This means so little to him. It couldn’t possibly mean more to me.
“Stop saying that,” I grit through my teeth.
“I’m not going to be ashamed of what I want. Even if I can’t have it. I have never passed judgment on you for your sexual activity or the things you like, so I don’t understand why you’re being so dramatic over mine.”
“Maybe becauseI’minvolved.”
“You’re onlyinvolved,” he replies, leaning closer so no one else can overhear us. “Because my little fantasy involves watching someone with my wife, and you’re literally the only person on earth I would trust enough to do that.”
“Do you hear yourself?” I reply in a low whisper, leaning closer. “You’re asking me to sleep with Isabel.”
Then, point-blank with his stoic eyes focused on mine, he asks, “Do you want to?”
And I’m rendered speechless. All the rehearsals I did in my head for how I would answer this, without sounding fake or forced, are useless now because it’s written clear as day on my face.
Instead of answering, I stare slack-jawed at him, and it’s enough of a confirmation for him. I quickly pull away, grabbing my beer and guzzling the rest of it down.
“You think I’m mad because you want her?” he asks, but I ignore him, nodding at the bartender, so he knows to refill my empty glass. He walks over, giving Hunter a skeptical side-eye as he takes my glass and carries it over to the tap.
Hunter continues, “Drake, I’m not surprised you want her. Who wouldn’t? If anything, the fact that you do want her and haven’t made a move proves to me more than anything how good of a friend you are.”
“So, thisisa test?”
“No,” he barks.
“It’s not normal,” I mutter as the bartender returns my glass, foaming at the top, and I quickly take a long drink.
“Define normal,” Hunter replies.
“You are my best friend, and that is just a line you don’t cross.”
“I’m asking you to cross it.”
“When you got married, I stood at the altar next to you. I was there when you made those vows, and I took them very fucking seriously.”
“I’m not breaking vows, Drake. It’s just sex.”
I don’t know if I’m losing my patience because he won’t give up or because he’s starting to wear me down. Or because I know Hunter always gets what he wants. I know, deep down, that if this is really what he wants, he’s going to get it. Even if I say no. Even if Isabel already did. Hunter will somehow get us to say yes and he’ll get what he wants because he always does.
Turning toward him, I give him a scathing glare. “My parents were never married. I never even met my dad. The only marriage I know is yours, and it’s sacred, maybe not to you, but to me. I would rather die before I did anything to jeopardize that. Please don’t ask me to do this.”
I feel the curious stares of the people at the bar now, but the only pair of eyes I see are the dark brown ones staring back at me. There’s heavy emotion in his features, telling me that he’s listening. That he feels something about what I’m saying, but I’m afraid it’s still not enough.
Then he leans closer to me, his jeans brushing against mine as his knee squeezes between my legs, and I have to force myself to swallow because Hunter doesn’t see touches like that the same way I do. They don’t affect him the way they affect me, so I bite my tongue and keep quiet.
“Maybe the reason my marriage is so sacred to you is because you’ve always been a part of it. And maybe what I’m asking you isn’t so crazy, after all.”
I’m frozen in place as he drops a twenty on the bar and gets up from his seat. Even as he walks out of the bar, I’m stuck in a state of shock.
What the fuck was that supposed to mean?
* * *
When I get backto the hotel, four tall beers later, I find it empty and quiet. They must have gone sightseeing, after all.
We’re supposed to check out another club tonight, and normally, I’d be all for that, but right now, the idea is turning me off. The only thing I want to do right now is take a piss, sleep off this beer buzz, and pretend this morning didn’t happen.
Groggily, I wander down the hall toward the bathroom, and charge through the closed door, heading straight for the toilet. But I don’t make it to the toilet. Instead, the feminine gasp and the sight of pale, freckled flesh in front of me halts my movement.