Page 57 of Best Man Speaking
The newly renovated home Erica and Jules had moved into is stunning and a project I’d work on. The kitchen’s concrete countertops and sink are features Jules and I had designed together. You wouldn’t think that two guys would care much for doing the dishes, but as kids, we didn’t have a dishwasher in the house. Every time we’d asked our parents if we could get one,they’d simply told us they’d had children for that—one to wash the dishes and another to dry them and put them away. Years later, it was the one task we found ourselves doing together as brothers, no matter whose house we were at.
We work together in silence for a moment before Jules lifts his head and asks, “It’s not horrible Hallie’s staying with you, then?”
“It’s a little too late to ask for permission, isn’t it?” I reply, a single brow raised in his direction. I move to pick up my beer for a mouthful in between the rinsing of plates.
“That’s not what I was doing.”
“Asking for forgiveness, then?”
“Maybe something like that.” He keeps working, and for a moment, the only sound is the running of water and the knocking together of dishes.
Having Hallie stay with me has yet to become a full-blown disaster, but there’s still time. “You know you’re going to lose spare-key privileges after this.”
“I can live with that.”
“But you couldn’t live with the thought of Hallie staying in a hotel.” The comment is offhand. To be honest, the words leave my mouth without my full consent, but I’m curious about my brother’s motives. His need to have Hal stay in my direct proximity makes little sense.
“I couldn’t live with the thought of her staying alone.”
There’s never been a moment when I’ve forgotten or underestimated the strength of the friendship between those two. If he were this protective with anyone else, I’d probably be bitter about it. I can only hope Hallie keeps her word and takes our agreement more seriously than the one we’ve made with Julian, because Lord knows there’d be little forgiveness for me if he found out.
“Oh. Well, then, throwing her into the lion’s den seems like the most sensible decision you could’ve made,” I say, nodding through my slightly sarcastic response.
Julian is contemplative. “I’d have provided her a ringmaster’s hat and whip if I thought it would’ve helped.”
He’s such a smart-ass.
Gathering two freshly washed and dried pans, I move toward their cabinet, calling, “Hallie doesn’t need the help of a whip, although I’m sure she’d enjoy it immensely. Her in tight leather pants with a top hat, and me in a cage? I bet it’s what her wet dreams are made of.”
I hear a small sound of disgruntlement. “While I do have a thing for well-fitting leather pants, I have to say your presence in my dreams is unlikely to make me wet.”
If I could have gotten away with it, I would have gently smacked my head against the cabinet door.
I pull myself together and turn around, leaning back against the countertop with what I hope is a relaxed smirk. “Tears don’t count?”
Hallie is propped against the doorway to the veranda with Erica right behind her, a wine bottle and glasses in hand.
Hallie pretends to think about it. “Potentially?”
I shrug disappointedly. “I’ll take what I can get.”
Julian makes a disgusted sound, his eyes bouncing between the two of us. “You’re incorrigible.”
“I kind of like it.” Erica pops in, rising onto her tippy-toes to place her chin on Hallie’s shoulder in solidarity.
Julian’s on her in a heartbeat. “Of course you do; you didn’t have to live through it the first time. Just as sarcastic but with a whole host of adolescent sexual tension and angst.”
Hallie’s shoulders tense, but only lightly, and I wonder what Erica notes it down to.
“Well, that’s something we don’t have to be worrying about,” I say, trying to cover any tracks before they start to show.
“Why? Have you finally decided to remain celibate until marriage?” Hal asks, playing along more smoothly than I could’ve imagined.
“I would never put womankind through such an ordeal. There would be protests in the streets, mass depression…I could never.” I play into the words, voice earnest, hand on heart. The act is for them; the foreplay of the banter is, I hope, forus.
Hallie steps forward into the kitchen, her eyes alight and smile feline. She drags her finger up my chest before gently tapping it against my chin.
“I wish you’d get your penis trapped in a cock cage.” Her words are as sharp as they are sweet, but as long as it’s my hard cock she’s picturing, I’m not complaining.
