Triad: A Three Way Love Story Read online

  I’m shorter and stockier at five foot ten or so, plus, I am definitely more charming where women are concerned, hell where any living creature is concerned. I think the black leather biker jacket and the tattoos that show are freaking her out just a bit. She’s clearly not one of those ladies that chases bikers. I catch her trying to read my knuckles. “Survival” I put them together and show her what it says.

  “We’re going to give the lady a ride, ok?” I explain to Grey and hope he’s in a good mood.

  “I’m not getting in the truck with you guys! You could be rapists or serial killers.”

  “You hear that? She thinks we rapists. Leave her here and let’s go home. Good luck lady”, Grey is now beyond angry. I would classify him as furious at this point. Steam may be forming on his head where the cold rain hits his forehead.

  I stood up and faced him. “Grey. Look at her. If we leave her here something really bad could happen to her. We’ve gotta do the right thing”. I know he was really annoyed with me. I knew him well enough to read the look on his face. He also knew me well enough to know that I was a stubborn bastard and I wasn’t giving in. Doing the right thing was his usual downfall. He always told me that “the right thing to do is never the easy thing to do.” It was one of those rules that he lived by,and was willing to die by.

  He relented and, although he was still annoyed with me, he became the voice of reason, as always. This time he squatted down in front of her and looked her square in the eyes.

  “Lady, if we were serial killers or rapists we would have had you trussed up like a thanksgiving turkey and tossed in the back of the truck by now, but instead we’re being a gentlemen and trying to help you out. Frankly, it kinda seems like you don’t have too many options right now. It’s us or the street corner. Your call.” He held put a hand out to her and stood up.

  She stared at me for a few moments through her dripping wet bangs and black trails of mascara rolling down her chin. She nodded and took his outstretched hand. I helped her pick up her very wet and meager possessions and stuff them back into her handbag.

  Grey looked even less amused than he did before, but picked up her big silver suitcase and tossed it in the cab behind the driver’s seat. I helped her climb into the raised up truck and she slid over, the hurst shifter bumping her thigh and pushing her closer to my side. Her skin was like ice and I could feel her shivers through the fabric of my water logged jeans.

  All three of us were drenched and dripping now. The water pooled on the blue vinyl seats and the windows fogged up with condensation. Grey turned on the heat and defroster to clear it out, and I reached in the glove box and dug out a few rumpled fast food napkins and a fairly clean red shop towel.

  “I’m sorry.” she sniffed when I handed them to her. She wiped her eyes on the napkin, and blew her nose, “I’ve had a really bad day. I came home from work early, as a surprise, and found my boyfriend fucking his intern in our bed. Kinda makes a girl lose her shit, you know?” She tried blotting the water dripping off of her white silk blouse with the shop towel, but it left greasy tracks in the already wet and muddy mess. It was a lost cause. I stole a few glances at the tantalizing hint of her lace bra showing through the soaked fabric. Her rock hard nipples hadn’t escaped my attention either.

  “What a douchebag. You want me to kick his ass?”. I was only half kidding. A guy like that needed a good ass kicking.

  “That’s sweet of you to offer. I might take you up on that one day.” She sniffled a little more and wiped her nose, “He fired me. The asshole fired me! I’ve worked there since day one, hell, I helped him start the company”.

  Grey decided to join the conversation. “Were you his secretary?”

  “Oh, hell no. I was the Chief Financial Officer for Zimmerman Industries. I have a degree in business management and in accounting.”

  “Shit girl, with that much experience you’ll be able to get another job somewhere.”

  “Hah..probably not. I signed a non-competition contract, and David will blackball me with all of our business associates. I know that he’ll let word spread that I was terminated. I’ll end up doing taxes at a senior citizen center or maybe counting out cash registers at the Walmart”.

  “Sounds like a great guy, this David”. “David is a pretentious bastard. I should have ended it years ago, but I loved my job and knew I’d lose it if I left him.” I’m not sure if she was trying to justify her actions to us or to herself, but she just kept talking.

  “It’s not like we actually spent quality time together or had sex. We just lived together”. “But you were engaged to him? You were going to marry him?” She didn’t answer that question and we sat in awkward silence for a few minutes. The only sound was the rhythmic swish of the wipers.

  Grey jumped in again, “What the hell kind of job is worth fucking someone you don’t really like?”

  She really thought about the question and her forehead furrowed. She opened her mouth twice to speak, and closed it again both times. She frowned and started to speak again “well…” then stopped. A good five minutes of riding along in silence had passed when she finally responded. “None. I guess no job is worth that. I’ll miss my dog. I’ll miss my BMW. Currently, I miss having dry underwear, however, I don’t think I’ll really miss David Zimmerman at all. It’s funny you say that because when I was packing and leaving I wasn’t thinking about him. I was thinking about losing our home. I was thinking about losing my credibility and the respect that I earned in the business world.”

  “Grey is always the voice of reason”, I explained to her. She nodded her head.

  “I’m Joss, by the way. Jocelyn Hamilton.” We shook hands. “I’m Mick Caporillo and this prick is my best friend Grey Cantrell”. She held her hand to Grey but the asshole ignored it and stared at the wet road in front of us.

  We all sat quietly for a few more minutes until he activated the blinker and we turned into the driveway of our secluded little cabin. “Whoa, wait a minute boys, where are we?” The panic was back. I guess I probably should have explained where we were going, and I frankly didn’t think that Grey would actually let this possibly crazy and definitely hot woman into his sanctuary.

  “It’s pretty obvious you don’t have any place to go and you don’t have two nickels to rub together right now, so you can stay in our guest bedroom. For tonight.” Grey must have been feeling sorry for her and I was thankful because I was thinking she would probably look pretty good clean and dry. Underneath the mud I could tell she had a nice hourglass Jayne Mansfield figure. I love big round tits and a juicy peach shaped ass that I can get a grip on.

  “Well, I don’t want to intrude or interfere in your relationship”.

  “What the actual fuck woman? You think the two of us? That him and I? That we? Fuck no. We’ve shared a time or two, but we don’t cross swords, if you know what I’m saying”. Grey’s indignation to her comment made her laugh a little.

  “I”m sorry. I just thought you two were “together”, you know? The way you talk to each other. The way you argue like an old married couple.”

  Mick laughed with her, “Yeah, I guess I can see that. We’ve been friends for a long time. That’s it though.”

  Chapter 3--Joss

  Fuck! What was I thinking? I’m obviously not, I suppose. The big guy, Grey is clearly in charge. He is at least a foot taller and maybe ten years older than Mick, and still sports a clean shaven face and a those icy blue eyes are absolutely hypnotic. Mick is still taller than I am. Younger too by a few years. He has jet black hair, which is slicked back from the rain, and chocolate brown soulful eyes. He has dimples in both cheeks. I can see them when he smiles at me just over the top of the well groomed beard that covers his strong jawline. I’m wildly attracted to his stocky football player build and his tattooed olive skin, and I can only imagine how delicious he looks naked, with his hard pecs and muscular shoulders and arms.

  They have a really interesting familiarity between them, like they have
been together forever. Somehow, accusing my biker saviours of being homosexuals is still not the stupidest thing I’ve done tonight. It was close, however.

  Grey and Mick jumped out of the flat bed truck. Grey grabbed my luggage from behind the seat. I can feel his anger as it bangs against the door frame and he drops it down on the porch steps. I slid across the wet vinyl seat and took Mick’s hand, which he gallantly held out for me. I landed smack dab in the middle of another huge mud puddle in the middle of the rutted unpaved driveway to the cabin. I’m pretty sure my Jimmy Choo power pumps are beyond saving anyway.

  The cabin itself was cozy looking, although it was hard to tell through the storm. When the lightning flashed, I did notice the gorgeous natural riverstone chimney and a wrap around porch. The rustic Adirondack chairs flanking the extra tall eight foot split log door with a bubble glass window. Grey was serious about security, and it took him a minute to open a series of locks.

  It seemed improbable to me that serial killers would have such a fantastic little house, or at least, I hoped so. Right now, I don’t trust my own judgement very well. My muddy shoes were left outside the front door. I followed them inside, barefoot, and dragging along my waterlogged suitcase and dripping Coach signature hobo bag. Inside, the little cabin was surprisingly larger than it appeared to be from the outside. One wall was covered with the natural stone fireplace and a huge, man-sized, seventy inch flat screen television mounted over the thick hand hewn mantle. The furniture was a dark wine,a very masculine leather L-shaped sectional and vintage reclaimed wood cocktail table took up most of the space and a worn recliner completed it. The overhead lighting was made from several wood and iron barn pulleys that edison bulbs hung off of.

  The floor plan was open and I could see the ultra modern kitchen was also done in dark masculine tones, highlighted with modern stainless steel finishes with a splashy grey and black granite countertops. The entry way wall was dedicated to photos of men in Marine Corp Uniforms. Some were in the smart dress blues with shiny brass buttons and chest fulls of medals and ribbons, while in others they were in full battle dress with big ass guns, and posing in a desert village. Others yet, are men on motorcycles, or boats with big ass fish, and in hunting camo and orange hats. I take notice that there are no women or children to be found. For some reason I am relieved.

  Mick grabbed my wet bags from my hands. “Let’s put these in the laundry room. They’re puddling on Grey’s hardwood floors.” He disappeared into the back room. “This is a lovely home, Grey. Did you have a designer?” Shit. I’m an idiot. I don’t think bikers use interior decorators.

  He snorted derisively, “Nope. I built it myself”. “Really?” “Don’t sound so surprised”. “No, I didn’t mean it that way. Wow. It’s getting hard to talk with this big ass muddy foot stuffed deeply in my mouth. Let me try again. Grey, this is a beautiful home. You’ve done an amazing job on it. I particularly love the antique guns.” I walked towards a mounted collection under glass on a background of hunter green velvet. “ You have an incredible collection and they add to the genuine vibe of this place. That’s a genuine Colt Dragoon, right? No repros. About 1840’s or so?”

  “It’s genuine. One of the best ones in my collection. I’m impressed.” “Pre-Civil War revolvers are a very specific collection. Is that a Derringer.. 1842 Navy?” “Correct again. You have officially surprised the hell out of me. How is it that an accountant is familiar with antique weapons?” “Well, first of all, it is Chief Financial Officer, and second of all, my dad is an Army General. I used to visit him once a year during summer vacation, whether I wanted to or not. He was a collector, too. Guns were always a safe topic of conversation between me and the man that had no use for a female in his life.”

  “Oh shit. Grey will never shut up about his dusty old guns now”. He threw me a fluffy dark blue bath towel and I dried off my hair a bit, and blotted at my dripping clothes that were leaving drips and puddles on the gorgeous dark wood floors. “Fuck off, Mick”.

  “Joss, I am guessing you would probably really like a hot shower and some dry clothes, and from the way your belly was growling in the truck, maybe some food?” “Yes to all the above. Thank you, Mick.” He waved his hand towards the stairs. “ After you.” I knew I was leaving muddy drips on the hardwood and hoped that Grey would forgive me.

  “I threw your most of your clothes in the washer. Everything was pretty drenched and muddy”. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that most of my clothes were dry clean only and they were probably ruined. It just seemed moot at this precise time, so I just said “thank you.”

  “The one on the left is my room, the one on the right is Grey’s room. This is the guest room. It locks from the inside so you can feel safe in there.” I poked my head in and was thrilled to find a comfortable looking queen sized bed covered with down pillows and a colorful patchwork quilt. The room was completed with a big oak dresser and a rocking chair, both heavy and ancient. The walls were free of pictures and decoration, but the natural warmth of the naked wood walls were enough. It was cozy without being overly feminine or overly designed.

  The room shared a Jack and Jill bathroom with Mick’s bedroom. The big clawfoot tub in the corner looked like another genuine antique and the other corner was filled up with a modern, glass tiled shower. “Oh, this is perfect.” Nick smiled and ducked into his bedroom, returning quickly with more towels. “Lock the door behind me, and I’ll leave some dry clothes on your bed.”

  I locked both doors and stripped out of my soaked clothes. Even my panties were swamped from my puddle diving debacle and I am sure there is mud in my ass crack. I piled them all in the sink to avoid a further mess on the floor. I startled myself when I looked into the mirror over the vanity. I looked like a skidrow crack whore after a particularly busy Saturday night! Jesus, I can’t believe these guys even picked me up.

  My tight bun was a single muddy dreadlock hanging down over my left ear. My carefully applied Clinique mascara and eyeliner was reduced to rivulets of black down painting crooked zebra stripes down my face. My eyes were bloodshot and almost the same color as my bright red clown nose. I was reduced to this hot mess thanks to David fucking Zimmerman!

  I took a good hard look at myself in the mirror, staring at the unrecognizable mess of a woman that was staring back at me, and I realized that I was equally to blame for my misfortune. I mean, I didn’t stick my weiner into the intern, but I certainly didn’t do much to hold onto my relationship, if you can even call it that. I dove headfirst into the company and my career. My mother used to tell me that I was like a “hound dog with a new bone” when I get my sights set on something. I miss her. She’s been gone for more than ten years, but I still wish I could pick up the phone and hear her voice.

  The hot water washed away more than the mud and chills. It washed away most of my anger. A hot shower, a ton of shampoo and some deliciously spicy smelling and very masculine body wash, was exactly what I needed to get my head on straight again. By the time the water ran cool I had made a conscious decision to rebuild my life under my own terms.

  I found a blow dryer under the sink and dried my straight chestnut hair. I hope Mick doesn’t mind me using his hairbrush and that I also borrowed just a touch of hair mousse that was sitting on the counter. I finger brushed my teeth with some Crest from the medicine cabinet, since my luggage was in the laundry room. I also took note that there were no suspicious antibiotics or other concerning medications.

  After unlocking both doors, I am thrilled to find a pair of Marine Corp boxer shorts and a Harley t-shirt on the bed. Bless his heart, Mick even remembered a pair of oatmeal brown and red chunky boot socks for my freezing toes. The whole outfit was way too big, but it was warm and dry. I guess I’m going commando. I tied the t-shirt in a knot over my left hip bone and folded down the waistband of the boxers twice which made them super short, and resting on my hips and somewhat ample ass. At least I was clean and presentable.

  I realized that I hadn’t ate si
nce breakfast when my empty tummy let out a more urgent growl. I headed downstairs following the delicious aroma that was beginning to waft up the stairs. I noticed that the muddy drips i had left on the floor had already been cleaned up.

  Mick was at the stove, the smell of pan frying beef burgers slapped me in the face and made my stomach freaking snarl with need to be filled. He looked sexy as hell in the low slung sweatpants and white wifebeater he was wearing. His hair was dried and fuller with waves, but still pushed straight back over his forehead.

  I had never had a man cook for me before. It was sexy as hell. The adorable dimpled smile he shot me over his shoulder would have made my panties dampen, if I had any on. I sat down at the breakfast bar and took the opportunity to openly stare at his intricate tattoos that were left uncovered by the thin fabric. The ribbed tank did absolutely nothing to conceal the ripples of his rock hard abs and the outline of even more ink. One entire arm was covered from wrist to shoulder and it spilled over onto his smooth pecs and part of his neck. It seemed to be one giant homage to the military and motorcycles.

  Chapter 4--Mick

  I knew she’d be cute dry. Cute, hell, she was beautiful. I glanced over my shoulder when I hear her shuffle into the kitchen and give her a smile. I love to cuddle up with a curvy woman. Bones are for dogs. Real men eat meat! On top of that I’m pretty well endowed and the last thing I want is to slam the head of my cock on her spine when I’m going in deep. I had already planned on offering a shoulder to cry on and a rebound dick to bounce on. Now I have a vision in my head of what she’s going to look like on top of me, my hands full of those meaty hips, with that long brown red hair covering her ample C cups and her head thrown back in ecstasy. I catch her checking out my tattoos when she thinks I’m not looking.