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“I’m sure there’s some sort of a food joint in this redneck hole.”
I drive slowly until we spot the bright sign of an old-fashioned diner. I park and we all get out of the car.
To me, we look suspicious as fuck, because I know I don’t typically dress like I could be on my way to a funeral, but to be fair, Marius and Dez are in their usual getup. She wears fishnet gloves, a tiny pair of leather shorts with sheer tights and boots, paired with a cropped top. There are several necklaces dangling from her neck. She’s unapologetically sexy, showing off more skin than what most women are comfortable with, which paired with her striking pink hair, never fails to draw the eyes. But my brother’s deadly glare is a clear keep out sign.
He’s in black slacks, a dark red T-shirt and a leather jacket. His usual, really. The only weird thing here is me. I’m a gray sweater kind of guy.
He tucks her under her his arm and lead her through the doors.
The diner is decrepit—the kind of place I would never have voluntarily entered. Markus orders a round of pints, and by the looks of the unpolished glasses they’re served in, I should report them so they get a full health inspection.
“We don’t see many strangers into town,” the once-pretty, forty-something fake blonde waitress notes. “Road trip?”
“Yep,” Dez says, tilting her head. “Our friend Sarah used to live here so we figured we’d stop over. You don’t have a motel, do you?”
“There’s one a few miles off. You’re staying the night?”
“Sure.” Dez giggles. “Then, it’s Vegas by Wednesday.”
“Nice! I’ve never been.”
I suddenly understand why someone like my brother benefits from Dez’s presence. I’m not saying that’s why he chose her, but he doesn’t make people feel chatty or comfortable. He can be calculatingly charming when he wants to, but his bubbly pink-haired girlfriend is much better at loosening tongues.
We all order burgers with fries, Dez engaging our waitress in friendly conversation every time she pops by.
I didn’t notice her getting touchy with Markus, because, well, that’s just what they do, but when her boot hits my leg, I certainly know it.
What the fuck?
Daisy doesn’t touch anyone but Markus. Ever. It’s an unwritten rule, as obvious as don’t shove your hand in a furnace, don’t poke your eyes with a fork, don’t shove your dick in a meat grinder. Yet there’s no denying her foot is sliding along my leg, caressing my inner thigh.
My cock is extremely confused about this turn of events. It wants to get hard because someone with tits is touching me, but at the same time, it feels like shriveling up and dying.
“Relax,” Markus tells me.
Oh. Okay. I guess I’m not going to get murdered. But still…what’s going on?
“She can touch you,” my brother explains. I hope he’s explaining? “You can’t touch her.”
I clear my throat. “Why?”
“Good thing you’re pretty, darling,” Dez tells me with an eye roll. “Is she still watching?”
Who?
Markus answers for me. “Oh, definitely. You have a whole audience.”
“Good.” She gets up, leans over the table, and brings her mouth to my face.
She’s kissing me except she’s really not. I must look like it. But her wavy hair is falling over both of our faces, and she’s aimed for my cheek, not really my lips. Still, she’s making it linger, and moaning like she’s really into it.
My cock decides this’s boring,thank fuck,because I don’t want it to be cut off anytime soon.
Still, I lean in, playing along with her game.
She leans back on her own chair, and moves on to kiss her actual boyfriend next. This time, it’s most definitely not for show.
She’s making a public statement, and I’m not sure why, but my brother is definitely in on it. Otherwise, I’d be dead already.
