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"Thanks. I always am. Don't be jealous."
I laugh and kiss him right on the mouth. He parts his lips, and I don't care that we're out in public with people all around us, most likely looking at us. All I want is to feel him, to show him how much he means to me. My tongue slips inside his mouth like it's returning to where it belongs, and I kiss him with everything I've got in me.
When I pull away, the vet gang has gathered around us.
"I think we have an audience," Wilby says, our lips still lingering close to each other's.
I look over at the guys and smile. "They look like they might need a lesson."
The guys laugh as we kiss again.
Eventually, we stop with all the PDA. We get some drinks with the gang. Fitz convinces us to do a round of shots. We talk, we laugh, and I feel the way I do when I'm around Brant and we're just goofing around. Everything is so easy, and I can just be who I am.
These guys don't have any pretenses about them. It's…refreshing. For all the people I've met in NYC, I haven't come across a bunch of people as genuinely kind and good as theseblokes.
"All right, come on," Wilby says once we've had a few rounds.
"Come on, what?"
"Your turn."
My tipsy brain isn't getting it. "My turn, what?"
Wilby points to the stage where a cute teenage couple is doing a sweet, yet horribly off-key rendition of "You're The One That I Want" fromGrease.
"Fuck no. I'm not singing."
"Oh, come on," Fitz cheers from the other side of the high table we're clustered around. "You need to pass the Wilby test."
Wilby shoots daggers his way. I turn to him, hooking my hand around his waist. "The Wilby test?"
He doesn't answer. He doesn't have to. Muir very willingly does that for him. "Before you arrived, Wilby was mouthing off about how he can't be with you until he knows for sure whether you're a good singer like he is."
"Uh-huhhh."
There's a lot to unpack in that sentence. But I think my mind does a good job of latching onto the most important bit.
Wilby wants to be with me.
I mean, I knew that already. We've talked. Our feelings for each other are clear. But him telling his closest friends makes it feel even more real somehow. I still haven't confided in Brant the true extent of what's happening between us, but that's only due to time zones and schedules, not because I can't wait to share the news with my bestie.
Wilby, in a rare occurrence, looks embarrassed. "Call me Nigel No Friends from now on because these guys are all dead to me."
"Awww, come on." Ryde stumbles over and claps Wilby on the back. "Just amdi—adman—admit youlooooveColllll."
Whoa. Okay. He's definitely the wasted one of the group.
"Oh, Linus," Wilby calls out sweetly. "You might want to come over here and help Ryde out. Wouldn't want your best friend's son getting into any trouble on your watch now, would you?"
Linus is there in two heartbeats, but his focus isn't on rebutting Wilby, it's entirely on Ryde.
"Hey, buddy," he says in a low voice, brushing away a lock of hair that's fallen across Ryde’s forehead. "How about we get you some water and some fresh air?"
Ryde looks at Linus and licks his lips hungrily, as if he'd like to be getting more than just water and air from Linus. I cringe a little. Poor guy is so drunk, I really hope he doesn't say or do anything he'll regret tomorrow.
He agrees to go with Linus, but before they leave, Linus turns to the gang and whispers murderously, "We are never speaking about this again or you're all fired."
"We'll sue," Muir says with a laugh.
