Begging for Nothing

I did my best to make it look unnoticeable, but planning the entire wedding, reception, and dinner we had last night was incredibly difficult, considering I wasn't in the country where it would all happen. Three things needed to be arranged before dinner, five before the ceremony even started, and now, on top of having to book a new DJ with only 12 hours' notice because the one I booked two months in advance supposedly got food poisoning last night, there's a problem with the turntables. What else could go wrong?

And to top it all off, I had the goddamn Wright brothers staring at me from the goddamn moment we arrived at the airport for our flight together. If someone had told me I'd hate flying private, I would have called them a goddamn liar. Yet here I was four days ago, hating that there weren't more seats between Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and me. That every time I looked up from my phone or from the book that kept reading the same line, one, or both, of them would stare at me. Usually, both of them. Then they'd lean toward each other, whisper something, smirk, or laugh out loud when I glared. Even when I tried to take a nap, I'd just lie there with my eyes closed, feeling their gazes on me. I hated that they were, and always are, capable of making my body so aware of them. That even if I didn't feel their gaze, I doubted I could have slept with the goddamn ache between my thighs I feel whenever I'm in their presence. My traitorous heart told me to open my eyes, to look at what was right in front of me, because that was the part of me that needed to at least notice them. Nothing in Jeremiah or Ezekiel indicated they wanted anything to do with my heart. My pussy, yes. My heart, no.

And God knows my body craved all of them, but more often than I wanted, and way more than I was comfortable with, it was another part of me that made me look at them. Sarah and Law got married on a cliff, and I should have been focused on them speaking, on baby Shawn sleeping in Jeremiah's arms, who was behind Ezekiel in Law's groomsmen line, but I wasn't. I still felt the warmth of my hand in the crook of Ezekiel's arm as we walked down the aisle. I, for one, should have been taking in the beauty of the scenery around us, but all I could think about was whether I would ever, ever love someone enough to have a moment like this in the future. And I wondered why I kept looking at Ezekiel and Jeremiah while I wondered. I didn't understand. I'd long ago given up on feelings and anything to do with them. So why was I so confused when it came to them?

Of course, that asshole Jeremiah noticed my gaze and gave me a damn lopsided grin. I hated that smile because of how it made me feel. I loved it so much that it started popping into my head when I least expected it. Then Ezequiel looked at me too, and before he even raised his eyebrow, I knew he was doing it. It was his thing. Jeremiah's smirk and Ezequiel's raised eyebrow. I hated even knowing it. But knowing it didn't stop their expressions from making me realize how good they looked in their suits. How good they'd look without them.

Sometimes I wonder if it was all just because of what I said that night at Kamila's party; my sexual fantasy of being with two men. Was that the only reason they'd been looking at me sensually and murmuring curses at me for months? Or were they already interested in me before? Why do I wonder? It doesn't matter, because it's an impulse I won't give in to. Even though I desperately want to.

"So, what's up?" I ask when I get to the kitchen.

My assistant, Heather, holds up two very different plates. "I don't know how, there are 20 of these." She shakes the white and gold plate, then picks up a white and silver one. "And 15 of these."

I look at the different plates before pinching the bridge of my nose. "How the hell did they manage to put fifteen wrong plates?"

—I called them and they keep insisting that's the order you made.

"Yes, because most planners like to have dishes that don't match anything at the wedding. They must be kidding. Well, uh..." I look around, desperate for a solution.

The worst part is that I know Law and Sarah would overlook any mistake. Hell, they might not even realize it, since tonight they only have eyes for themselves and their son, Shawn. But every little mistake matters to me. Every little misstep makes me doubt whether I'll be able to organize the next charity event at Law's hospital when I can't even plan a wedding effectively.

I just don't have time for self-pity or self-doubt right now.

At that moment, a waiter started to come out with the appetizers. I grabbed his arm, and he looked at me with wide eyes.

"Those plates," I say. "Can you wash them and have them ready for dessert?"

They are simply white and are not meant to be decorative like the plates on which the main dishes will be served.

—I think so. We're collecting them before serving the main dishes.—

—If you can make sure those dishes are ready before cutting the cake, you'll earn an extra hundred dollars.

He raises his eyebrows. “They’ll be ready.”

He pulls away, and I take a deep breath before looking back at Heather. "They're not as pretty, but I prefer plain to uneven."

"At least we still have the golden hairpins, which somehow still ties everything together," she adds.

I nod. “Well, make sure he takes care of cleaning and drying those plates as soon as they finish serving the main course. I’m going to make sure the DJ has the right song for your first dance. As far as I know, he didn’t even get the playlist I sent him. Let me know if anything goes wrong, even a little.”

—It will do.—

I walk out of the kitchen, see Law and Sarah at the head table, appetizers in front of them and still smiling, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

-All good?-

I jump at the sound of Jeremiah's voice, and how close he is.

"Why are you lurking around the kitchen like a stalker?" I snap, trying to calm my racing heart. I tell myself it's beating fast from surprise, not from Jeremiah's proximity; I can feel his body heat. If I lean in a little... No.

—I saw you walking into the kitchen like you were ready to murder someone, so I wanted to make sure you were okay.

—You only noticed because you're always watching me, again, like a stalker.

Do you feel uncomfortable when our eyes are on you?

Ezequiel now, on my other side, as close as his brother. I'm trapped between them. I shouldn't like how it feels so much. I turn my head and look at him. My God, why does it turn me on so much to have to crane my neck to see them? I ignore the excitement coursing through me and stare at him.

—I feel uncomfortable because you're so close—.

He licks his lips, and I try, really hard, not to look at his tongue, but I lose the battle. My eyes slide down, following the movement of his tongue, wishing with all my might that it were between my thighs right now, before it returns to his mouth.

"Are you sure?" he asks softly, leaning in to bring our faces closer. Then I feel Jeremiah approach me.

A shaky breath escapes me and his eyes drop to my throat as I swallow.

“Are you uncomfortable, Jer?” he asks.

“I don’t know how it feels yet.” Jeremiah chuckles. He’s so close I feel the vibration of his chest on my arm. But I could swear I feel it rumble through my body, all the way to the core, where the tension is building fast. “He won’t let us find out. But I guess…” I feel his mouth come closer to my ear as he says, “It’ll feel amazing.”

I take a giant step forward, as if a ghost has snatched me from among them as I mumble words. “I have to… I have to…”

Now they both just smile at me.

"Do you have to... run?" Ezequiel asks, his meaning clear.

—Check...— I gesture behind me, words and sense failing me.

“Want to make sure Kamila has your running shoes?” Jeremiah jokes.

I shake my head, taking a moment to compose myself. “I really can’t stand either of you.”

"I wish you'd give us a chance to change your mind." Jeremiah frowns.

"Not even if I saved you from a good shag." I smile, feeling the effect of being between them finally wearing off. "Now, I have a wedding to plan, so if you're not going to worry about something that will never happen, I have to go."

"Oh, my little Laury," Ezequiel says, laughing as I start to walk away.

"It's not your fault," I shout, looking over my shoulder.

"She's right." Jeremiah punches him in the chest. "She's our little Laury."

I roll my eyes as my head returns to normal. I remind myself, once again, that what I told them is true, and it has to be. It can never happen. I can't allow it to happen. Even if I want it to with all my might.