Triad: A Three Way Love Story Read online

  Triad

  A three-way love story

  A novel by

  Clairissa SinClair

  This book is dedicated to my friend,

  Susan Pederson.

  She loved hot bikers,

  cold Margaritas, and,

  most of all,

  FAMILY.

  Fly with the angels, my friend.

  Table of contents

  Joss

  Mick

  Joss

  Mick

  Grey

  Joss

  Mick

  Grey

  Joss

  Mick

  Grey

  Joss

  Mick

  Joss

  Grey

  Joss

  Mick

  Joss

  Grey

  Joss

  Mick

  Grey

  Joss

  Joss

  Mick

  Joss

  Mick

  Grey

  Joss

  Mick

  Joss

  Joss

  Grey

  Mick

  Joss

  Mick

  Joss

  Mick

  Joss

  Grey

  Joss

  Mick

  Grey

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1-Jocelynn

  The fucking Beatles had it right--Yesterday, love was such an easy game to play. Not today though. Today it just sucks and I fucking surrender.

  Yesterday I had it all. High powered job, a brand new sports car, a black American Express Card, and a boyfriend. Currently I have none of the above. I have the heel of my favorite four inch black leather power pumps stuck in the mud. While trying to free my shoe from foul smelling sludge that is holding it hostage, I end up falling on my fat ass in a giant mud puddle with a very unladylike, and quite audible “plop”.

  David Zimmerman was Chief Executive Officer of Zimmerman Industries, and my business partner, and my lover. It wasn’t a perfect relationship, but we were both workaholics, so it was convenient. I was the Chief Financial Officer for Zimmerman. I had been there since the concept was born during our junior year of college, back when he was just my best friend. I loved his dry sense of humor and his passion over his endless money making ideas. “I wanna be a billionaire so freakin' bad...Buy all of the things I never had...Uh, I wanna be on the cover of Forbes magazine...Smiling next to Oprah and the Queen”, he would sing, “Just you wait and see.” Over cold beer and lukewarm pizza we expanded on his concept for theft proofing retail products and together, after graduation, we brought that vision to life. He was a creative genius and a true techy. I was the numbers, spreadsheets and funding guru.

  I was there through the lean years when we ran the business out his grandmother’s garage and slept in her basement. We always referred to that as “The Top Ramen Era”, when we marveled at how far we had come. Yes, sleeping with your boss is a very bad idea, but we made it work for five years. It was too easy, since we were the best of friends, and friends make the best lovers, or so I thought. I had broken up with my boyfriend at the time, and he had ended things with his long time girlfriend.

  Over two-for-one Margaritas on one hot and humid Taco Tuesday, he kissed me. More surprisingly, I kissed him back. We ended up in his bed that night, like we had done a hundred times before to cuddle and watch movies, but this time was different. The next morning when we climbed out of that bed, we just sort of settled into a new facet of our friendship that sated both of our needs for affection and contact. Perhaps we were just too lazy to climb out of it.

  Two years ago we moved into our dream house. Two kids who grew up mostly in trailer parks moved on up to a gated community. Two kids who went to school on a scholarship and sussisted on hot dogs and handouts made a name for themselves in business and were not too shy to show it off a little. Every inch was built to our specifications, sparing no expense. We both agonized over every finish and detail in the house. We argued for months over the pros and cons of everything from kitchen faucets to marble vs. granite counters in the guest bath. David slept on the couch one night after a particularly heated discussion regarding the shape of the swimming pool. He was hell bent on kidney. I was all about a natural lagoon shape. We ended up with a rectangle.

  That stunning Tudor style, four bedroom, six bath house is just down the road in a high end gated community, not far from my current location on a fucking street corner. David is in that house right now. He is probably in the fabulous master bedroom with the nine foot ceilings and crown moldings, with a spa like slate ensuite, and dual walk in dressing rooms, sticking his skinny little prick into his skinny little fucking intern. That is exactly what, or should I say, who he was doing, just thirty-seven minutes ago, when I came home from work early to make a nice dinner for the two of us.

  I heard them as I walked up the curving grand staircase. I stopped in front of the door, knowing that once I turned the knob, life as I know it, would be over. Part of me wanted to turn around, slip silently back into my car and drive away.

  I had suspected that David occasionally cheated for some time. I overlooked it. I blamed it on my work schedule. I blamed myself for not being more attentive to his needs. I put in more hours than he did on any given week. Zimmerman ran like a well oiled machine. Most of David’s duties required him to sit in on meetings and conference calls. He was out of the office by three or four, in time for eighteen holes of golf or some tennis. I was the one that had a constant stream of deadlines to meet or face tens of thousands of dollars in tax penalties. I rarely left my desk before seven or eight, only to be back again before the sun rose the next day. I’d make up for it by being home and making dinner and putting out, and it would pass. We always fell right back into our comfortable relationship. Usually he would surprise me with a little gift, or, as he preferred to call them, “bonuses” for my hard work and dedication. I knew in my heart that they were to alleviate his own guilt.

  I couldn’t pretend anymore. My hand was on the door knob. I don’t deserve this. I pushed the door open just enough to see with my own eyes, what was going on. I suppose a small part of me maintained hope that he was blaring a porno on his laptop.

  Amber the twenty year old intern was on top of him, bouncing up and down, and enthusiastically vocalizing her pleasure when I opened the door. I stood there, my jaw dropped to the custom bamboo flooring, watching him mangle her perky fake tits with his clumsy paw-like hands. I watched him make that annoying “O” face and say the same stupid shit he said to me when he came, “take it baby, take it baby, take it baby”. It was then that I stepped all the way into the room and slammed the door behind me. The noise startled them both, causing David to flip little miss intern right off his empty shrinking dick and onto the bamboo floor. Amber squealed from her position on the floor. She scrambled to her knees and glared at me angrily from across our bed, just a tangled blonde haired head sticking up, like a whack a mole.

  With my chin up, I walked right past them both, straight into my personal walk in dressing room and closet. Still in a haze of disbelief, I packed up my largest suitcase. “I won’t cry. I won’t cry. I won’t cry” I kept telling myself until I realized I was chanting like David does when he pops his nut. I forced myself to stop and take a few deep breaths. Deep in my heart, I know this should not be a surprise to me. I have suspected time and time again, however, until now, not seeing was not believing, I suppose. I’m scared. I’m angry. I’m hurt. I’m betrayed but I am not surprised.

  I’m also not really sure exactly what I’m doing. I find myself stuffing random items in the biggest suitcase I own. Evening dress, l
ingerie, thigh high fuck me boots, flip flops, the leather jacket that David says makes me look like a hoodrat, a bikini, jeans, flannel pjs. Hey, I’m ready for anything. Normally when I travel, I have every single outfit set out from panties to accessories. I am big on lists and organization. I’m so lost right now, I can’t even really focus. By the time I grab my make up and toothbrush from the bathroom that I fucking designed, the bed is empty. I stare at the bed that we shared together. The pungent smell of cum and sweat lingers in the room, and the Ralph Lauren sheets are twisted and stained. I’m numb.

  I extend the handle on my luggage and drag it behind me down the hallway and towards the grand staircase. For just a moment, one single moment, the thought of dramatically throwing myself down the steps crosses my mind. I banish the thought from my head. He’s not worth it. Instead, I drop kick my bag down the stairs because I don’t feel like carrying it. It releases a tiny modicum of the anger that is building inside of me. I watch as it bounces off the wall and the twisted iron railings, eventually landing on the marble tile of the foyer, next to the antique Queen Anne style oak table that I refinished myself. I ignore the chunk of plaster that I knocked out of the wall that has come to rest on the bottom step.

  I find both David and Amber canoodling in the kitchen. God, how I love this kitchen. We haven’t really entertained, but it was built with guests in mind. It is a gorgeous chef’s heaven with custom concrete and recycled glass countertops and Brazilian Cherry cabinets. It strikes me as utterly ridiculous that my thoughts are on the counter tops when my boyfriend is snuggling with the woman he just fucked.

  Amber is hanging in his arm wearing nothing but the monogrammed bath robe that I bought him for Christmas last year. It’s barely closed and I can see her flesh all the way to her belly button. She looks victorious. She has bed head and her lips are swollen. I can’t remember when I looked or felt that way. The last time David and I had sex, which was at least three full season ago, I think, I am positive that the chignon at the nape of my neck was still absolutely perfect when he rolled off of me less than two minutes after he hopped on. I’m also sure that there were no earth shattering orgasms, or whispered words of love and passion. David doesn’t have the dignity or the good sense to look ashamed.

  The contents of my purse were spilled across the counter, and I knew he was taking my company Amex black card. Mother fucker. The pile of my items in front of him consisted of my credit cards, my car keys, my house keys and my cell phone. I realized that I didn’t even have so much as a personal card in my own name. Everything was company or joint. Even the house I loved so much was a corporate asset. I had a substantial 401K, and multiple IRAs. There was probably twenty thousand in our joint checking and maybe another five in my personal savings. Not much to show for so many years of hard work and total dedication to the company.

  “You’re terminated Joss. It’s for the best. Neither one of us have been happy for a very long time. I’ll create and amicable severance package this week and cut you a check for your share of our joint accounts. Of course the car is company property.” I grabbed my cell phone back. “Oh, the phone is on the company plan as well.” I stared him down. David was such a fucking pussy. Fucking Amber the whore giggled when he nibbled her neck. Shaking my head, I grabbed the leash off of the hook by the door. “Ogre stays too. Paid with a company card, remember? I’d hate to have to call the police. Get in touch with Harris Law to collect your severance and your remaining personal items. I’ll have them boxed up for you.”

  I walked towards the door with my head held high and paused for a moment. Dignity. Keep your dignity, Joss, I kept telling myself. I hadn’t said a single word since I walked in the bedroom door. I hadn’t yelled or screamed or shrieked or swore. Turning back towards the happy couple I determined that dignity was sometimes extremely overrated, “Watch out Amber. He pees the bed sometimes.” He looked horrified. She looked appalled.

  Fuck you, you fucking fuck.

  I closed the door with a quiet snap and walked down the circular driveway to the road. The rain started hard and heavy almost immediately. “Nice going Joss”, I admonish myself, “you packed a beaded evening gown and didn’t pick up a goddamned umbrella.” turned towards the gated entrance of the community. I had no idea where I was going.

  Chapter 2--Mick

  “Wait! Stop! Stop the truck!” The brakes squealed to a stop and the big flatbed fishtailed slightly in the torrential rain. Grey Cantrell managed to hold the big trucy stead and avoid a crash. Luckily the vintage motorcycle on the back was well tarped and tied down, and it didn’t flip during the sudden screeching halt.

  “What the fuck, Mick”, Grey yelled, turning towards me in the passenger seat. “Back up. Back the fuck up”. Grey grumbled under his breath but threw the truck into reverse and backed down the road. “Look. There, by the stop sign. It’s a body”. I pointed to muddy easement on the side of the road. Sure enough, when the lightning lit up the sky, a feminine form was barely discernible, lying prone between the stop sign and the street sign, a flash of red and white in the mud, a silver metal suitcase and a purse lying next to her.

  I jumped out. “Always the fucking hero. Probably some drunken highbrow housewife had one too many bottles of wine tonight.”, Grey mumbled to himself in the now empty cab. The windshield wipers beat a steady rhythm on their highest setting but barely kept the glass clear enough to see through. It was a horrible night to be out driving around, and an even more horrible night to be out of the warm, dry truck checking on a body on the side of the road.

  I have seen my share of corpses during my years in the service, but I had never seen one jump up and scream when I got close enough to check for a pulse. “Jesus, lady, you scared the shit out of me. I thought you were dead! What are you doing out here?”

  “I’m waiting for God to strike me dead because it’s all i have left to lose. You can be on your way. Don’t come any closer”. She dumped the contents of her purse into the mud and pulled out a small aerosol can attached to a keychain and took aim at my face. “I have mace. I know how to use it.” She looked disgusted and flung an earthworm off of her hand and into the road.

  He held both hands up, open palms facing her, in a sign of surrender. “I thought you were dead. I just wanted to help”. She sat up, and started to sob, her face covered in both muddy hands and water dripping out of her knotted up hairdo. “I lost everything in less than five minutes. I lost my job. My car. My credit cards. My boyfriend, and worst of all my dog! That fucking bastard won’t let me have my dog! What kind of a fucking dick keeps a girls dog?”

  I was never good with crying women. I knelt down so we were eye to eye and tried to talk to her in a soothing voice, “Hey..um. There, there. Um..Can I call someone to pick you up, or maybe an Uber?”

  The sobbing got louder. Fuck. “I tried”, she wailed, “I tried to call and Uber but my cell phone is dead and my credit card is cancelled.” She threw the drenched phone in her hands into the road in the same trajectory as the earthworm. It bounced across the pavement like a stone on a lake and settled on the other side of the street.

  I couldn’t leave her out here all alone. She had a rough night and what can only be described as an “altered mental status”. I’m not an asshole and I know that there are plenty of bad guys out there who would happily take advantage of her situation. The toughest part is going to convince my best friend to allow a crazy muddy woman into our truck. “Come on. We’ll give you a ride somewhere. To a motel or a friend’s house”. I didn’t think it was possible for the wailing to get louder, but she did. The lady sounded a little bit like a wounded howler monkey at this point.

  “I don’t have any friends. I only have my coworkers, my peers. I mean, they’re not really my friends and now they can’t talk to me anyway because of fucking David Fucking Zimmerman and his skinny fucking little dick and skanky fucking little intern.” She sniffled loudly, “I don’t have any money until our joint account is “equitably divided” on Monday
when the bank opens.” “Monday is labor day. Banks are closed.” I was wrong. She switched from howling to shrieking and it was louder yet.

  Grey jumped out of the truck and slammed the door. His size thirteen boots stomped through the mud and stopped in front of me and the woman. “Whiskey, Tango, Foxtrot, Mick? I’m tired, I’m hungry, I hate rain, and I’ve had enough bullshit. What the fuck is going on?” Grey was an imposing man when he was in a good mood, which wasn’t very often. He stood over six three and maintained his military physique through working out and multiple daily protein concoctions and, despite being retired, still wore the high and tight Marine Corp fade. He looked exactly like he did the day we met more than twelve years ago, except there was a little more salt and pepper in his hair and a few more wrinkles around his icy blue eyes. He was definitely scaring her even more, but not enough to make her get out of the puddle she has been sitting in.