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“I know, Bry.” I sigh. “I swear to God.”
“Wait, is this real? He came to the shop?”
I point at the pic I’d uploaded. “I gots Proof. With a capital P.”
“Are those… buns?”
“His buns,” I clarify and enlarge the pic, which, granted, is a little blurry, but still presenting Joel’s ass in all its muscular glory. “In jeans. Unfortunately. There should be a law preventing hot guys from wearing clothes inside stores. I have been thinking about this,” I say, warming up to my topic. “Maybe put some lockers there, with a sign, We only serve those in Bare Hot Buns.”
“You took a pic of his butt.”
“Yeah, okay. I totally did. And if I could get away with taking one of his front, I would have.”
“Right.” She straightens, pats my head. “I see you’re back to writing about your imaginary life with two boyfriends. I thought you were over that.”
“Why would you think that?” Seriously. “A good fantasy is hard to find.”
“I mean the blog.”
“What’s wrong with my blog, huh? People love it.” And that’s a huge understatement. I mean, I was approached by companies to advertise their stuff in my stories, for a good price, too, and I’m thinking of saying yes. Why the heck not, right?
“I just don’t get it, is all. Half the time you review books, and the other half you talk about these two guys as if they’re real.”
“They are real, Bry.”
“Yeah, well, not in the way you describe them.” She leans over my shoulder again, scrolling back to previous posts of mine and reading out loud: “He reaches for J-Two’s shirt, yanks it open and whispers, I need you to touch me, need you to blow my—”
“Hey.” I shove her back and snap my laptop shut. “Cut it out.”
“Why?”
“You’re too young for this.”
Truth is, having someone I know read my words out loud is awful. Anonymous readers reading my words far, far away from me is a completely different thing.
“What if they read it? Those two guys? And what if they realize it’s about them? What if they find out you want to do them both? Christ, aren’t you embarrassed for wanting two guys to do you?” Brylee says.
“I’m not. Why would I be? Nothing wrong with that. Why are you trying to shame me for what I want?”
My mom raised me to accept myself. I owe her for that, I guess. Even if she thinks we’re best buddies and she can tell me things about her sex life with my dad I really don’t want to know.
“I’m not.”
“Sure you are. It’s just a fantasy, anyway.” And I’m getting defensive, because I want this too badly, and if this is the only way I’ll get it… I mean, I don’t know these guys, apart from their appearance and the fact they live together. As friends. Apparently.
They may be assholes. Arrogant dicks, as Joel’s comment at the store seems to indicate— sadly.
Big dicks. Big, hard, thick—
“Getting a guy, babe, needs work,” Brylee mutters, and I duck before she pats my head again like I’m her poodle. “Hard work. Hours at the gym. Hours agonizing on what to wear. Relentless pursuit. Imagine chasing after two. Unless you want this story to remain fiction.”
I shake my head.
“You know there’s no way this could become reality,” I mutter. “You know it, Bry. Even if they were interested in me, which they’re not, they would never…” Never do a threesome, never touch and kiss each other, never want… What I want. “They’re like brothers!”
Everyone knows that. My friends use it as a running expression at college, and that’s long after Joel graduated and left to get a job: Friends like J & J. The Twins. The Bros. Best friends, practically family. It’s the way they are together, that closeness and familiarity you can’t fake.
And although finding out stuff about Joel was pretty easy—good family, a sister who works for the National Runaway Safeline, bunch of friends at a local gym he apparently spars with—his other half, so to say, Jethro, is a total mystery.
