“Drake, you can’t carry me all the way back.”
“Remember when you twisted your ankle on our ski trip and I had to carry you all the way down the mountain? That was nothing, and this time, you don’t have ten pounds of ski gear on. Just quit arguing with me and climb on.”
She lets out a long sigh. Then she slips each shoe off, hands them to Hunter, and quickly climbs onto my back. My hands grasp onto her thighs that are squeezing around my waist as we start our walk again. I can’t help but notice Hunter is wearing a crooked smirk on his face.
“This is hardly the dress to wear for piggyback rides,” she says, her voice just next to my ear.
“Your underwear isn’t showing,” Hunter replies from behind us.
“Barely,” she adds, and we all chuckle as we walk.
Up ahead, there are colorful lights shining on the side of the road, next to what looks like another bar. As we get closer, we see people crowded around a food truck and the aroma of grilled meat fills the air.
“Ooh, tacos,” Isabel says with a hum. “I’m starving.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply, heading toward the food truck.
“Damn, those smell good,” Hunter adds.
Fifteen minutes later, the three of us are sitting on a curb in the heart of the city, scarfing down street tacos and drinking beer. Hunter has shed his jacket, letting Isabel sit on it, and I have my hair pulled into a bun to keep it out of my carne asada.
This is us. More than fancy suits and exclusive clubs. It’s moments like this one that feels most like us, where we came from. Hunter and I were never cut out for the fancy shit. We spent the first half of our lives clawing our way out of the slums and even now, doing as well as we are, I need gentle reminders like this that we’re still us.
And as fun and relaxing as this is, there’s still an awkward conversation to be had. It’s still us, but it’s also not entirely us because everything between the three of us has changed, and I’m not sure it will ever be the same again.
I kissed my best friend’s wife. And he looked pissed about it.
That’s not something we just move on from and assume it won’t ever come back and haunt us. And since I know Hunter will be the last person to ever start a tough conversation, and Isabel will avoid confrontation at all costs, it’s on me to bring this one up.
Crumpling up my napkin and chugging back the rest of my Mexican lager, I brace myself for what I’m about to say. “I just want to know that we can put this whole thing behind us.”
“The fight?” Isabel replies, looking at me with confusion on her face.
“No. Not the fight. What happened before the fight.”
Her expression morphs into understanding with a soft, “Oh.”
“Why would we put it behind us?” Hunter asks. “We made a deal.”
“Don’t you remember losing your shit and throwing your wife over your shoulder as you stormed off?”
“I didn’t lose my shit,” he argues.
My jaw falls open. “You’re joking, right? Hunter, I’ve never seen you look so angry in all my life.”
“I wasn’t angry. I was…”
“You were what?” I ask, because he’s fucking delusional if he thinks that the way he reacted to seeing me with my hand up Isabel’s dress wasn’t pure, unadulterated rage.
“I was…” He’s stumbling over his words, clearly worked up again.
“Hunter, let it go, man. It’s not worth it. I know you were jealous. We could all see that, so I don’t know why you’re pressing this issue when it could blow up in all of our faces.”
“I wasn’t jealous, Drake. I was turned on.”
Those dark brown eyes of his are staring at me intensely, and I feel like I’ve lost the ability to breathe. Is he joking right now? He was turned on by seeing me almost fingering his wife?
Why?
“Turned on?” I ask.
He averts his eyes, staring across the street with a furrow in his brow. “I’m not going to try and explain it. Fuck, I don’t even understand it myself. I just know that I liked it.” With a huff, he bolts up to standing and walks toward the garbage can, tossing his trash.
I glance sideways at Isabel, who’s biting her bottom lip.
I know I sound like an idiot arguing about this. It’s probably the one thing I’ve wanted more than anything, to be with the woman of my dreams, but I wonder if Hunter is really thinking this through. There’s so much at stake here. Our friendship. Their marriage. Not to mention, my fucking heart.