Complete Bliss (a Her Billionaires novella #3) by Julia Kent Page B

at that age were like that.”
    “Doesn’t mean I like him.”
    Josie finished her cup of coffee and just watched Alex. His wet brown hair was close cut right now, his haircut more a function of efficiency than of fashion. Being deep into his residency as an OB-GYN and working extra shifts in the emergency room on rotation meant that any part of his life that could be simplified needed to be.
    In recent months he’d taken to this principle of optimization with great zeal, and living with Josie was part of his larger plan. Then again, perhaps it was the other way around: simplifying his life was just a convenient excuse for getting her to agree to share an apartment together.
    Deep brown eyes framed with impossibly long lashes turned to meet hers, troubled and smiling at the same time. Alex could do that—inhabit two distinct emotional states at the same time with comfort, okay with the ambiguity. He didn’t see the world in black or white like she did. Being with him taught her, slowly, that there were shades of gray.
    And not the Fifty Shades kind.
    “Hold on, though—you still haven’t explained why you want all the guys to meet.” 
    “And for you to be there,” she said with a breathy, breezy tone meant to sound so offhand, so casual that it was nothing, no big deal, just a—
    “ What? ” he roared. “Why do I need to be there? I’m not in a threesome relationship!”
    Silence.
    “Is this your way of saying you want to add a man to”—his hands waved in the air like giant, muscled butterflies—“ this ? Us?”
    Coffee sprayed in a fine mist out through her lips, covering the tidy kitchen table top, onto the floor, and all over poor Crackhead, who had chosen that exact moment to leave the sanctuary of his spot under the bed to make a quick foray to the food bowl.
    The cat hissed and sprinted into the tiny utility closet behind where Alex sat, the door of which was open a wedge. All the brooms and mops were stored in there, and when Crackhead shot into it, a broom came out of the closet, handle first, and in slow motion Josie watched it crash into the back of Alex’s head.
    “Yeow! Fitz! ” Crackhead’s howls of outrage matched Alex’s as Josie watched him leap up and hold his head. She choked on coffee and laughter. 
    “Crackhead!” Alex shouted, which only made the cat yowl more.
    “Welcome to domestic bliss with Josie and her cat,” she said quietly, putting the broom in place and carefully stepping up on Alex’s abandoned chair to kiss the top of his head. “And only Josie and her cat. Crackhead is the only third party in this house, thank you.”
    He looked up at her, rubbing his injured spot, eyebrows high. Standing on tiptoes, he reached for a kiss.
    “That’s a threesome I’ll take. Me and two pussies. Isn’t that every man’s dream?”
    She swatted him on the back of his head.
    “Hey! Injured party here!”
    “Now you’re definitely going to lunch with Mike and Dylan and Trevor and Joe.”
    “I think you need more men in there. Four more and we have a baseball team.”
    “Consider yourself the moderator.”
    “Of what?”
    “Of relationships we’ll never understand.”
    “I’m an expert on that one.” He stepped away before she could swat him again.

Trevor
    Joe was being a prick all the time these days, and Trevor was struggling to understand why. The two of them had met Darla more than a year ago, when he’d gotten high on peyote and found himself more than six hundred miles from home, naked and carrying a guitar, a lonely hitchhiker on an Ohio highway. 
    And Darla had been crazy enough to offer him a ride.
    Right now? She was riding him . The three were one hot, sweaty mess of arms and fingers, sighs and moans, the slow, deep friction of sharing Darla like a slow song you dance to by rocking your hips in tune to a sultry beat that never hurries, that takes its time. 
    That savors .
    But Joe was being a jerk.
    Home from law school and working on the band, he was