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“Told ya he’s whipped,” Jake whispered to Mitchell.
Sam’s head turned in time to see Jake smiling smugly as he handed Aaron dishes to rinse off. Mitchell, who was busy putting leftovers in Tupperware to go in the fridge, stopped what he was doing and took one glance at Sam’s murderous expression.
He went to the fridge and emerged with four beers, handing the first one to Sam as though sensing he needed it the most.
He had the right idea.
“Wanna talk?” Mitchell asked. “Or want us to fuck off?”
And there it was. The holy grail of men’s friendship. It was then that Sam realized how much he’d been missing Liam. Not only because his best friend was in Amsterdam more often than he was in New York these days. But because even when Liam was around, he remained blissfully unaware that Sam was banging his little sister. And liking it.
Really liking it.
Maybe he did want to talk. Especially now that Aaron had muttered something about having done his “share” of the cleaning and gone back to join the women at the table.
“That one’s a winner,” Jake said.
“We’ll never see him again,” Mitchell said decisively. “Now shut up. Sam was about to explain how Riley’s got his balls in a knot.”
I was? “I’m not really sure what’s happening,” Sam heard himself saying.
Jake snorted. “Who is?”
“She’s my best friend’s baby sister.”
“Nothing baby about Riley McKenna,” Mitchell said. “And I say that in a platonic, observant kind of way,” he hurried to add when Sam glared.
“Seriously though, is the brother thing a problem? I’ve hung out with Liam a few times. Seems like a reasonable, twenty-first-century type of guy. Not at all one to come after his best friend with a shotgun,” Jake said, looking completely at home drying wineglasses and placing them on the rack.
“And isn’t this sort of thing supposed to be the dad’s problem?” Mitchell added.
Sam grunted and tipped the beer back. “Josh might actually be okay with it. I think he’d rather me with his baby girl than one of the other losers she’s brought around.”
“But Liam wouldn’t feel the same? Wouldn’t he prefer a guy he trusts over a stranger to be the one taking care of Riley?”
It was a valid point, but Sam couldn’t afford to think that way. He couldn’t afford to be wrong and lose Liam. “I promised him I’d keep my hands to myself.”
Mitchell frowned. “When?”
Sam looked up as he mentally added the years. “More than a decade ago.”
Jake set the towel aside to pop the cap off his beer. “Doesn’t count. It’s expired. Plus, he has to know his sister isn’t a delicate little flower in need of protecting. I mean, you’ve read her stuff, right? She knows more about male anatomy than most penis doctors.”
“They’re called urologists,” Mitchell said. “Or an andrologist, depending on the issue.”
Jake pointed his bottle at Mitchell in warning. “Seriously? Don’t be that guy.”
Sam wisely refrained from mentioning that Riley wasn’t quite the penis expert that everyone believed her to be. Although she was a brilliantly quick study.
And that was complicating the matter. Sam had lost his own virginity his sophomore year of high school to a very experienced senior cheerleader. He’d certainly never dealt with the whole deflowering aspect before.
Riley swore up and down that she hadn’t been a virgin that first night, and technically she was right, but … damn. It was a lot of pressure, being the first one she’d let into her bed in adulthood. And he still maintained that her clumsy first time with Deacon or whatever that guy’s name was hadn’t counted.
But the pressure and guilt weren’t even the real problem. The problem wasn’t that he’d been her (almost) first.
It was that some deep, dark, moronic part of him wanted to be her last.
“Uh-oh, he’s got the look again,” Jake said.
