“Geez, I’m sorry,” I stammer, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. He’s never really yelled at me before and that happy grin I was wearing a moment ago has melted away. Behind me, I hear Hunter stirring from the couch.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“Iz, it has coconut milk in it,” Drake says.
And instantly I pause, mid-reach to the non-Xmarked box. My eyes drift upward to Drake’s.
“How did you know I have a coconut allergy?”
His expression morphs into a look like I’ve offended him. “I’ve always known. You told me that like the first time we ate together. I had to stop ordering the coconut cream pie from the diner because you would always steal the crust. Did you really think I forgot about that?”
I’m frozen in place, staring at him, and something suddenly starts to sting in my throat—and it’s not an allergic reaction.
“I…I’m sorry,” I stammer, quickly looking down at the safe-to-eat curry in front of me. “I guess I forgot that you knew about that.”
It’s tense for a moment, and I feel Hunter’s hand on my back as he takes the other non-coconut dish. He sends me a quick, tight-lipped smile, but I can’t seem to shake this feeling that something has been here all along…and I’m only now starting to see it clearly.
Rule #19: Sometimes joining is better than watching.
Hunter
I hadthe sex dungeon planned long before I knew I’d be instigating sex between my wife and best friend. I assumed when I booked it that Isabel and I would wear the master bedroom out while Drake found himself some company for the spare bedroom, like he so often does.
Now I’m picturing her cuffed to the spanking bench with his cock down her throat, and I’m not sure what the fuck is wrong with me…because that image is amazing. It’s the only reason I don’t have an appetite for food and keep glancing back and forth between them and waiting for the moment when I can appropriately tell them to take their clothes off and start fucking.
But things are strangely loaded between them now. Not in a bad way, in more of a serious way. I don’t know why Isabel wouldn’t have known Drake would remember her coconut allergy. Maybe that comes from a childhood of being mostly forgotten and ignored. I’ve spent the last decade drilling it into her head—the ones who love you, show it.
And still, she acts so surprised that the guy who’s been around her as much as I have in the past ten years remembers that she has a food allergy. I bet she’d be shocked to learn that he also knows her favorite movie isEmpire Records. Her favorite song is “Hallelujah” and her favorite flavor of ice cream is butter pecan.
Drake knows almost as much about her as I do. And as of this week, he knows her as intimately as I do too.
I notice Isabel is picking at her food now, paying more attention to her margarita than her dinner, which means she’s trying to loosen up as well. I glance up at the clock and see it’s a little after nine.
“I need a shower,” Drake announces after his food is gone.
“Me too,” she replies, putting her uneaten takeout in the fridge. A slow, evil smirk stretches across my face.
“Well, this place might have two beds…but it only has one shower.”
Drake pauses midway to the bathroom and stares at me. “Oh really?”
I nod. “Afraid so.”
Isabel is biting her lip, staring back and forth between me and Drake.
“Well, okay then. What do you say, coconuts? Want to get clean before we get dirty?”
“Umm…” she barely gets a response out before he’s hoisting her out of her chair, throwing her over his shoulder and carting her to the bathroom off the hallway. In no hurry, I pour myself a shot of tequila and take one slow sip after another until it’s gone, allowing the liquid to burn its way down my throat. I like the idea of letting them get warmed up before the good stuff.
“This thing is huge!” Isabel calls, letting out a giggle after the words leave her mouth, and I smile, imagining what Drake might be doing to make her laugh. I love her tipsy giggles. My girl’s no lightweight, but after just one drink, her smile and her laughter take on a new cuteness that is both sweet and sexy at the same time.
“I assume you’re talking about the shower,” I reply with a smile, pouring myself a second shot.
“I was,” she calls.
I hear the water running, muffling the sounds of their voices, so I can’t make out what they’re saying. Until she calls out again, “Big enough for three…” She draws out the word in a sultry sing-songy tone, like a siren calling me to the depths of the ocean.
I’m frozen in place as I stare down at the amber liquid in the glass in my hand. Should I join them? Do I want to? Assuming it’s just a shower…is that crossing a line with Drake? We are still just friends, and it would be very out of character to shower together.