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But in between when he leaves for work and when he gets home for dinner, she’s here where she belongs.
Right by my side.
Or, in most cases, bouncing her fine ass on the end of my fat cock until she screams my name into a pillow.
It’s not as if I haven’t tried to tell him, though. May too.
It cuts me up to keep anything from my oldest friend, but seeing him on such a high, it would just ruin him if I told him how I feel about May.
Even though I know, it’s the only right thing left to do.
But there’s just never the right moment, and Steve seems the happiest I think I’ve ever seen him once his business starts moving in the direction he wants.
He’s even making noise about setting up a workshop on the east coast. Making my original idea sound like his own, but if it makes him happy, I’m happy.
Because of all that, May and I made a pact.
If Steve asks either of us directly if we’re anything more than just friends, we tell him. But he’s so busy now we actually don’t see much of him at all.
As uneasy as it makes me, keeping our thing a secret just a little longer is the easiest way to avoid making waves.
Or so I thought.
It’s been two weeks to the day, and I don’t think May nor I have ever been happier our whole lives, except for the sneaking around past her dad bit.
But Steve’s no dummy. And I can see now that I shoulda just come out with it, long before helping him get his business into first gear.
I guess we just got lazy.
It happens right after another one of Steve’s dinners on a Friday night. He’s insisted I come over, and he’ll cook for all of us.
So far, so good.
But come eleven o’clock, and then midnight, May and I are giving each other guarded glances.
And Steve takes on the air of a man who has something to say.
“I should probably head to bed,” May says, about to excuse herself, but Steve asks her to sit.
We all know what’s coming.
“You don’t have to pretend anymore, May,” Steve says calmly, shaking his head and laughing to himself.
But it’s not a happy laugh.
It’s a wounded, ironic kind of grimace he wears as his eyes settle on mine.
“And you, Brandon? I suppose your beat after spending the day with May ‘helping you out’ around the house, huh?” he says cuttingly but regains his composure quickly.
“I guess I have something to tell you,” I croak, trying to swallow but feeling my mouth as dry as dirt.
“I guess we both have something to tell you,” May adds, making me jump when her hand slips into mine, and she rests them both on the table.
Steve takes in a sharp breath, steadying himself and, I have to say, being a fucking man about it.
“So go ahead,” he murmurs. “Tell me all about it,” he says before raising his hand quickly.
“No. Don’t tell me all about it. I don’t need to know the sordid details…Just tell me when all this started, Brandon. May,” he asks, looking over to her, his eyes filling up with tears before either of us even says a word.
