Drake
Bright light bathes the dark corners of this seedy bar every time someone walks in, and every time that happens, I glance up, expecting it to be Hunter. Because I know he’s coming. Eventually, he’s going to walk through that door and want to talk about what just happened back at the hotel.
And every time the bright Texas sun infiltrates my corner of the bar and it isn’t my best friend silhouetted in the doorway, I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m not ready.
I’ve rehearsed my argument over and over, replayed every moment of that short and awkward conversation, twisting and bending his words in hopes of finding the part where I misheard him. But no matter how I try to translate it, it comes out the same.
And I’m pretty fucking sure this is a test. No, I’m one hundred percent sure this is a test. After that rope bondage thing the other day, Hunter is feeling insecure and nervous, so he’s hooking me up to the machine to test my loyalty. To see if I would ever touch his woman. And he should know, I would fucking never.
The real problem is, I don’t know how to respond to this. Because the more I keep trying to say no, no, no in my head, it all sounds so forced and fake.
Probably because it is forced and fake.
I’m forcing myself to say, ‘no, I will not fuck Isabel,’ because Hunter cannot know just how badly I want to. How I’ve dreamt about fucking her two nights in a row, and before this trip, I’ve casually dreamt about it for the past ten years.
Again, I would never. But the brain does some tricky shit even when you tell it not to. And the only part of me that listens worse than my horny brain is my horny dick. Both of them have conspired against me.
So, when he does walk through that door, I have to be ready. I have to make it sound like I genuinely do not want to sleep with that beautiful woman, without it coming across as insulting to her. I’m going to pass this fucking test of his, and then I’m never going to touch Isabel again for as long as I live.
I’m on my second beer, at only noon, when the front door opens again, revealing a familiar crop of curly hair and broad shoulders. He’s not in his usual suit and tie for work. In vacation mode, Hunter has on a short-sleeve Henley, tight enough to reveal the shape of his hard pecs and bulging biceps, and I consider it an honor that he will let me see him like this since he’s always hiding his tattoos from his work friends.
His dark eyes find me across the bar in a heartbeat, without even having to look for long. I mean, I am six-three and hard to miss, but Hunter’s always had the uncanny ability to seek me out of any crowd like a homing beacon. A lifelong friendship has given us a natural sense of connection. I can just sense when Hunter is in a room, as if his presence changes the air around me. As if it’s easier to breathe when he’s there.
My hand tightens around my glass as he crosses the dingy, dark bar to take the barstool next to mine. I keep my eyes focused forward as he orders his own beer, and I wait for him to speak first.
Except, he doesn’t. It’s quiet for too long. The bartender drops the beer on the counter. Hunter takes a sip. Then he lets out a heavy sigh, and I keep waiting for him to say something, but he doesn’t. Why the fuck is he so bad at this? Why can’t he just speak? At least to me.
My patience runs out as I mutter in his direction, “I know you’re testing me.”
“I’m not testing you,” he replies plainly.
“Yes, you are, and I don’t blame you, but—’
“Drake, I’m not fucking testing you,” he barks in response.
My eyes widen. “So, you’re telling me that was serious?”
“Yes.” The cool confidence in his expression is infuriating. How can he be so calm about this? It makes me want to knock him right off his seat.
Hiding my frustration, I turn away from him, facing my beer again. “That club is going to your head.”
He laughs. “My sex club, you mean?”
“Yeah. You’ve changed. All this kinky shit is going too far.”
Leaning forward, he glares at me. “You mean the same sex club you’re at every night? It’s changing me?”
“Yes, Hunter. I’ve always been the way I am, but the man I knew ten years ago would never say what you said this morning.”
“Oh, come on, Drake. It was one fucking idea. Isabel said no, so I dropped it. It’s over.”
My brows pinch together in disgust as I turn toward him. “How could you ask her that? I get it if you want to put me to the test, but her?”
“I asked her because I’m not the kind of guy who asks my best friend to fuck my wife, without letting her in on the request.”
My beer glass slams so hard against the lacquered bartop, it silences everyone around us. I have to cool myself down before I get myself kicked out, but my temper is rising. I honestly have no clue why I’m reacting so viscerally to this. But it’s Hunter’s nonchalance that really makes me irritable.
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 because I’m involved.”
“You’re only involved,” 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, this is a 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 back to 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.
The beer has my brain moving a little slowly because, instead of bolting out of the bathroom like I should when my eyes land on a naked Isabel, I stand and stare like the dumb asshole I am.
“Oh shit,” I say in a breathy mumble as my gaze focuses on her small, perky breasts, cascading downward until I’m just staring at the tiny triangle patch of curly copper pubic hair.
She doesn’t cover up. Her hand does not slide over her private parts like they should when your husband’s best friend barges through a clearly closed door, like the ogre he is, and although I’m probably standing there staring for only a split second, it feels like so much longer. That one long second might as well be ten minutes of me gawking at her naked body, memorizing every tiny freckle, the curve of her collarbones, the way her hip bones jut out from her delicate frame, looking so fragile she could break.
In that one split second, I commit all of Isabel to memory, a memory I have no rights to and definitely don’t deserve.
But like I said, my brain is a horny, fickle asshole who doesn’t behave.
When the world starts spinning again, I crash backward, out of the bathroom, and bolt toward the living room. A moment later, she’s behind me, a soft hand on my shoulder as I stumble toward the fridge for a bottle of water.
“Drake, stop,” she commands, and I keep my eyes averted, even when she puts herself in front of me. To my relief, she’s covered herself, wrapping a white towel around her body.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were home. Where’s Hunter?” I ask, looking around for him.
“He went out to get something to eat. We decided to stay home since you were gone.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” I reply. “Why were you naked?”
“I went down to the gym while you guys were gone. I just showered again.”
I’m anxious, feeling cornered by her in the hotel room because, at any moment, Hunter is going to walk through that door and see me standing here with his almost-naked wife and normally, that wouldn’t freak me out, but after how bizarre this whole fucking week has been, being alone with Isabel has a whole new significance.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
Finally, I meet her gaze to see that she’s just as unnerved as I am. “I’m okay. Are you okay?”
Instead of saying yes, she shrugs. “We should talk about this.”
“About what?” I ask, even though I know full well what we’re supposed to be talking about.
“About what he said this morning.”
“I told him no, Isabel. You told him no. I know Hunter can be relentless, but this is up to us, and as long as you say no, that won’t change.”
Her lips press into a thin line as a look of uncertainty colors her features. Oh no, Isabel. Please don’t waver. Please, please, please.
“What’s that look for?” I ask, feeling myself deflate.
“Are you saying no because you don’t want to…or because you think it’s wrong?”
Holy shit. If the earth could just swallow me up right now, that’d be fucking great.
“Does it matter?” I ask.
“Yes. It matters to me.” She’s so perfect, so gracious and delicate and wonderful, and it would be too easy for a man to take advantage of Isabel, a thought that makes me see red, because she’s the last person on earth to deserve that. So admitting to her how badly I want her feels just as harmful as lying and saying that I don’t.
But something is calling me to tell her how I really feel, to make sure she knows that my resistance to this ridiculous idea has nothing to do with her.
Hunter put me in this position, and I hate him for it.
“Isabel, I’m saying no to Hunter because jeopardizing our friendship and your marriage is the last thing on earth I’d ever want to do.” I take a big inhale, sealing my fate to hell as I continue, “But if you’re asking if I’d ever want what he’s asking for, the answer is unconditionally, enthusiastically…yes.”
Her breath hitches as she gazes up at me, wide green eyes and gentle lips parted. I shouldn’t be this close to her or even talking to her like this, but Hunter did this. Hunter brought it up and forced us into this conversation.
“Really?” she whispers.
I take a small step forward until the knuckles of her hand holding up her towel are brushed up against my abs as I lean down until my mouth is closer to her ear. “Really.”
Maybe I’m more drunk than I thought. Because I would never do this. I would never do this. But I still have the image of her perfect body in my head, and I need her to know that I’m not going to agree to this, but it’s not because she doesn’t turn me on.
Drifting a hand to her lower back, pressing gently against the fabric of the towel, I pull her closer until the aching stiffness in my pants is wedged between us, so she can feel how true my words are.
It’s a violation. I know that. But again…it’s Hunter’s fault. He opened Pandora’s box and this relationship between Isabel and me was purely platonic and innocent until he flipped the lock open and unleashed it all, so now we’re swimming in evil, sexual tension and possibility.
She gasps at the feel of my erection against her stomach, leaning in just enough for me to know she’s not cowering in fear.
Then we both pull away. And that’s the end of it. Turning away from each other, we both take a moment to catch our breaths and steady our beating hearts.
With her back to me, she mumbles, “I know you’re afraid of jeopardizing our friendship, but I’m afraid if we don’t do this, I’m jeopardizing my marriage.”
“Isabel, you should never feel pressured into doing something—’
“I’m not pressured, Drake. I feel…the same way you do.”
I turn away again. That wasn’t exactly something I needed to know. Now I have to live with that knowledge and I have a feeling it’s going to haunt me for a while.
“But I’m also afraid that my husband wants something I can’t give him.”
“Then, say no,” I argue, finding space between us again as I lean against the counter, fighting the urge to go to her like before.
“That’s not— It’s not important. My point is that it’s just sex. I trust you, and I don’t think Hunter is asking for anything we wouldn’t all benefit from.”
Benefit from? Is she serious? I’m not looking to benefit from anything. I feel like I’m the only sane person in the group right now. And I really can’t believe I’m about to be the only one turning down sex.
“What if it drives him crazy? What if he sees me with you and hates me forever? What if he takes it out on you?”
Her shoulders soften as she gazes up at me. “That won’t happen. You know Hunter as well as I do, and he doesn’t do things on impulse. He’s looked out for me since the day we met and he’s looked after you even longer.”
“I can’t believe you’re considering this. Isabel, think about this.”
“I have, Drake. I know it will change everything between us, but…what if things between us are ready for a change?”
She’s not making any sense. But I don’t have any more time to argue because a moment later, the hotel door opens, and Hunter enters with two big bags of food. He pauses a few steps in, when he sees me standing in the kitchen opposite his wife in nothing but a towel.
Moving slowly, he sets the bags down on the table. “I assume you two were talking…”
“Yes,” she replies.
My jaw clenches as I stare at the floor. I can’t explain my anger, but it’s still boiling inside me.
“And…”
She lets out a sigh. “And…nothing. We’re just talking.” It actually sounds like she’s on his side. That didn’t take much.
So maybe it is just me. Maybe these two are so fucking reckless that they’re willing to bet everything on Hunter’s stupid fantasy. Well, I’m not. He’ll see me touch Isabel once, and not like the way I did at the demonstration, but more. Kissing her or something, and he’ll snap. He’ll realize how fucking wrong this is and regret everything.
Then, an idea pops into my head.
“Trial run…tonight,” I blurt out, the half-thought-out plan just slipping through my lips without a second thought.
“What?” she asks.
“At the club tonight, Isabel can go with me. You can watch—no sex,” I add, clearing that up real fast. “But we’ll see how it feels before we commit to anything else. I bet you anything just seeing her on my arm will have you changing your mind.”
“What are you willing to bet that on?” he replies, staring back at me with a smug expression.
“If you keep your cool tonight, and you really still want it, then I’ll agree to it. But if you freak out at all, even a little, it’s off. Forever.”
“Deal,” he replies.
The room is bathed in silence as we stare at each other. The beer buzz is officially gone, so I can’t blame this on being drunk, but it doesn’t exactly clear things up.
What the fuck did I just agree to?
