He’s chuckling now, his chest rising and falling quickly with each breath. It must be nice to have a manual labor job like construction. Even at thirty-four, he’s remained in perfect shape, without having to work out every day. Meanwhile, I had to install a full gym in our basement and live down there, part-time, to keep my physique.
His work on job sites is his weight training and sex is his cardio.
“These Arizona girls are crazy.” He laughs. “I was only at the club for an hour before they had me sandwiched in an Uber. Can we stay?” he jokes with a toothy smile like a child.
“You can stay. Iz and I have three other clubs in three different states to see between now and next week. A few of them I know for a fact you don’t want to miss out on.”
“Yeah, that sounds more fun. Besides, the sounds coming from your room weren’t much tamer than mine.” He raises an eyebrow in my direction.
“Were you listening to my wife’s sex sounds?” I reply with a glare in his direction.
“Oh, like it was the first time. Remember when the only place you two had to do it was in the back of the SUV and I had to wait outside? Or when we had that apartment in the city and I worked nights, trying to sleep through your morning sexcapades.”
I’m chuckling into my water glass when I hear soft footsteps coming from the bedroom. “What are you boys still doing up?”
Isabel emerges from the hallway in her pajamas, a revealing pair of shorts and a skimpy tank top that shows off her perky nipples through the fabric. By this point, I’ve gotten over any jealousy where Drake is involved. He’s seen Isabel in underwear before. It was a little hard to avoid when we lived together for those few short years before he started construction on our new house.
But when she leans over the counter smiling at us, and her tits are pressed together and practically hanging out of her top, I tense up.
“So you had a fun evening, didn’t you?” she teases him. “Was that two girls I heard?”
“You heard correctly,” he replies with pride in his tone. He’s smiling at her, his eyes firmly set on her face. I can only imagine the feat of strength it’s taking him not to even glance down at her cleavage.
“And they didn’t wear you out?” she asks.
“Isabel…you don’t think I can handle a couple twenty-three-year-olds?”
“You’re getting up there in age. Can’t keep hanging with those sorority girls,” she replies with a sarcastic smile.
“Oh, I could handle the whole sorority.”
She laughs. “I’m sure you could, Drake.”
Meanwhile, I’m leaning against the fridge, watching them go back and forth, a subtle smirk tugging at my lips. I could watch these two go on like this forever. Isabel and I can make jokes and laugh together, but we’ll never have the playful relationship she has with Drake.
And I’m not jealous of that. Because I know that’s all it is. They joke like brother and sister…or at least like best friends.
Which makes sense. The moment she became my girl, he took her on as his friend too. Always looking out for her, treating her like I would, and bringing her right into the fold. As if she always belonged.
But it won’t always be like this. That’s my pessimistic, grim brain talking, but I know deep down that the clock is ticking on our youth. At some point, Isabel will want kids or Drake will settle down. And this family that I have now will change.
And as much as I do want to start a family with Isabel—and Drake to settle down—I hate change. If things could just stay the way they are between us right now, I’d be happy.
They are still going at it, both laughing and jabbing at each other with sarcastic insults, and through it all, his eyes have stayed on her face, never raking over her body or lingering too long on the parts of her I see other men gawk at. I mean…she’s a yoga instructor. She lives in Lycra. And she’s a fucking masterpiece. Who wouldn’t want to look?
But Drake never does.
It’s her expressions I’m not quite sure I can read. My wife is more discreet than Drake…or men in general. So when she lets her eyes drift to his pecs or bites her lip as she smiles at him, I start to wonder what is going on in that mind of hers. I’d pay anything to know. Even if it meant she was checking him out.
Again…I’m not sure I could blame her. Drake is as easy on the eyes as Isabel. His chiseled abs, golden sun-bronzed skin, dirty blond chin-length hair, and bright as lightning smile…make it fucking hard not to stare.