Caught Inbetween

Chapter 1 From where she was in the kitchen making sandwiches for lunch, Lori Callahan heard a tremendous crash upstairs that rattled the ceiling and shook the light fixture overhead. She paused, mayonnaise half-spread across one slice of bread, and glanced up as if she could possibly see through to the room above. For a long moment, she held her breath, waiting for another noise, a second crash or a shout or something to indicate what was happening up there, but nothing came. She exhaled and bit the inside of her lower lip. She didn’t want to interfere, but what if someone had gotten hurt? Taking a deep breath, she raised her voice and called out, “Everything okay up there?” In response, a male voice drifted down the stairs of the townhouse apartment. “Goddamn it the hell!” That didn’t sound good. Lori quickly finished spreading the mayo on the bread, then set it and the knife aside on the counter. She wiped her hands on a nearby dish towel. “Jack? You and Brandt okay?” No answer this time. She frowned at the fixings on the counter—mayo and mustard, shaved ham and turkey from the deli, sliced tomatoes and cheese. The slices of bread distributed two per plate, smeared with mayo and mustard, ready to be crafted into sandwiches. A bag of barbecue-flavored potato chips sat within reach, waiting to be opened and doled out. Lori had wanted to surprise her men with lunch, carrying the plates upstairs once the sandwiches were ready, which they weren’t, not yet. Should she run up now and make sure everything was alright? That crash had not sounded good. Or should she wait until the sandwiches were made? Surely if anything was bleeding or broken, someone would’ve come downstairs by now, right? These are guys, so not necessarily, she reminded herself. Jack thinks electrical tape doubles as a Band-Aid, remember. Another floor-shuddering crash came from above and made up her mind for her. Leaving the sandwiches unmade, she crossed the kitchen and climbed the short flight of steps to the small landing that served as a catch-all at the foot of the stairs. With one hand on the railing, she called out again, “Jack? Brandt?” “We’re fine!” Jack snapped, his gruff voice harried. “If some dumbass would stop dropping s**t…” “Hey!” Brandt cried. Even though she couldn’t see them, Lori had no problems telling them apart—his voice was higher than Jack’s and sounded much younger, though they were roughly the same age. Chalk that up to Jack’s dalliance with heavy smoking in his youth. “I know you’re not talking about me.” Jack spat back, “Who the hell else do you think I’m talking about? Who else is up here?” Lori hurried up the stairs, hoping to intercede before things went any farther. She loved both men, she did—and she knew for a fact they loved each other; they’d been together for years before she even came along—but God, could they fight! Like two kids in the schoolyard, brawling over stupid s**t mostly, like which late night talk show comedian was funnier, and whose burgers were better, McDonald’s or Burger King’s? And she couldn’t forget their earlier argument that day, over what type of backyard barbecue grill produced better food, charcoal or gas—this while they were at Home Depot to buy the lumber and tools needed to finally turn their third bedroom into a craft room for her. They weren’t even there to buy a grill, for Christ’s sake, so the entire point was moot anyway, but no, they had to bicker about it the whole ride home. Sometimes Lori thought the guys only chose opposing sides to be ornery. Secretly she suspected they liked fighting, for whatever reason. When she first met up with them, it had even been sort of cute. But two months of living with it day in and day out was getting old, and quick. At the top of the stairs, she could hear them at it, their voices carrying down the hallway from the small bedroom at the end. The door was only partially shut. “No, that doesn’t go there,” Jack said, his voice hard, commanding. “Give it to me, will you? You’re not following the plans—” “What plans?” Brandt tossed back. “There are no plans, Jack. You’re making this up as you go along and you know it. We’re just building a few shelves. It isn’t rocket science.” “You’re using the wrong wood,” Jack told him. “We got the two-by-fours for the shelves and the longer slats are for the sides, so put down the saw already. We’re not cutting anything yet.” Brandt muttered darkly, “I’ll cut you.” That earned him a sharp bark of a laugh. “Yeah, try it and I’ll break your goddamn arm. Just listen to me for once in your life, will you already? I said—” “I heard what you said! This is your goddamn project, not mine. So you know what? Why don’t you just make the whole f*****g thing yourself?” Something clattered to the floor—Lori hoped it wasn’t the saw, jeez, Brandt knew better than to be throwing tools around, didn’t he? She headed down the hall, hoping to diffuse the situation. “Hey, guys?” she called out, keeping her voice bright and cheery. “I’m making sandwiches for lunch. If you want—” Suddenly the door surged open and Brandt filled the doorway. He only stood a head taller than Lori did, but he had wide shoulders and a broad chest that tapered down to a narrow waist, and high, firm buttocks she and Jack loved to squeeze with both hands. His blond hair, not easily tamed under the best of circumstances, currently flew out in all directions, probably because he’d been running his hands through it all morning in frustration. His gray-green eyes flashed with anger that dimmed when he saw her, but he was too riled up at Jack to stop. “Lori,” he said tersely with a nod, then shouldered her aside as gently as he could before he stormed off down the hall. At the end, he swiveled on one foot, holding onto the newel post for balance, and thundered down the stairs. Two seconds later, she heard the apartment door open then slam shut as he went outside. Well, crap. She toyed with the idea of running after him, but really, that wasn’t her place. It wasn’t her fault he’d gone off in a huff now, was it? Jack really should go after him… From the soon-to-be craft room came the sound of wooden shelves tumbling to the ground, followed by Jack cursing and kicking them out of his way. No, she’d known the two men long enough to know the likelihood of Jack going after Brandt to apologize was about the same as her suddenly getting selected to be America’s Next Top Model. Sure, she was pretty enough to look at, but she wasn’t walking down any runways in her size twelve cutoff jean shorts anytime soon. Cautiously she placed a hand on the door frame and peered inside the room. Her chipper voice really sounded forced now. “What ‘cha doing?” she sing-songed. Jack stood by the window, hands on his hips, probably glaring outside at Brandt. When he heard her, he turned and, after a moment, gave her a disarming smile. He was tall and lean, dressed in a denim button-down shirt that hung open over a tan T-shirt tucked into his battered jeans. The big belt buckle and the cowboy boots he wore gave him an easy, laid-back aura, but Lori knew he could get riled up over the littlest things. Not with her—never with her—but something about Brandt always seemed to set him off. His smile softened his rough features and crinkled his bright blue eyes, taking years off his appearance. He wore his hair loose and long—it fell from his crown like a curtain on either side of his face. Once a rich brown, the soft strands were now threaded through with gray, making him look older than he was. Both he and Brandt were just shy of forty, Lori knew; she herself had celebrated her thirty-third birthday last year, and at the time she thought she’d waited too late to settle down. Then I met these two big lug heads and the rest, as they say, is history, she thought. Returning Jack’s smile, she asked, “What’s going on up here?” Jack waved a hand around the room. In one corner sat a desk stacked high with boxes filled with her craft supplies—scrapbook paper and washi tape and glitter glue, yarn and crochet hooks and knitting needles, embroidery floss and cross stitch kits, felt and fabric, needles and thread. Her sewing machine was hidden beneath a protective cover she’d quilted herself. More boxes held craft books and projects in progress, as well as things she’d completed that she hoped to display at some point. All her hobbies were hidden away so neatly at the moment in one little section of the apartment, finally out of the storage unit she’d been renting since Jack and Brandt had asked her to move in with them. The rest of the room, though…it was, in short, a mess. Paint cans sat in an unused tray, a couple of roller frames and brushes on the floor nearby. Lengths of wood lay strewn about like a giant’s game of pick-up sticks. Two workhorses were set up with a large board across them to form a makeshift table, where Jack’s iPad rested, along with a hammer, some nails, a level, a carpenter pencil, and a fat tape measure. More tools cluttered the floor by the base of the workhorses—hammers and nails, screwdrivers, a drill, brackets, a jigsaw, even some little metal pieces Lori had no name for but were scattered across the carpet, where they had obviously fallen victim to Brandt’s tantrum. On the walls, the potential shelves were marked off with blue tape. One bracket had been set into place, but apparently things had deteriorated after that, because everything else lay in ruins at Lori’s feet. “What’s it look like?” Jack asked, his smile twisting into a sardonic smirk. “I’m building you a craft room, that’s what’s going on up here.” Lori took a tentative step into the room, but she was barefoot and afraid of stepping on something she shouldn’t, so she leaned back against the door jamb and crossed her arms over her belly. “I meant with you and Brandt.” With an exasperated sigh, Jack ran a hand through his hair to push it out of his eyes. It felt back into place to perfectly frame his face. “The same ol’, same ol’. Why the hell he won’t listen to me…” He trailed off and propped both hands on his hips again as he surveyed the room. Lori waited. She knew his anger was fleeting—they never stayed mad at each other for long. But it could get so tiring when they were in the middle of a fight. At least it isn’t over me, she thought. They fought before they knew me, and thank God they don’t fight over me, so at least there’s that. Jack crossed the room and reached for her. She kept her arms wrapped around herself, but he caught her biceps and leaned down, kissing her forehead as he said softly, “Don’t worry about it, babe. You know how we get.” “And somehow I love you two anyway,” she murmured. He grinned and planted the next kiss on her lips. “Make-up s*x is the best sex.” Her response was a noncommittal, “Hmm.” “Just you wait and see,” he promised. “When Brandt comes back—” “Aren’t you ever afraid someday he won’t?” she asked. Jack looked at her as if she was crazy. “No. Why wouldn’t he?” With a sigh, she started, “If you piss him off enough—” He silenced her with another kiss. “Trust me, that’ll never happen. We’ve been together too long. He always comes back.” Lori wasn’t so sure. In the time she’d known them—two months living together, eight months dating before that, and the few weeks between when they first met and when they started considering themselves a threesome—she’d seen her fair share of arguments and fights. Nothing physical, thank God, but lots of yelling and bickering and sniping at each other. At first she’d thought it was cute, then she tried to step in to stop it. When she realized she couldn’t stop it, she tried to curb it, or at least smooth things over. Nothing worked. The two guys continued to gripe and b***h and moan, more like a pair of siblings than lovers. But Jack was right, the s*x afterwards was always amazing. Not to say that s*x any other time was bad, because it wasn’t. She’d soon grown used to waking up sandwiched between two gorgeous men in the king-sized bed they shared, arms and legs twined together, someone’s hand on her backside and someone else’s on her breast. A mouth on hers first thing in the morning, a stiffening c**k between her buttocks, the gentle movements of the three of them blending together in one glorious, orchestrated release. Or evenings spent falling asleep satiated, tangled all up in the sheets, not knowing where one began and the others ended. And when she wasn’t in the mood, she lay on her side and watched her men make love, turned on by the tenderness they showed to each other, amazed at how loving they could be when words didn’t get in the way. Most times she eventually join in, aching to take part, and she’d wait until Jack came in Brandt before climbing between them to guide Brandt’s d**k into her wet p***y so he’d come in her, too. Maybe Jack could read something of her thoughts in her eyes, because his grin softened and he murmured, “Don’t fret your pretty little head, baby. You know he’ll be back soon enough.” Lori nodded. Yes, she knew. Jack ran a finger down the cleft of her chin. “Now, did you say something about lunch?”