The waiter brought their orders with practiced efficiency. Pasta primavera for Sarah, chicken marsala for Eric. Wine for both, though Eric suspected he'd need something stronger before this conversation was over.
Eric paid without comment, his card sliding across the table. The waiter departed, leaving them alone in their corner booth with nothing but food and tension between them.
They ate in silence.
Eric would have loved to talk, to fill the awkward space with words, explanations, apologies. But what could he say? Every opening line that formed in his mind sounded hollow, inadequate for the situation he'd created.
So he played with his pasta instead, twirling it on his fork without actually eating, his crystalline blue eyes fixed on his plate like it held the answers to questions he didn't know how to ask.
Sarah ate with mechanical precision, each bite measured, her blue eyes never leaving her own plate. Her jaw was tight, shoulders rigid. The beautiful dress she'd worn suddenly felt like armor she'd put on for a battle she hadn't expected to fight.
Minutes stretched into eternity.
Fork scraping plate. Glasses being lifted and set down. The ambient noise of the restaurant around them, other couples laughing and talking, making the silence at their table even more pronounced.
Finally, Sarah set down her fork with deliberate force. The sound made Eric look up.
"I can't do this," Sarah said, her voice tight with suppressed emotion. "I can't sit here pretending everything's fine while we eat in complete silence."
"Sarah—"
"No, let me talk." She took a breath, visibly steeling herself. "I like you, Eric. I've liked you for a while now. Months, actually. Since before I probably should have admitted it to myself."
Eric's fork stilled completely.
"At first I had conflicting thoughts," Sarah continued, words tumbling out now that she'd started. "I kept questioning if I was really sure, if what I felt was real or just some stupid crush. But the more time passed, the more certain I became. The feelings just kept growing stronger."
She looked up, meeting his eyes directly. Her own were bright with unshed tears.
"I'm jealous of your clients," Sarah said, the admission clearly costing her. "At least they get to spend time with you. Real time. They get to see all of you, know all of you. I don't have that luxury. I get whatever scraps of attention you have left over after work, and even then I'm sharing you with Rafe."
Eric opened his mouth, but no words came out.
"That's why I judge you so much," Sarah said, and a tear finally escaped, tracking down her cheek. "Why I'm always on your case about your work. It's not because I think you're wasting your potential, though I do think that. It's because every time you take a client, every time you sleep with someone for money, I think about how that could have been me. Should have been me. And I hate it. I hate feeling this jealous and possessive over someone who isn't even mine."
The confession hung between them, raw and honest.
Eric stared at Sarah, at this woman he'd known for two years but apparently hadn't known at all. His mind raced, processing, analyzing, trying to formulate a response that wouldn't destroy what fragile thing existed between them.
He went back to his pasta, twirling it again, the motion giving him something to do with his hands.
Finally, he spoke. One word, heavy with meaning.
"Rafe."
Sarah's expression shifted immediately, understanding dawning. "The bro code," she said flatly. "Never date your bro's sister."
"It's not just code," Eric said quietly. "He's my best friend. My only real friend in this city besides you. If something happened between us and it went wrong, I'd lose both of you. That's not a risk I take lightly."
"It's not Rafe's business," Sarah shot back, anger flashing in her eyes. "Does he ask my permission before dating Jennifer? Does he consult me on his love life? No. This is my heart we're talking about, Eric. My feelings. My choice."
"Sarah—"
"Rafe is my brother and I love him," Sarah continued, her voice rising slightly. "But he's not going to marry me. He doesn't get to choose who I date or who I fall for. That's my decision, not his."
Eric ran both hands through his copper-orange hair, frustration and conflict warring inside him. "It's not that simple."
"Why not?"
"Because even if I agreed, even if something started between us..." Eric met her eyes, needing her to understand. "I wouldn't stop my job. I can't stop. The money, the clients, the work. That's my life right now."
"I know that—"
"And I'm not monogamous," Eric interrupted. "Even leaving out my work, even if you ignore the fact that I sleep with women for money, I love women, Sarah. Plural. I always have. Since I was old enough to understand what attraction meant, I knew I wasn't wired for exclusivity. I can't be locked to just one person. I've tried to imagine it and I can't."
He leaned forward, needing her to really hear this. "So the main problem isn't Rafe, though that's a problem. The main problem is could you stand it? Could you handle the fact that even when we're dating, I'm sleeping with other women? New women, constantly? Clients who pay me, yes, but also women I meet and want and pursue for no reason except desire? Can you actually handle sharing me with dozens of others, knowing you're just one of many?"
Eric waited for the shock, the hurt, the inevitable anger. Waited for Sarah to realize what he was really saying and run like any reasonable person would.
Instead, Sarah laughed.
Not a bitter laugh. Not a hurt laugh. A genuine, amused laugh that caught Eric completely off guard.
"You think I don't know that?" Sarah asked, her smile now tinged with something knowing. "Eric, I've known you for two years. I've watched you operate. I've seen the parade of women in and out of your life. I know what you are. What you like. What drives you."
"Then why—"
"Because I've already made up my mind," Sarah said simply. "I knew before I kissed you that night that this was what I'd be getting into. I've already accepted that I'll have to share you with others. All I need is a promise."
Eric stared at her, trying to understand.
"Keep a soft spot reserved just for me," Sarah said, her voice softer now, more vulnerable. "That's all I'm asking. I'll be the first of your harem. The one who knows you best, who knew you before this all started. Just promise me I'll always have that place."
"Harem?" Eric repeated, the word sounding surreal. "Why call it a harem?"
Sarah's smile widened. "Because that's what it is, isn't it? You're building a collection. Multiple women, all connected to you in different ways. That's literally the definition of a harem. Might as well call it what it is."
Despite everything, despite the tension and confusion and complexity of the situation, Eric found himself laughing too. "You're insane. You know that, right? Completely insane."
"Probably," Sarah agreed. "But I'd rather be insane with you than sane without you."
They finished dinner in a much lighter mood, the confession having cleared the air between them. They talked about easier things. Rafe's date with Jennifer, Sarah's volleyball team, Eric's morning runs. Normal conversation that felt precious after the emotional intensity.
When the check came, Eric paid again without comment. They left Bellamy's together, walking side by side to where Eric had parked.
The evening air was cool, pleasant. Stardale's lights glittered around them, the city alive with Monday night energy.
"Thank you for dinner," Sarah said as they reached Eric's car. "And for listening. For not running away when I dumped all of that on you."
"I'm not much of a runner when it comes to emotions," Eric admitted, unlocking the car. "More of a stumbler who eventually figures it out."
Sarah laughed, then turned to face him properly. "So what now?"
"Now I drive you home like a gentleman," Eric said, opening her door.
"And after that?"
Eric paused, his hand on the door, looking at Sarah. Really looking at her. The woman who'd just confessed feelings and acceptance in the same breath. Who'd called his complicated life a harem and laughed about it. Who wanted him despite knowing exactly what she'd be getting.
"After that," Eric said slowly, "we figure it out as we go."
Sarah smiled, that brilliant expression that transformed her whole face, and climbed into the passenger seat.
Eric walked around to the driver's side, his mind still processing everything that had been said. He slid behind the wheel, started the engine, and pulled out into traffic.
They drove in comfortable silence for a few blocks. Then Sarah's hand found his on the gear shift, her fingers interlacing with his.
Eric glanced over. Sarah was looking at him with an expression he'd never seen before. Not judgment, not criticism. Something warmer, deeper. Something that made his chest tighten in unfamiliar ways.
At a red light, Sarah leaned across the center console.
The kiss caught Eric by surprise. Not the fact of it, but the intensity. Sarah's lips pressed against his with desperate hunger, her hand coming up to cup his face, pulling him closer.
Eric responded automatically, his free hand finding the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her long red hair. The kiss deepened, tongues meeting, two years of suppressed tension and newly acknowledged feelings pouring out in a single moment.
The light turned green. Someone honked behind them.
They broke apart, both breathing hard. Sarah's blue eyes were dark with arousal, her lips swollen from the kiss.
"Drive," she said, her voice husky. "Your apartment. Take me to your apartment."
Eric's brain short-circuited. "What?"
"You heard me." Sarah's hand slid from the gear shift to his thigh, her fingers dangerously high. "I want to go to your house. I want you. In me. Now."
"Sarah, we should think about this—"
"We're dating now," Sarah interrupted, her hand moving higher, making Eric's dick respond immediately. "It's only natural. Unless you don't want to?"
Her hand brushed against the growing bulge in his jeans, and Eric's protest died in his throat.
"I want to," he admitted, his voice rough. "God, I want to. But you need to understand what you're asking for."
"I understand perfectly." Sarah's smile was wicked, confident, nothing like her usual reserved demeanor. "I'm asking you to take me home and fuck me. Is that clear enough?"
Eric's dick throbbed painfully against his jeans. Every rational thought was fighting against the overwhelming surge of desire that Sarah's words had triggered.
"You don't know what you're asking for," Eric tried one more time, even as he found himself turning the car toward his apartment instead of hers.
"Then show me," Sarah challenged. "Teach me. I want to know what all those clients get. What makes them pay thousands of dollars. I want all of it, Eric."
Her hand squeezed him through his jeans, and Eric's hands tightened on the steering wheel.
'This is a terrible idea,' his rational brain screamed. 'She's your best friend's sister. This changes everything. Once you cross this line, there's no going back.'
But his body had other priorities. His dick was rock hard now, straining against the confines of his jeans, responding to Sarah's touch and words with urgent demand.
Sarah leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear. "I'm so wet right now," she whispered. "I've been wet since that kiss. My pussy is soaking through my panties thinking about what you're going to do to me."
"Fuck," Eric groaned, pressing harder on the accelerator.
Rational thought was losing the battle. Sarah's hand on his cock, her dirty words, the mental image of her wet and wanting. All of it combining into an overwhelming need that overrode every logical reason to stop.
His apartment building appeared ahead, and Eric made the decision.
'This is going to be a long night,' he thought, pulling into his parking spot.
Sarah was already unbuckling her seatbelt, her blue eyes dark with lust, her breathing quick and shallow.
"Come on," she said, opening her door. "I need you inside me. Now."
Eric climbed out of the car, his dick throbbing with every step as they headed for the building entrance.
One more line crossed. One more complication added to an already complicated life.
But looking at Sarah, at the hunger in her eyes, the promise of what was about to happen, Eric couldn't bring himself to care about the consequences.
Tonight, he'd deal with want instead of should.
Everything else could wait until morning