Three Men and a Woman: Annabelle (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) by Rachel Billings

the theater arm in arm, Annabelle in between the two hottest men there.
    It had taken her a while to trust that a man of Ro’s general hotness, a man of his extreme sexual appetites, could be happy and content with her. He was a man surrounded daily by beautiful, easy women. But he’d been so steadfast, so obviously committed to her, so always wanting her, that she’d come to accept it, to trust him. She was entirely certain that he’d not been with another woman, not wanted another woman, since they’d met.
    Now, he seemed to want to share her with a second major stud, and stud number two seemed up for it as well. Go figure. She could spend her time worrying that it wouldn’t work out, or she could just fucking enjoy herself. Or enjoy herself fucking, whichever was the situation.
    When she’d woken from a long nap today—her two studs had, in fact, taken a lot out of her that morning—she’d come awake with a memory. It was one of those things that happened when you were young and then, when you were older, a new interpretation of it clicked into place.
    She remembered that when she was around seven, her father had brought home a friend from work. She recalled that first dinner they’d had together. The adults had shared a couple bottles of wine. There was a lot of laughter, and she remembered thinking that her mother kind of sparkled. And her father watched her with more than the usual amount of intent.
    It was subtle. Her parents always enjoyed each other. They often laughed during dinner, and her father always doted on her mother. But this felt different. The adults seemed excited and very happy, and for the first time, Annabelle felt a little left out of the fun.
    The man, whose name was Bill, left very late that night. Annabelle, from her room at the front of the house, heard him start up his car. He came again several times in the next couple weeks. And, finally, he didn’t leave at all.
    Her mother said he’d lost his apartment and needed a place to stay. Since he worked with her father, it made sense for him to move in with them. The men would be able to drive to work together. They put Bill in a bedroom near their own, rather than the nicer spare bedroom that was next to Annabelle’s.
    Bill had stayed for several years, until she was eleven or twelve. He left when his job was transferred to the West Coast. Though she knew she wasn’t supposed to see, she remembered the hug her parents had given him when he left. Her mother was in the middle, hugging Bill and crying. Her father was behind, also hugging Bill but more supporting his wife. Bill and her mother were kissing. Deeply.
    The household sparkled less when he was gone. Her mother was a little quieter, a little sadder.
    When she was fifteen, Annabelle came home from her usual two weeks at summer camp. Her ride had come a little early and when she was dropped at home, her parents were in the front yard. They were giving Bill that same kind of hug. He got into a cab just as she arrived.
    Thinking about it now, she realized that her first experience at camp occurred that very summer after Bill left. She suspected now that Bill spent two weeks with her parents every summer. And, after she went off to art school, her parents started taking winter vacations in California.
    It all clicked. Two men had shared her mother.
    She’d lain in bed, sore and tender in all the spots her two lovers had put to such good use, and wondered if her mother had ever woken from a nap, feeling exactly the same way.
    The thought, that newly reconstructed memory, had made her feel better. Maybe it wasn’t so bizarre, that she could love and want two men, and that they might love and want her. Maybe it was more like, oh, a family trait, like her blue eyes. Maybe she should count her blessings. She’d found her men when she was twenty-seven. Her mother must have been about forty when Bill found his way home to her.
    So if she got to walk down Broadway with two hot men taking