Drake
There’s no two-drink limit at this club. There probably should be because Hunter and Isabel have been gone for almost an hour, and I’ve been sucking down vodka tonics like they’re nothing.
I touched Isabel. That’s the thought that’s currently playing on repeat in my head. I touched her, kissed her, felt the soft cushion of her ass, grazed the pooling arousal of her pussy with my fingers, and tasted the sweetness of her lips.
This might come as quite a shock, but I don’t actually kiss women—or men, for that matter—very often. It’s usually a couple quick, soulless kisses and then we’re naked and our mouths are elsewhere.
Truth be told, I actually enjoy kissing men more. You can be rougher with a man, and the growing scruff of facial hair adds a little bit of texture to the act.
But I didn’t want to be rough with Isabel. I wanted to savor her. I wanted to let my mouth celebrate the softness that was her. It was the most intimate kiss of my life, and the only one I’m ever going to get, so I’m glad it’s permanently etched in my memory.
On the bright side, Hunter flipped out, which I knew he would, so the deal is off.
Hallelujah.
I should be so happy right now. Instead, I’m drunk. And alone. And I’m sure he’s in some room somewhere, fucking her senseless to undo everything I did…even if she was slick with the arousal I gave her.
Jesus fucking Christ, what is wrong with me?
“Another,” I mutter, grabbing the attention of the bartender, who brings it over with a reluctant, tight-lipped smile.
“This is your last one,” he replies. “And I’m making it weak.”
I shrug. It’s irresponsible to serve alcohol in a sex club anyway, but lucky for them, I’m a complete gentleman.
“Let’s go,” a soft voice murmurs in my ear, and I turn to see a flush-faced Isabel, running her hand softly against my back.
“I just ordered a drink,” I reply, turning back to my watered-down tonic.
“We have drinks at the hotel.”
I’m filled with bitterness. I know I shouldn’t be. I signed up for this, and I did what I came here to do. I scared this idea right out of Hunter’s head, but at what cost? Now I’ve had a taste of the one woman I can’t have, and I have to deal with that forever. So she can let me have this drink.
“I’ll meet you there. Where’s Hunter?”
“Saying goodbye to the owner. Come with us,” she pleads.
“No. Just because you two don’t have to go home alone, doesn’t mean I should. I’m going to try and find someone for the night. I’ll see you later.” Before turning back to my drink, I catch the expression of devastation on her face.
“Seriously?” she argues.
“Seriously,” I mutter.
As she turns to walk away from me, someone blocks her path. At first, I register it as Hunter, so I don’t react. But then I hear a stranger’s voice in a low, husky tone.
“If he won’t go with you, I will.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and chills run down my spine.
“No, thank you,” Isabel replies, trying to move around him, but he blocks her again. “Come on, sweetheart.”
“She said no, motherfucker,” I growl.
When his hands wrap around her waist, hauling her to his side against her will, I see red. There’s no bar, no club, no rules or decorum. There is only his hands on her and the look of helplessness and disgust on her face as she tries to pry herself out of his grasp.
I don’t remember standing up or marching toward him. All I know is one second I hear her scream and the next moment, he’s on the floor and my fist is throbbing.
“Drake!” she yelps, and I don’t know if she’s mad or scared, but suddenly, chaos ensues.
Security guards are hauling me toward the door, but I can’t see Isabel anymore, and it has me panicking. So I fight against their hold to get to her, which only makes them more aggressive. I’m not a small man by any means, and these three bouncers aren’t big enough to handle me in desperation mode. What starts as a couple arms around mine, as they try to drag me to the exit, quickly turns into a chokehold with my face pressed against the floor and a knee in my back.
“Get your fucking hands off of him,” a deep, familiar voice growls, and I lift my head just enough to see Hunter snarling in the face of one of the security guards.
“Tell him to calm the fuck down and we will,” the man argues.
“He was clearly defending me!” Isabel shrieks. I hate the terror in her voice. This is all my fault.
“Lady, back the fuck up,” one of the guards snaps at her, and there’s a scuffle again. This time, I have enough room to fight my way off the floor, and I jump up in time to see Hunter fighting with one of the men in all black.
God, when was the last time the two of us have been in a brawl—a long, fucking time, that’s how long. And definitely before Isabel.
I know how desperate I am to get her out of here. I can guarantee Hunter is even more so. So as much as I’d like to help him put these handsy guards in their place, my first objective is to get her the hell out of here.
I grab Isabel by the hand and latch a fist on Hunter’s collar as I drag both of them toward the bright red exit sign.
Hunter is still yelling threats at the bouncers as we make our way out into the warm night air, where it’s instantly quiet and muggy, the only sound being our own heavy breathing.
“Fuck that place!” Hunter barks.
“Are you okay?” I ask Isabel.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking,” Hunter notices as he pulls her into his arms. I stifle the rising feeling of jealousy at the sight.
“Let’s just go, please,” she replies.
The hotel is only a few blocks away, and we walked here, so we head out on foot toward the hotel. We’re all still fuming about the altercation at the club.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have drunk that much,” I say, breaking the silence first.
“It’s not your fault,” Isabel replies, placing a hand on my arm.
“They need a two-drink limit,” Hunter grumbles. “And to vet their members better. That shit would never happen at Salacious.”
“Never,” I reply.
The click-click of Isabel’s heels draw my attention to her feet. She’s wearing black stilettos and they do not look comfortable for a three-block walk. Grabbing her arm, I stop her.
“You can’t walk all this way in those.”
She glances down at her feet. “I’m fine. They’re comfortable.”
I tilt my head to the side and glare at her.
“What?” she argues. “Are you going to give me your shoes?”
“Come on, I’ll carry you.” Turning around, I kneel, so she can reach my back, and I wait for her to climb on.
“Drake, you can’t carry me all the way back.”
“Remember when you twisted your ankle on our ski trip and I had to carry you all the way down the mountain? That was nothing, and this time, you don’t have ten pounds of ski gear on. Just quit arguing with me and climb on.”
She lets out a long sigh. Then she slips each shoe off, hands them to Hunter, and quickly climbs onto my back. My hands grasp onto her thighs that are squeezing around my waist as we start our walk again. I can’t help but notice Hunter is wearing a crooked smirk on his face.
“This is hardly the dress to wear for piggyback rides,” she says, her voice just next to my ear.
“Your underwear isn’t showing,” Hunter replies from behind us.
“Barely,” she adds, and we all chuckle as we walk.
Up ahead, there are colorful lights shining on the side of the road, next to what looks like another bar. As we get closer, we see people crowded around a food truck and the aroma of grilled meat fills the air.
“Ooh, tacos,” Isabel says with a hum. “I’m starving.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply, heading toward the food truck.
“Damn, those smell good,” Hunter adds.
Fifteen minutes later, the three of us are sitting on a curb in the heart of the city, scarfing down street tacos and drinking beer. Hunter has shed his jacket, letting Isabel sit on it, and I have my hair pulled into a bun to keep it out of my carne asada.
This is us. More than fancy suits and exclusive clubs. It’s moments like this one that feels most like us, where we came from. Hunter and I were never cut out for the fancy shit. We spent the first half of our lives clawing our way out of the slums and even now, doing as well as we are, I need gentle reminders like this that we’re still us.
And as fun and relaxing as this is, there’s still an awkward conversation to be had. It’s still us, but it’s also not entirely us because everything between the three of us has changed, and I’m not sure it will ever be the same again.
I kissed my best friend’s wife. And he looked pissed about it.
That’s not something we just move on from and assume it won’t ever come back and haunt us. And since I know Hunter will be the last person to ever start a tough conversation, and Isabel will avoid confrontation at all costs, it’s on me to bring this one up.
Crumpling up my napkin and chugging back the rest of my Mexican lager, I brace myself for what I’m about to say. “I just want to know that we can put this whole thing behind us.”
“The fight?” Isabel replies, looking at me with confusion on her face.
“No. Not the fight. What happened before the fight.”
Her expression morphs into understanding with a soft, “Oh.”
“Why would we put it behind us?” Hunter asks. “We made a deal.”
“Don’t you remember losing your shit and throwing your wife over your shoulder as you stormed off?”
“I didn’t lose my shit,” he argues.
My jaw falls open. “You’re joking, right? Hunter, I’ve never seen you look so angry in all my life.”
“I wasn’t angry. I was…”
“You were what?” I ask, because he’s fucking delusional if he thinks that the way he reacted to seeing me with my hand up Isabel’s dress wasn’t pure, unadulterated rage.
“I was…” He’s stumbling over his words, clearly worked up again.
“Hunter, let it go, man. It’s not worth it. I know you were jealous. We could all see that, so I don’t know why you’re pressing this issue when it could blow up in all of our faces.”
“I wasn’t jealous, Drake. I was turned on.”
Those dark brown eyes of his are staring at me intensely, and I feel like I’ve lost the ability to breathe. Is he joking right now? He was turned on by seeing me almost fingering his wife?
Why?
“Turned on?” I ask.
He averts his eyes, staring across the street with a furrow in his brow. “I’m not going to try and explain it. Fuck, I don’t even understand it myself. I just know that I liked it.” With a huff, he bolts up to standing and walks toward the garbage can, tossing his trash.
I glance sideways at Isabel, who’s biting her bottom lip.
I know I sound like an idiot arguing about this. It’s probably the one thing I’ve wanted more than anything, to be with the woman of my dreams, but I wonder if Hunter is really thinking this through. There’s so much at stake here. Our friendship. Their marriage. Not to mention, my fucking heart.
