Dirty Games (A MFM Ménage Romance) (The Dirty Series Book 3) Read online

  “She will, right?” James runs his hand through his hair. “I mean, our relationship isn’t exactly traditional. This isn’t going to remind her of how much she’s missing, is it?”

  “You idiots,” I tell them fondly. “Cassie loves the two of you. She’s going to be thrilled.” I pull them into a hug.

  Just then, there’s a pointed cough from behind me. “If we’re interrupting something,” Scott says, his voice frosty, “then we can come back at a different time.”

  Of course.

  5

  Zane:

  It feels like someone’s kicked me in the gut when Scott and I walk into the Merry Cockatoo and see Nina hugging two guys.

  She pulls free of their embrace and glares at me. “Hello Zane,” she says, her voice just as cool as mine. “And Scott. What an unexpected delight.” She looks at us as if we crawled out from under a rock, and then she performs introductions. “James and Lucas, meet Scott and Zane. James and Lucas work at the bar. Scott and Zane were just leaving.”

  The weight in my chest eases. “No, we’re not,” I tell her with a grin, pointing to the guitar case in Scott’s hand. “I hear it’s Open Mic Night.”

  “Fine,” she says sweetly. “I’ll show you to your table.” Grabbing a couple of menus from the bar, she walks us to a table by the window. “James will swing by in a minute to get your drink orders,” she says. “We have a happy hour from four-thirty to six. All our craft beer is four dollars a pint, and appetizers are half off. Any questions?”

  She bites off each word through clenched teeth, looking at us with anger and hurt in her eyes, and regret sweeps over me. I feel like a dick. “Nina,” I say quietly, putting my hand over hers to get her attention. “I’m sorry.”

  She stops dead in her tracks. “What for?” she whispers.

  I’m sorry for so many things. For how things went down between us. For being so focused on Evolving Whistle that I didn’t tell her how much I cared about her. Every minute of every day I spent with Nina, I should have cherished her, and I didn’t.

  “I’m sorry I assumed that you were involved with those guys.” My lips twist. “It was dumb of me. You agreed to play a game yesterday, and you wouldn’t have done that if you were with someone.”

  She gives me a long look, her expression unreadable. “Thank you,” she says finally. “You’re right. I’m not seeing anyone right now.”

  “We aren’t either,” I say quietly.

  She gives us a small half-smile. “I know,” she says. “When we dated, women kept throwing themselves at you, but I was never worried. I trust you. You’re not cheaters. If you were with someone, you would have never suggested the game.”

  We’re not playing, Neen. With you, it’s never been a game.

  James walks over in a couple of minutes to take our drink orders, and we each order a pint of the local brew. “You’re in that band, aren’t you?” he asks me. “Evolving Whistle?”

  We’ve made it big in the last couple of years, big enough to get occasionally recognized by strangers on the street. Our manager Chris is delighted at our fame, but both Scott and I find the attention disconcerting. “Yes,” I admit. “Have you seen us play?”

  “Yeah, you guys played a show in Brooklyn three months ago.”

  “At the Way Station,” Scott remembers.

  James nods. “Yeah, that was the place. You guys playing tonight? We do ten-minute slots, but if you stick around to the end, you can have another turn if you like.” He gives us a direct look. “Unless Nina wants you gone.”

  “I think we’re allowed to stay for the moment.”

  “Hmm.” His gaze stays on us. “How do you know Nina?”

  “We used to date,” Scott says.

  James nods grimly. “Let me be blunt, gentlemen,” he says. “I like Nina. She’s a good boss, and she’s a nice person. You cause any trouble for her, and you’ll get kicked out.”

  I can’t decide if I should be irritated that this guy’s threatening to throw us out or be glad that Nina has people that are watching out for her. I land on glad. “Fair enough,” I say evenly. “And yes, we’d like to play a set.”

  Nina:

  A little after six, James goes up to the makeshift stage we set up against the back wall of the Merry Cockatoo. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, tapping the mic to get everyone’s attention. “Welcome to Open Mic Night at the Merry Cockatoo. We have a lot of people on our list today, so a quick reminder to keep your set ten minutes or less. Without further ado, let’s have a warm round of applause for our first performer, Sandra Jones.”

  I don’t usually stick around on Wednesdays. It’s hard for me to be around musicians, but today, I listen to the acts. Okay, fine. Who am I kidding? I want to hear Zane and Scott.

  The bar is packed to the rafters by the time Zane and Scott take the stage. As I have countless times, I watch them transform into rock stars as soon as they’re in front of the audience. In person, both men are fairly introverted, but when they get up to perform, they change. “Hey everyone,” Zane says into the mic, looking around the room with a cocky grin. “I’m Zane Marshall; this is Scott Leyland. We’re in New Summit working on our next album, and we’re going to play a couple of new songs for you.”

  Tiffany Slater is in the audience, holding up her phone. She’s probably taping this, and I’m sure Scott and Zane’s impromptu show will end up on YouTube before the end of the day. Good publicity, I think sourly. Chris Muller, the manager of Evolving Whistle, will undoubtedly approve of this move.

  Then they start playing, and I can’t think anymore.

  I never told you how much I cared,

  I thought you knew.

  When I slid inside you, I was home,

  I thought you knew.

  When you smiled at me, my heart warmed,

  When you cried, my world crumbled,

  You were my sky and my sun; you were the moon and the stars…

  I thought you knew.

  I didn’t expect to fall in love,

  I didn’t know what love was.

  It curled around me like a warm blanket, but I was afraid…

  I thought you knew.

  I adored you, but you left,

  I thought love was enough, but it wasn’t,

  You were my sky and my sun; you were everything…

  I thought you knew.

  I can’t breathe. The room swims around me, and my entire body trembles. I can’t take it. Don’t tell me what love is, I want to scream at them. You didn’t try to stop me. You didn’t try to find me. You picked your music over me.

  The tray I’m carrying rattles, and beer sloshes over the edges of the pint glasses. I set it down carefully on the edge of the bar before I lose my grip on it. “Can you deliver this to table three?” I say to Lucas, not meeting his eyes, knowing I’m going to find concern there, knowing I’m inches from breaking down.

  And I flee.

  The text message arrives later that night from Zane.

  Tomorrow evening, it says. 6pm. Don’t be late.

  The game begins.

  6

  Scott:

  The doorbell rings shortly after ten the next morning. Nina, I think, my heart quickening, but it’s our manager Chris.

  Wonderful.

  “What are you doing here?” I don’t bother concealing the hostility from my voice; there’s no love lost between our band manager and me. Chris has a bad habit of doing whatever he thinks is good for Evolving Whistle, without considering the cost to us. He’s relentlessly ambitious, and he doesn’t give a shit if we burn out in the long term, as long as we make plenty of money for him in the short term.

  Unfortunately, he’s Andy’s cousin. As much as Zane and I want to fire him, we don’t want to antagonize our drummer. Andy’s a good guy.

  “I saw your set last night at a local bar.” He pushes past me and enters the living room, where Zane’s drinking a cup of coffee. “Nice job, guys. The video’s getting tons of likes and
shares.”

  Zane frowns at him. “What do you want, Chris?”

  He sits down on the couch. “I’ve lined up a three-month tour for us in Asia next month,” he says. “It’ll give us a chance to go someplace warm for the winter.”

  “Not interested,” Zane says promptly. “As I’ve already told you repeatedly, I’m not ready to tour again until the fall. And maybe not even then.”

  “Guys, this shit’s all set up.”

  Typical fucking Chris Muller. We say no to something, he does it anyway, and then we’re left to deal with the consequences.

  This time around, I’m not going to let it happen. Yesterday, I realized I want Nina back, and if we’re to have any hope of succeeding, we need to show her we’re putting her first. “I don’t care,” I tell Chris flatly. “We made it crystal clear that we needed a break. We told you we weren’t touring, and you went behind our backs and did it anyway. Sorry, Chris, we’re not bailing you out this time. Call the venues and cancel.”

  He glares at me, an ugly look on his face. “It’s easy for you to say,” he snarls, “Your dad left you a shitload of money, but that’s not true for Zane or Andy or Jeremy. Maybe you should think about them.”

  Zane raises his eyebrow. “Scott doesn’t need to think for me,” he replies, his voice hard. “I’m quite capable of thinking for myself. Money isn’t the most important thing in the world, Chris. I’m so burned out that for more than a month, I’ve had to force myself to sing. You’re taking something I love and perverting it into something I dread, and I’m not going to stand for it anymore.”

  Chris gets to his feet. “This is about Nina, isn’t it?” he snaps. “Oh yes, I’m not a fool. I know the real reason you’re in this town, and it isn’t about needing time off or selling houses for your dad’s company. It’s about that chick of yours. Ever since you met her, you stopped giving a damn about the band.”

  The blatant unfairness of Chris’s comment takes my breath away. Not Zane. He rises to his feet, his face set in lines of tight anger. “Leave,” he says. “Before I forget myself and do something I might regret. And Chris, don’t call us. We’ll call you.”

  7

  Nina:

  I show up at Zane and Scott’s home at precisely six on Thursday evening. I’ve spent another restless night, and my eyes are scratchy with lack of sleep, but my heart is hardened. I don’t know what they’re playing at with the apologies and the love songs, but I’m not interested in finding out.

  Five nights. I just have to survive them, and they’ll be gone from my life forever.

  This is just about sex, Nina. You always had a good time in bed with them. Put your emotions on lockdown, and you’ll be fine.

  Scott opens the door. He’s wearing a suit that probably costs as much as I pay Dr. Bollington in rent each month, and underneath, a white shirt. No tie. “Hey Neen,” he says easily. “Come on in.”

  “Should I have dressed up?” I assumed we were just going to make out in the bedroom upstairs, but unless Scott suits up for the big bang, I’ve read them wrong.

  His eyes rake over me, taking in my dark jeans and my red hooded jacket. “You’re fine.” A smile tugs at his lips. “You look like Red Riding Hood.”

  An answering smile breaks out on my face, as much as I try to resist it. “Does that make you the big bad wolf?”

  He chuckles. “As I recall, the big bad wolf was very interested in eating Red out.”

  “I think he was interested in eating her, Scott. Not eating her out.”

  “Semantics,” he says, an amused grin on his face. “Come on in. Zane’s in the kitchen. We have time to grab a drink before we leave.”

  He takes my coat, and I follow him into the house, my skin prickling with anticipation.

  On Tuesday, I’d been too angry to look around, but today, I survey the house curiously. The main floor is a square open-concept space, with a kitchen running along one wall, and large glass doors leading into the back yard. The house is clean and tidy, and the furnishings are impeccable. It doesn’t fit with anything I know about Scott or Zane. Then it strikes me. Of course. Zane’s dad’s company built the subdivision. “This is the model home, isn’t it?”

  Zane is wearing a suit too, a gray plaid one that fits him like a glove. His head is bent over a board of cheese, but he looks up when he hears my voice. “It is,” he says. “My dad’s the real-estate developer. I’m house-sitting until we sell the units.”

  Maggie had said the same thing. “That’s why you’re in New Summit?” When Zane confirms the real reason they’re here, a sharp stab of disappointment goes through me. “You aren’t here to stalk me?”

  “Stalking isn’t exactly my style,” Zane replies, crooking two fingers at me. At that gesture, a shaft of lust pierces me. I’d forgotten how gorgeous they were. I’d forgotten the carnal heat that always burned between us.

  “Drink, Neen? There’s an open bottle of Syrah, or there’s a six-pack of craft brew in the fridge. The porter’s pretty good.”

  Zane’s a beer snob. “If you say the porter’s good, the porter it will be,” I respond. I steal a slice of cheddar from his board while I wait for him to pour. I need a minute to gather my composure; I’m still shaken by the electric bolt of desire that ran through me.

  “Hungry? We’ve packed a picnic, but if you’re starving, I can fix you something to eat before we leave.”

  A picnic? Those words cool my awkward lust. It’s freezing. There’s a dampness in the air that makes the cold even worse, and I can’t think of a more horrible day to eat outside. Are they trying to kill me? “It’s winter,” I say plaintively. “I didn’t think that hypothermia was part and parcel of these games.”

  Zane laughs at me. “We’re not going to make you eat outside, Neen. I know you’re terrified of the cold.”

  Zane’s forefathers are from Iceland. He’s got Viking blood in him. Me? Not so much. “I’m not terrified,” I retort. “I have proper respect for the outdoors. You won’t catch me taunting Mother Nature.”

  Scott hands me a beer in a glass, and I take a sip. As I expected, it’s exceptional. “So we’re going to have a picnic, but not outside. What are we doing tonight?”

  “We’re going to take a trip,” Scott replies blandly. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you back by six in the morning.”

  That’s the least of my worries. I’m much more concerned with what’s going to happen in the hours between now and six.

  But I know Scott and Zane, and if they’ve made up their minds that they aren’t going to tell me, there’s nothing I can say that’ll make them change their minds. Instead of trying to fight an uphill battle, I eat another piece of cheese. Might as well. I never met a cheddar I didn’t love.

  While I sip at my drink, we sit on the couch and catch up. “Tell us about the Merry Cockatoo,” Scott asks me, his blue eyes locked on mine. “When did you open it?”

  “Fifteen months ago,” I reply.

  “Five months after you left us.” Zane surveys me. “You spoke of opening a bar many times, but I didn’t think you had enough money set aside to open one right away.”

  “I didn’t.” The second rule of the game is honesty. “My father gave me a start-up loan.”

  “Are you talking again?” Scott asks me. “When we were together, I was under the impression that you were estranged from your family.”

  “It’s complicated.” I stare into my beer. I’ve never told Zane and Scott the complete story. Even when we were together, I would dance around the subject of my family.

  Admit it, Nina. It wasn’t just their tour schedules that killed the relationship. You didn’t entirely open up to them either.

  “In what way?” Zane leans back against the couch. If I reach out, I’ll be able to touch him, feel the warmth of his skin under my fingers. It’s tempting. So many times, after a show or a long practice session, the three of us would sit around, sample beer and eat cheese. Even though almost two years has passed, this is a familiar rit
ual, one etched into my heart.

  That’s in the past, Nina.

  “My mother died when I was thirteen,” I mutter. “Cancer. She wasted away for two years. It was pretty hard on my dad, I thought, but he remarried within six months. Two months after that, Joanne gave birth to twin boys.”

  Their eyebrows rise as they do the math and realize that my dad was cheating on my mother while she was dying. “I was angry,” I mumble. “I felt replaced by Jacob and Joshua. My dad didn’t have time for me anymore. So I acted out. I got into trouble a lot, and in response, my father and step-mother got stricter with me. When I was seventeen, I ran away to Boston.”

  Scott’s expression is understanding, as I knew it would be. His relationship with his family is similarly troubled. His parents were distant; Scott was raised by nannies. When his father died, his mother moved to Ireland. “She’s on husband number three,” he’d said once when I’d asked, and his tone had warned me not to probe further.

  “Are things better now?” Zane asks. Out of the three of us, Zane’s the one with the most normal home life. I met his parents and sister when they came out to watch Evolving Whistle on tour, and their warm affection had only reinforced how much I lacked.

  “Somewhat.” My father’s focus is still Jacob and Joshua. I’m the troubled daughter that he doesn’t know what to do with, so he soothed his conscience by loaning me the money to start the Merry Cockatoo. I’m not ungrateful, don’t get me wrong. I love the Merry Cockatoo, but when I hear my dad gush about how well the twins are doing at basketball, I want to scream and point out that he never attended a single game of mine after mom got sick. “Things are as good as can be expected, given the circumstances.”