staying with my dad and his wife and stepdaughter for the next few weeks while I sorted some things out, because my house had burned down.

  My house burned down. It doesn’t seem real, that sentence. I’m still trying to process it, honestly. I had been lucky to make it out alive, wearing nothing but my boxers and a pair of pajama bottoms, my cell phone hastily swiped off the table and stuffed into a pocket before I’d climbed out the window.

  I thought I’d been prepared, with smoke alarms and copies of my ID and other important stuff in a fireproof safe. But there’s no real preparing for something like this.

  I’m not a sappy guy. I don’t have a bunch of sentimental shit I was heartbroken over losing or anything, but there’s still a definite sense of loss, watching everything you own go up in smoke. Watching your home dissolve into ashes.

  And beyond that, trying to get anything done with nothing but a paper photocopy of my driver’s license was a tremendous pain in the ass. But that and an expired passport were all I had to show.

  Fortunately, my coworker Brian and his wife Sharon had kindly offered me the use of their guest room for a few nights to collect myself and get shit sorted, and the senior partners had insisted I take some paid time off.

  I actually hadn’t even thought to call my father for the first day or so. But when I finally did, he insisted I come stay with them for a while and I wound up caving.

  And if I thought dealing with the banks and everything else with the stupid paper ID was a pain, going through the airports had been even worse. I’d had to endure additional pat-downs, screenings, and every single boarding agent has scrutinized that stupid sheet of paper with eyes like hawks.

  I mean, for fuck’s sake, if I was going to try and travel with a fake ID, don’t they think I would have tried a little harder?

  I close my eyes, telling myself to let it go. That bone-deep exhaustion that accompanies travel is setting in, piling onto the tiredness from the last few sleepless nights.

  As I slowly start to doze off, I wonder if my best friend is going to end up meeting me at the airport. I’d let him know when I was coming and everything, but he’d never answered. I wasn’t even sure he wanted to see me. We haven’t talked as much since his last visit, when things got a little…weird.

  But I guess some part of me is hoping that he’s forgotten about it by now. We were both shitfaced drunk, it’s possible, right?

  Yeah, sure. The more sarcastic part of my brain rolls its eyes at the thought. You’ve only thought about it every single goddamn day ever since, but you expect Trevor to have just forgotten?

  It’s still so vivid in my mind that even now, as I’m drifting off to sleep with my head against the window, I swear I can feel his lips on mine.

  Chapter 2

  Veronica

  “Roni, would you put that away?” my mother chides me, tugging my phone out of my hands, “Jackson’s flight is scheduled to be here any minute.”

  I take it back from her in annoyance, but stuff it into my pocket to pacify her. “I don’t even know why I had to come with you guys to meet him,” I complain, “We don’t even know each other, and it’s not like I won’t see him at the house.”

  My stepfather’s son, Jackson, is coming to stay with us. I don’t even feel right calling him my stepbrother, I can probably count on one hand the number of times we’ve interacted.

  And now, for who knows how long, I’m stuck sharing a bathroom with this stranger. Don’t get me wrong, I feel bad for the guy, it must suck to lose everything like that. But why the hell would he want to stay here? It’s hundreds of miles from his job and his home, with “family” who he doesn’t actually know. Doesn’t that just make things even more complicated for him while he’s in the process of trying to put his life back together?

  “You met him when he visited last time,” my mother argues, “For Christmas, and he gave you that beautiful jewelry box you love so much.”
<
br />   “We barely exchanged a dozen words,” I say, shaking my head.

  It wasn’t his fault, to be fair. The last time Jackson had visited, honestly, I’d been a moody, brooding teenager, and spent most of my time in my room. His Christmas gift for me during that visit had been an exquisite vintage jewelry box that still sat in a place of honor on my dresser.

  “Dad told me you’re into all kinds of retro stuff and I saw this at this thrift shop,” he’d explained, “Sorry if it’s not really your taste.

  “No, it’s- it’s perfect,” I’d marveled, turning it over in my hands and admiring the delicate filigree on the sides, “Thank you.”

  “Yeah, well, a dozen words is a lot for Jackson,” my stepfather, Keith, jokes, “He’s never exactly been a chatty guy.”

  “That sounds kind of backwards for a lawyer,” I muse, “Isn’t what he does, like, ninety percent talking?”

  Keith shakes his head. “No, he’s in contract law.”

  “So he does paperwork all day. Sounds boring,” I feel a brief flash of pity for the guy.

  “Boring, maybe, but lucrative,” my mother says with a shrug.

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes at the subtle jab. My mother has made it abundantly clear that she thinks I’m wasting my time getting a degree in art. And I know, it’s not exactly a degree that’s going to open a lot of doors for me or anything, but I’m of the opinion that nothing worth having comes easily.

  If I want to make a career as any kind of artist, I know that I’m going to have to earn it. And I’m ready to work hard. But I also know that my mother still sees me as nothing but a sensitive little girl, and because of that she regards my passion as the flighty whims of someone fresh out of teenage years.

  Even though it’s endlessly frustrating not to be taken seriously, I try to let it roll off me.

  “I need to use the bathroom,” I mutter, “I’ll be back.”

  With that, I slip away. I wander around for a few minutes, finding a water fountain and taking a drink. Truthfully, I was just getting bored and restless and didn’t want to keep standing around waiting at the baggage claim.

  But after a while, I figure I’d better head back. I turn to head back towards the baggage area, but before I can take a step, I’m toppled over by someone colliding into me on my left.

  I hear a male voice utter an “Oh, fuck!” before the weight of the stranger atop me lifts, “I’m so sorry, are you ok?”

  The impact left me a little winded, and it takes me a second to collect enough air to speak. “I think so,” I shift into a sitting position and see a large hand in front of my face.

  “Here, let me help.”

  I reach for the hand and look up to see the human attached to it.

  Whoa.

  If I thought him running me over was breathtaking…

  The man standing before me was like a Greek god in jeans. Denim and a black cotton t-shirt cover the most sculpted, muscular body I’ve ever seen. His brown hair is tousled, and his jaw is covered with a soft brush of matching stubble that draws my eyes to his full lips.

  “I really am sorry, are you sure you’re all right?” he asks, looking me up and down.

  The way his gaze lingers at my chest tells me he’s not just scanning me for injuries.

  “I’m good,” I assure him, the corners of my lips tugging up in a smile.

  I went through high school as this shy, nerdy art student who dressed like a goth and still fit into training bras, and I hadn’t really “blossomed” until my freshman year of college. So to get a look like that, from a guy who looks like this? It’s more than a little bit of an ego boost.

  “If you’re rushing to catch a flight, I hate to break it to you, friend, but you forgot your luggage, too,” I quip.

  The joke is lame, and I’m cringing on the inside as soon as the words leave my mouth, but to my surprise, he actually chuckles, and it doesn’t sound like it’s entirely pity.

  “No, I’m actually not even sure if I’m supposed to be here,” he admits, “A friend of mine who I haven’t seen in a while is coming into town, and I didn’t see his message until after he was already on the plane and I guess he didn’t get my response, so I don’t know if he’s already got a ride home or something, so I was just trying to be here early and make sure I was here just in case, and-“ he cuts off suddenly, looking embarrassed, “I’m rambling,” he laughs.

  It makes me giggle. He’s kind of awkward, which only makes him more adorable. “Hi, Rambling,” I reply, offering out a hand to shake, “I’m Veronica.”

  He groans. “That was absolutely terrible,” he informs me, even though he’s laughing as his warm hand closes around mine, “Trevor Simpson.”

  “Well, Rambling Trevor Simpson,” I say, “Where are you planning to meet this friend of yours? Maybe we can wait together.”

  “I don’t know, you aren’t waiting for some boyfriend who’s going to beat me up for taking his girl or something, are you?” he asks suspiciously, his dark eyes teasing.

  I snort. “A little presumptuous to assume you could “take” me, isn’t it?” I retort.

  That teasing glimmer in his eyes shifts to something darker, something intense that stirs heat between my thighs. “Is it, though?” he asks.

  My face flames and I clear my throat. “Well, it’s not really a concern, because there’s no boyfriend to take me from.”

  “Good. So you’ll be free to have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

  His question catches me completely off-guard and I blink in surprise. “Um, I-…yes.”

  A devilish grin spreads across his handsome face. “Excellent.”

  I pull my phone from my pocket and he gives me his number. I shoot him a text in response so he’ll have mine. Even though I’m thrilled, some nervous part of me is hesitant to offer my address to this stranger, so I arrange to have him pick me up at the university library.

  While we’re talking, his phone chirps with another text.

  “Oh, I guess my friend’s family is picking him up,” he says, his voice laced with disappointment.

  “You could always stay and see him,” I offer, “I mean, you already came all the way down here.”

  “No, I wouldn’t want to intrude on family stuff,” he says, shrugging, “It’s not a big deal.”

  His phone chirps again and he looks down, and I see some of the happiness return to his expression. “He asked if I could come by later, join them for dinner. So no big deal.”

  “Hey, could be a lot worse,” I say with a shrug and a little wink, “Yeah, you made the trip to the airport for nothing, but you got a date with a cute girl out of it.”

  He laughs. “Oh, I definitely can’t complain. A hundred percent worth it,” he assures me.

  “Well, you can’t go that far yet,” I counter, “We haven’t even been out yet. What if it’s a disaster?”

  Trevor just flashes me a smile that makes my panties combust again. “It’ll be worth it,” he says firmly, in a tone that leaves no room for doubt, “Trust me.”

  Even though the words themselves sound arrogant, there’s something in his tone that’s sweet. Almost like he’s making me a promise.

  I see a trickle of people coming down the hallway from the area near the baggage claim. “I’d better get going.”

  He nods. “See you tomorrow, Veronica.”

  Oh, wow. The way he says my name just makes me melt. God, he’s gorgeous.

  “See you tomorrow, Rambling.”

  He chuckles and shakes his head as he turns and walks away.

  I scurry back toward the baggage claim, knowing my mother is going to tear me a new one if Jackson’s gotten there already. Fortunately, when I make it back, the two of them are still waiting.

  It’s not long before a flood of people trickles in and gathers around the carousels. Keith looks around for a familiar face. I glance around, not expecting to recognize Jackson. I remember him being pale and dark-haired, kind of scrawny, and the last time I�
�d seen him, he’d been glued to his law textbooks.

  “Dad?”

  A voice to my right startles us and we turn.

  The guy standing there is hot as hell, with a sharply chiseled face and soulful eyes, the same deep brown as his close-cropped hair. I’m completely drooling for a moment until Keith reaches out and hugs the man and it sinks in that the hot guy is Jackson.

  Oh, jeez. Running into one hot guy wasn’t enough, now you’re drooling over Keith’s son? I think to myself, horrified.

  Jackson sort of hugs Keith back awkwardly, then my mother when she takes her turn next. He looks at me, clearly expecting another, but I simply offer him a little nod and a look of relief washes over his face. “How was your flight?” Keith asks.

  “It was fine,” Jackson replies, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  An uncomfortable silence falls until Jackson clears his throat. “So, should we, uh, get going?”

  “Don’t you need to grab your things?” my mother asks.

  Jackson shrugs and gestures to himself. “This is it. Since I figured I was going to have to buy all-new stuff anyway, I figured I would just get things here.”

  “Oh,” Mom looks embarrassed, “Well, that makes sense.”

  “So,” I interject with forced brightness, trying to smooth over the weird moment, “Let’s head home, then. Poor Jackson must be exhausted, right?”

  When Jackson looks at me, he looks me up and down, as though taking me in for the first time. “Yeah. Right.”

  Chapter 3

  Trevor

  My heart is in my throat as I’m walking up the path to the front door of Jackson’s father’s house. Maybe this was a mistake, I should just bail now while I still can.

  But my feet keep propelling me forward, and against my own will, some force drives me to lift my hand and press the doorbell.

  I shouldn’t be so freaked out. Jackson is my best friend, for fuck’s sake. But after what I did the last time I saw him, I’m sure things are going to be weird. We’ve barely talked since that night.