Flopping down on his own single bed, he just scoffed. “What, did you think they were gonna wait for marriage or something? Get a promise ring? They’ll move as fast as they move; no one says you have to move at the same pace.”

Who the fuck had inhabited the body of my best friend? “Are you possessed? Where is all this mature shit coming from? Did you get hit too hard into one of the boards?”

He just flipped me the bird. A second later, my phone dinged in the main group chat.

“What? We were just gonna keep talking about her like she isn’t in bed with him? May as well add her to the conversation. Besides, you’re the one all about the ‘sharing is caring’ bullshit.”

He opened his phone.

River: Mazel tov on the sex. It's a good idea to start with the worst in bed to save disappointment later.

Devan: Fuck off, Cooper

Nova: No comment.

Devan: What do you mean no comment?

River laughed and peeled off his suit, hanging it in the closet. He also grabbed my shirt and jacket, hanging them up while he was there. River liked order. He wasn’t as bad as Devan when it came to control, but small things slipped through that hinted at what his life had been like in the foster care system. Or maybe even before that.

The need to keep his surroundings immaculately in order was one of those things. My room tended to look like a war zone, and nothing ever ended up back on the hanger. It annoyed the shit out of River; I just said it made me well-adjusted. He said it made me a man-child.

I lifted my phone and snapped a photo of him hanging my shirt and jacket.

Me: You may have Nova, but I still got a bitch. <Picture>

River looked down at his phone, then glared at me. “You’re an asshole.” But he was smiling. I called that a win. This whole thing was going to be okay.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

NOVA

While the guys were away, I was happy, but it didn’t seem quite right. Don’t get me wrong, falling into bed with Devan every chance I got was absolute bliss. The things that man could do with his tongue would forever be seared in my memory. One day, I would be an old woman on my deathbed, sharing my fondest memories with my nurses, and one of those would be the time Devan finger-banged me so good that I squirted.

I mean, I was horrified in the moment—as horrified as you can be when wrung out by multiple orgasms—but Devan had looked like he’d just won a gold medal or something. It was hard to be embarrassed by something that obviously made him so proud.