Misadventures of a Curvy Girl (Misadventures #18)(45)

“I have trouble sleeping,” I admit, and even that admission is harder than it should be. I don’t know why, when Ireland’s arguably seen the worst of my baggage already, but I can’t stand that I’m not able to do something as normal as sleep with the people I love—or hell, sleep properly at all. It makes me feel juvenile and antisocial and abnormal, and I hate it.

But Ireland deserves the truth, and I made promises to her that I plan on keeping.

I take a deep breath and keep going. “It’s hard to get to sleep, and I have nightmares when I do. Bad nightmares that leave me sweaty and thrashing and kicking. The TV and lights help sometimes but not always. I want to sleep with you two—God, I want to so much—but I’m terrified of hurting you while I’m dreaming—and on top of that, it’s not fair to make your sleep worse just so I can share a bed with you. You deserve rest.”

“And you don’t?” Ireland murmurs.

I make an impatient noise. “Not if it makes it harder for you to sleep!”

“I can handle myself,” she says stubbornly.

“Me too,” says a deep voice next to me. I look up into the soft-green eyes of my best friend and lover.

“It’s not that easy,” I say. “I don’t even like being around myself at night. I would never ask someone else to be.”

“But you’re not asking. We are.” Ireland squeezes me tighter and then slips under my arm so she can peer up into my face. “Please, Ben? Can we try it?”

What man on earth could resist these hopeful big blue eyes? This soft, pouting mouth? I’m nothing but weakness when it comes to her, and I think she knows it because her pleading expression starts looking more and more triumphant the longer we stare at each other.

Finally I heave a giant breath. “Okay,” I agree, and I know I sound reluctant as fuck—because I am. “We’ll try tonight. And then you’ll move in with us.”

The firmness in my words leaves no room for argument, and it sounds more like a military command than a boyfriend asking someone he loves to share his life. But I don’t care. I don’t care at all because she gives me a sweet smile and an even sweeter “Yes, Ben.”

And then breakfast is left to cool on the table as we yank each other upstairs to fuck in the bed we’ll all share tonight.





The thought of tonight haunts me as I toil over the new floors in the tavern this afternoon. As I work, my mind fills with worrisome scenarios ranging from good-old-fashioned insomnia to the humiliating release of tears I sometimes wake to find on my face.

It’s not a big deal. It’s not a big deal, I repeat to myself as I work on fitting and gluing the floorboards down. People sleep with their lovers all the time, and surely I’m not the only person in the history of human relationships to have trouble sleeping. Ireland and Caleb love me, I remind myself and feel the tight anxiety in my chest loosen a little.

I want to make them happy. I want to be closer to them.

I can do this.

I’ve survived years of bullying in school, and I’ve survived war zones that have since become legendary for how hellish they were. Fists and bullets and fire—I’ve lived through it all.

I can survive the night snuggled against someone I love.

The tavern door opens, letting in a welcome rectangle of warm sunlight and fresh air, and I look up to see Ireland in the doorway wearing the short skirt Caleb and I beg her to wear all the time and a blouse thing tied around her waist, showing off a tempting tease of pale skin. With her blue lipstick and colorful clothes, she’s like kissable, lickable city-girl candy, and I want to wrap my fist in all that dark, silky hair and press my mouth against all her sugar. My cock is pulsing to life just looking at her.

I wipe the sweat from my brow with my forearm and get to my feet, taking off my work gloves so I can grab at her and kiss her. She giggles as I do, fussing about her lipstick and halfheartedly trying to keep her distance from my sweaty, sawdusted body, but she eventually gives in, letting me crowd her against the wall until she’s moaning into my mouth and arching her soft breasts into my hands.

The door opens again and Caleb walks in. “Oh fuck, you guys,” he says in a husky voice. “Fuck yeah.”

“No, no, no,” Ireland protests as Caleb joins us and starts in on her neck. “We just fucked this morning. Twice!”

“Doesn’t matter,” I mumble, brushing my thumbs across her hard, needy nipples. My cock is raging to be inside her, and with her short, flirty skirt, it’s all too easy to push my hand between her legs to find out if she’s wet enough to fuck.

She is.

She moans again as I slide my thumb under her panties and start rolling it against her stiff little clit.

Caleb’s already grinding his erection against her hip, taking up where I left off on teasing her nipples, and I whisper in her ear, “We could do it a third time…and a fourth time…and a fifth time…right here against this wall. You coming so hard on our cocks that you can’t even hold yourself up…”

Her eyes are fluttering almost all the way closed, and for a minute, I think she’s going to agree, but then her phone buzzes in her skirt pocket and she jolts.

“You guys,” she admonishes, pushing us back with a flat palm to each of our chests. “I’m supposed to meet a reporter from the Star at any minute, and I can’t do that with lipstick all over my face and a used condom in my pocket.”