The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood Book 3) Nikki Sloane (sight word books TXT) 📖

talked about it at the bar. “He started to pull away.”

He nodded. “You remember the first time I saw you at the club? I waved to Clay, he waved back, and then he just led you away. I sat at the table for a long time thinking he’d brought you there to prove how straight he was to me, or maybe himself. Which is fine. I identify as straight too.” He tilted his head. “Straight, but curious.”

I slid closer to him and put my hand on his that rested on the couch cushion. “That’s how I’d describe myself.”

“I care about him a lot and I love the three of us together. It doesn’t turn me off if things get sexual with him, and sometimes . . . well, it’s a turn-on, but that’s all it is. I don’t have romantic feelings for him. Before you, I didn’t sit around and wonder what he was doing or how his day was going.”

That was surprising. “Are you saying you do that now?”

He gave me sheepish smile and used a hand to rub the back of his neck. “He’s a part of us. You have to know, when we talk and plan out our time together, everything is about you. You’re all he’s focused on, and every decision he makes is so we can give you the best possible scene. How can I not like a guy who cares so much about the same person I care about?”

I sighed. My heart both swelled and hurt.

Travis turned his hand beneath mine and threaded our fingers together. “The threesome rattled him. He let his guard down, we got inside, and now he’s freaking out. He puts up a good front, but he’s not as comfortable as he pretends to be.”

God, he was so right. I’d seen hints at Clay’s insecurity, but I hadn’t paid enough attention. “And then I sprang being a throuple on him.”

“It’s going to be okay. You told him you want this, and he loves you. He’s going to want this as badly as we do, he . . . just hasn’t figured it out yet. Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” I breathed.

“Good. He may know what you need,” he lifted our joined hands and dropped a kiss on my fingers, “but I know what he needs, and that’s time. He has to get comfortable with who he is, and what we could be.”

Fuck, I hoped he was right.

Travis didn’t stay overnight. He didn’t ask, and he probably felt the same as I did. Even though our relationship with Clay was now a huge question mark, it would have been wrong to sleep together. Instead, I let him tuck me under his arm and distract me with talk about his work. At times, his days weren’t that different than mine, except he cared for a much wider and more exciting variety of animals.

We didn’t hear from Clay over the weekend. I had a short text exchange with Travis, but he was on-call both nights because one of the zebras was pregnant and he was on foal watch.

Monday also passed without a word from Clay.

As I came home from work, I tried not to look for signs he was home. Travis had said to give him space. That he needed time. Since he was back in Nashville, I didn’t check on Noir, even though it killed me not to. He was always good with her on the weekends when he was home, so I assumed he had it covered.

Eventually we were going to have to talk though, even if it was a post-divorce custody discussion.

Tuesday afternoon, when I was helping prep a dalmatian for radiographs, my phone vibrated with a text. I finished my work, then ducked into a corner to check the message.

Clay: Can we talk?

Me: I’m at work.

Clay: I meant this evening.

I lifted an eyebrow. The days of silence from him had left me hurt and angry. He’d said he was falling for me, and yet he’d given up on us so fast. I missed him. How wasn’t he missing us?

Me: Will Travis be there too?

The dots flickered and disappeared. Finally, his text came through.

Clay: I’d like to talk to you alone.

Me: Sorry. I’m busy tonight.

It was a lie, but I wasn’t going to meet with him on my own because we needed to talk about this together.

Clay: How about tomorrow?

Me: If Travis isn’t there, then I’m still busy.

He had no response to that.

Since he’d reached out, I figured now was as good a time as any.

Me: I haven’t been over to see Noir. How’s she doing?

Clay: Fine. She misses you.

My breath caught because there was no way he was talking about our aloof cat. Noir was a paradigm of the independent woman. As long as she had food, she didn’t need anyone. Every now and again she liked affection, but it was always on her terms, and the rest of the time she was indifferent.

Me: I miss her too. A lot.

No new messages came through. I wanted to arrange some alone time with her, but we were swamped at the clinic, and I couldn’t leave patients waiting on me any longer. I tucked my phone back into my pocket and made a mental note to set something up with him later.

Time dragged as I went about my work trying not to think about the two men I loved, and my frustration that we couldn’t be together. It was one of those days where nothing went right. I banged my head on an open cabinet during an exam, which hurt like hell and made me look like an idiot in front of the patient’s owner. I spilled my water on a vaccination chart and had to start over. When I put on my latex gloves, the finger tore, and I nearly burst into tears.

I was coming apart.

What if Travis was wrong? What if Clay wanted to talk to me alone because he was going to try to convince me we should go back to the beginning