Taking Turns (Turning #1)(49)

“But I only get it one piece at a time, is that it?”

Bric gives me a sad smile. “You don’t have to think of it that way. Did it ever occur to you that there’s no such thing as the perfect man? Woman? Relationship? That it’s an illusion? People go looking for it like it’s a thing. It’s not, Chella. Love is not a thing, it’s a state of being. And it’s so unrealistic to expect one person to be love.”

“Is this why you guys do this? Because you know you’ll never find the perfect woman?”

My question makes him chuckle softly. “We do it because we’re men. And we want things we can’t have. Doesn’t everyone want things they can’t have?”

“Yes,” I agree reluctantly. “I want so many things I can’t have.”

“Just think it over. And take your time. We’re not in a rush.”

He holds my hand after that. He talks about the snow. Why we’re getting much of it. He talks about tonight’s party with people he knows from work. I want to ask about work because I have no idea what any of them do. But he’s busy talking about tomorrow’s party too. Then other things. His day tomorrow. The dress he wants me to wear.

And when we get to the party down in the Tech Center, I feel… normal again. The dark is back where it belongs. Tucked neatly away in that place I put it years ago.





Chapter Seventeen - Bric




“I could care less about the parties, or the people, or the holidays, for that matter,” I say as I dance with Chella.

“Then why do you come?” She laughs. It’s a slow song and we are facing each other. Close, so her words and her breath heat up my chest because she’s resting her head there. Our feet move in slow circles around the dance floor, just one couple among dozens.

I don’t know what she’s thinking right now. I certainly gave her a lot to think about. Not to mention all the things that were said—and left unsaid—at the Club meeting. But she seems to be taking it well. She’s smiling, and being friendly with the many, many, many people who feel the need to come up to me tonight and thank me for Club contributions over the years.

“To dance. Slowly,” I say. “Just like this.”

“It’s nice,” Chella says. “What’s this party for again?”

“Cancer research fundraiser. The Club gives a lot of money to this organization.”

“Oh,” she says, pulling back a little. “Is the Club your job?”

“Kind of. I run it, and we use the dues to donate. Plus Smith’s money. Most of what I hand out is Smith’s money.”

“Where does he get his money? Does he have a job? I’ve looked him up on the internet and there’s really nothing there aside from—well, things like this. Charities and foundations.”

“He doesn’t get money. Or make money. He just has money.”

“It has to come from somewhere.”

“It comes from his trust. If you had to give his job a label, then I guess you’d call him a philanthropist.”

“Hmm,” Chella says. “I don’t think that word fits him at all.”

“Why not?” I’m actually fascinated to hear what she thinks of Smith. I know he’s playing some kind of game with her that doesn’t involve Quin and me. But what it is, I’m not sure yet.

“Well, philanthropy implies a love for humanity that involves caring about people and nurturing them as a group. And maybe I don’t know him well, but he comes across as crass and egomaniacal. Not someone concerned with the welfare of the human race as a whole.”

“He actually does a lot of good with his money. This organization isn’t even one of his top ten beneficiaries and he gave them twenty million dollars last year. He gives mostly to humanist endeavors, and mostly to organizations overseas. So you’ll never go to one of those parties. Unless of course, you marry him or something.” I laugh. “And he gets you all to himself for weeks at a time. But I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

She smiles weakly, but gets my meaning. Smith is off limits to everyone, even her.

“We shouldn’t waste our time talking about Smith. He’s a lost cause. Besides, I’m curious to know what you’re thinking.”

“About?” Chella counters. She knows what about, but I’m happy to spell it out.

“About the last rule.”

“The gang bang?”

I laugh so hard people start staring at us.

“Quiet,” Chella says, looking around nervously.

“I’m sorry. I just… didn’t expect you to characterize it that way.”

“That’s what it is though, right? The three of you taking turns with me. At the same time. I’m a realist, Bric. I like to call things like they are. I don’t need pretty words or false promises to understand the darkness.”

I stop dancing and look down at her. She’s not short, but I’m tall, so her eyes only come up to my neck. “It’s not a gang bang, Marcella. It’s a ménage, just like Quin said. It’s a relationship. Not a one-time group f*ck.”

My words are a proper chastising and they make her shrink a little. “Sorry,” she says. “I’m just having a hard time understanding what the three of you have going. What do you get out of it?”