Chapter 4: Until we meet again
The loft was a symphony of muted light and quiet conversation, the kind that hums in the air like a distant radio station. The black marble bathroom had given way to the living room, where the afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows, painting golden stripes across the hardwood floor. The scent of coffee lingered, mingling with the faint, lingering musk of sex and the lavender soap from the shower. Jane lounged on the leather sofa, her red hair still damp, her legs stretched out in front of her, bare feet curled under the edge of the cushion. She wore a loose, white linen shirt that barely covered her thighs, the fabric clinging to the dampness of her skin.
Erik sat in an armchair, his own shirt discarded, his bare chest a landscape of lean muscle and golden skin. He watched them, his eyes following the lines of their bodies with an intensity that made Rose feel seen, desired. She took a sip of her coffee, the bitter taste grounding her.
"Mark doesn't know about this, does he?" Erik asked, his voice casual, but there was an undercurrent of tension in his words.
Rose shook her head, her gaze flicking to Jane. "No. He doesn't. I haven't... I haven't told him about any of this."
Jane's expression didn't change, but there was a subtle shift in her posture, a straightening of her spine.
"You're going to tell him," she said, her voice flat. It wasn't a question.
Rose's stomach twisted. She'd known this was coming, but hearing it out loud made it feel more real. More daunting. "I don't know if I can," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "He's not... he's not like you two. He's traditional. Conservative. He wouldn't understand."
Erik leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. His gaze was steady, his voice gentle. "Rose, we're not asking you to lie to him. We're asking you to be honest. With him. With yourself."
Jane nodded, her eyes never leaving Rose's.
"You're right. He might not understand. But that's not your problem. Your problem is that you're hiding. From him. From yourself. From us."
Rose's fingers tightened around her coffee mug, the ceramic cool against her skin. She looked down at the dark liquid, swirling it absently. "I know," she whispered. "I just... I don't know how to start. How to tell him that I've been with you. With both of you. That I want to keep being with you."
Erik stood up, crossing the room to sit next to Rose on the couch. He put a hand on her knee, his thumb tracing a slow circle.
"You don't have to tell him everything at once. Just start with the truth. You met someone. You're attracted to them. You want to explore that."
Jane leaned forward, her eyes intense. "You don't have to justify your feelings, Rose. You don't have to make excuses. You just have to be honest. With yourself. With us."
Rose took a deep breath, her gaze flicking between them. She saw the sincerity in their eyes, the understanding. She felt a surge of gratitude, of affection. She reached out, her hands covering theirs. "I'll tell him," she said, her voice steady. "I'll tell him the truth.
I'll tell him I've met someone who makes me feel alive, who makes me want to explore parts of myself I never knew existed. I'll tell him I want to see where this goes, with both of you."
Jane's lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Rose's temple. "That's our girl," she murmured.
Erik's hand squeezed hers, his thumb still tracing that slow, hypnotic circle on her knee. "We'll be here for you, Rose. Every step of the way."
Rose took a deep breath, feeling a sense of calm determination wash over her.
She stood up, her body still humming with the aftershocks of their encounter. 'I'll tell him,' she repeated, her voice resolute. She looked at Jane and Erik, their eyes reflecting a mix of hope and understanding. 'I'll tell him I met someone new, someone who makes me feel... different. Someone who makes me want to grow.'
Jane nodded, her expression softening. 'You deserve that, Rose. You deserve to feel alive.'
Erik stood, his hand brushing against hers as he passed by. 'And we'll be there for you,' he said, his voice warm with sincerity. 'No matter what.'
Rose took one last look at them, the warmth of their presence still lingering. She turned to leave, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and trepidation. The door clicked shut behind her, the sound echoing in the quiet loft.
---
The drive home was a blur of thoughts and emotions.
Rose’s fingers tightened around the wheel, her knuckles white against the leather. The loft’s warmth had left her skin flushed, her body still humming with the echoes of what they’d shared. She glanced at the phone in her lap, the screen glowing faintly with an incoming call. Her breath hitched. *Mark.*
She swiped the screen, answering before he could leave voice mail. “Hey,” she said, her voice too bright, too controlled.
“Rose?” His tone was sharp, alert. “Where are you? I’ve been trying to call you for—”
“Sorry,” she cut in, forcing a laugh. “I got distracted. I’m on my way back now.”
A pause. “You sound… off.”
She exhaled sharply, her grip on the wheel tightening. “Just tired. Long day.”
Another beat of silence.
The radio hummed softly in the background, the static a familiar white noise that had never quite drowned out the quiet panic in her chest before tonight.
“You’re late,” Mark said, his voice low but sharp. “I was starting to think something was wrong.”
Rose’s throat tightened. She gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles ached, the leather biting into her skin. “Traffic,” she lied, the word slipping out before she could reconsider. “Got held up at the toll.”
“You’re always late,” he said, his voice dropping into that familiar, accusing tone. “Always making excuses. I don’t know why I bother trying to reach you.”
The words stung, but not as much as they should have. Because she’d just spent the afternoon in a shower with two people who made her feel alive in a way Mark never had.
Because the scent of lavender soap still clung to her skin, and the memory of their hands on her body still made her pulse quicken. Because she had spent the drive home replaying every moment in her mind, the way Jane’s fingers had traced her collarbone, the way Erik’s mouth had tasted like coffee and something darker, something that made her want to forget everything but the feeling of being held.
Mark’s voice cut through her thoughts like a blade. “Rose?” His tone wasn’t accusatory—it was wary. *He’s noticed.* The realization hit her like a punch to the gut, and she forced a laugh, too bright, too forced. “I’m right here. Just… thinking.”
The radio crackled to life, filling the silence with a song she didn’t recognize, something slow and sultry with a bassline that made her want to close her eyes and let it wash over her.