Taking Turns (Turning #1)(92)

“This is mine,” Quin says, kissing the underside of her wrist.

Chella looks at the other identical box, then finds me. I smile. She already knows what we’re doing here. She reaches for my package, unties the bow—less carefully this time—and then I help her fasten that cuff around her other wrist.

I can be dramatic. So like Quin, I kiss the underside of her wrist and say, “This one’s mine.”

Chella holds her wrists out in front of her and smiles like a child. “I love them, you guys. Adore them. Not because they’re Tiffany and not because they’re diamonds. But because they come from you.” She gets up and kisses both of us on the cheek, and then sits back down and reaches for the last box.

It’s bigger, not by much, but she has to know it’s not a bracelet. She’s run out of wrists, at any rate.

“Is this from you, Smith?”

He nods from across the room, and I’m just about to snap at him, tell him to pull himself out of this funk he’s in and get his ass over here, when he sets his drink down on the bar and walks over to stand behind Chella’s chair. “Open it,” he says.

Chella does, even quicker than the second present, and gasps as she pulls the diamond choker out of its box. “Smith,” she breathes. “This is… stunning.”

Smith leans over her shoulder, takes it from her hands, unclasps the mechanism, and then fastens it around her throat until it really does look like she’s choking on diamonds.

It is stunning. And it cost almost as much as a house on Little Raven Street.

“I get all of this,” Smith says, leaning over her shoulder to whisper in her ear once the choker is in place. “You. Every bit of you is mine.”

Chella glances at me to see what I’ll say about that.

I say nothing. Neither does Quin. What we gave her are trinkets in comparison. And how we feel about her is comparable. She is a toy to us.

The collar from Smith says she is no toy to him from this moment forward.

She leans into Smith and kisses him on the lips. Smith allows it, since the four of us are together and he can break the no-touching rule. But he doesn’t let it linger. He backs away and says, “Let me know when you’re ready to go home. I’ll drop you off.”

Quin shoots me a look. We already talked about this yesterday. I want her here tonight because Smith owes me some time. I totally understand the whole father fiasco. And I totally get that he just claimed her. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want my night back.

“I think I’m gonna stay here tonight,” Chella says. “I don’t even have a tree at home. I’d just be depressed tomorrow morning when I woke up.”

“Sure,” Smith says, doing his best not to look at me. “I’ll walk you up.”

“OK,” Chella says. “I’m tired. I’m gonna take a bath and go to bed.” She kisses me once more, this time leaning into my ear to say, “Thank you. It was a special night.”

“It’s not over yet,” I whisper back as I lean into her neck. “I’ll be up later.”

“Good,” she says. “I have a present for you.”

And then she hops out of my lap and gives Quin a kiss too, before letting Smith take her hand and lead her down to the elevator.

“What was that?” Quin asks.

“I don’t know,” I say, taking a sip of my drink.

“Do you think he’s pissed off that you’re taking your night back?”

I shrug. “I’m not sure I should care. He’s been living at her f*cking house. I’m not done with her yet. And she’s obviously not done with us. So…”

“Yeah, me either. I’m all for the quad this week, but I’m gonna spend my last night alone with her… alone with her. Ya know?”

We let it go. I take off the Santa suit and hand it over to the bartender, then straighten my tie and put my suit coat on.

Smith doesn’t come back until eleven forty-five and when he takes a seat across from me at the table, he asks, “So you’re going up tonight?”

“It’s my night,” I say. “We agreed.”

“And you don’t want me there?”

“I’m not gonna f*ck her, I told you that.”

He stares at me for a moment. “Then I guess I’ll go home.”

“It’s not even your home, Smith. It’s her home.”

“Apparently this is her home now,” he says.

I watch him walk out, pissed off and probably hurt. But I don’t care. The rules are the rules. And whether he likes it or not, we’re still playing the game.

It only works if we don’t fall in love.

He knew that going in.

It only ends when she quits.

And right now, she’s still playing to win.

The rules are the rules.





At midnight, I get up, walk down the steps to the landing, and get in the elevator. When I get to her apartment door, I open it up. It’s not even locked.

Chella is standing in front of the window wearing… Jesus Christ. Straps. That’s the only way to describe what she’s wearing. Straps. Across her thighs, across her belly, across her breasts. Except these straps cover absolutely nothing.

She turns and leans against the window. I imagine how cold the glass feels against her bare skin. “I have a confession to make,” she says.