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Rule #9: Don’t make bets with a gambling man.
Drake
Bright light bathesthe 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 itisn’tmy 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 wouldfuckingnever.
The real problem is, I don’t know how to respond to this. Because the more I keep trying to sayno, no, noin my head, it all sounds so forced and fake.
Probably because itisforced and fake.
I’m forcing myself to say, ‘no, I will not fuck Isabel,’ because Huntercannotknow 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 wouldnever. 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 hiswork 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 clubyou’reat every night? It’s changingme?”
“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 askedherbecause 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.
