“A little birdie told me someone had a date with Geo last week,” Charlie chimes in from the end of the table. She’s wearing a cheeky smile as she leans on her elbows.
“Oooh,” Mia replies.
Dammit. Now they’re all looking at me.
“It was one date,” I reply.
“Uh-huh…” Garrett adds.
I catch Hunter in my periphery and he’s squeezing his glass so hard in his hand, it looks like he might shatter it.
“You two are being awfully quiet. What do you know?” Garrett asks, and Isabel replies with a shy smile and a shoulder shrug.
“We don’t know anything,” she says, and suddenly, I realize just how awkward all of this is, and everyone can tell. We might as well be wearing giant something is up signs.
Now everyone is staring, but with crooked brows and scrutinizing eyes. There’s a part of me that wants to just blurt out this confession inside me, but I can’t.
Honestly, why are we even keeping this secret? This is literally a group of people who have some of the kinkiest lives. Garrett’s fucking his stepsister. Emerson is in a very serious relationship with his son’s ex-girlfriend. Not one of them would even bat an eye if we told them we’re having dirty threesomes every night. Fuck, they probably assume we’ve been doing that this whole time. So why do I suddenly feel like a dirty secret? When the conversation finally changes and the squinting eyes shift away from me, I glance sideways at Hunter to find him watching me. I clench my jaw before I toss back the rest of my drink.
I suddenly need to be away from here. So I don’t make an announcement as I set down my glass and rise from the table. Isabel watches me, though, with a look that cracks my tough exterior.
“I’m just going to the bathroom,” I say gently as she smiles at me.
Seriously, if anyone was paying attention and saw the way she was just staring at me, the cat would be way the fuck out of that bag. But they’re not and I’m still irritable, so I march with a scowl toward the restroom at the back of the bar.
The entire time I’m fuming…about what, I don’t even know. Silla’s words got into my head. Not to mention, Hunter and I fucked, like really fucked—twice—three days ago, but we’re just not talking about it. So yeah…I might be a little irritable now.
Yeah, yeah, yeah…maybe this is a taste of my own medicine. How many people have I fucked and avoided? Never called them, although they gave me their number. Blatantly flirted with someone else in front of them. Kept them waiting for a commitment I would never give them.
But I’m not just anybody to Hunter. I’m his best friend—which at this point sounds too trivial of a word for what we are. And what we did in the guest room that night was not a meaningless hookup. It can’t even be categorized as fucking, really. It was…God, I hate myself for admitting this, or even thinking it, but what we did that night…was making love.
I’ve never been so close to another person in my life and the sex we had was in another league—no, on another planet, and not even close to being the same thing I’ve done hundreds of times with countless strangers.
The only thing that could have made that night better would have been having Isabel there with us. Instead of lurking silently in the hallway, which is clearly where she was.
I’m washing my hands when Hunter inevitably walks in, like I knew he would. And just like I knew he would, he flips the lock on the public bathroom door, buying us at least a minute before someone starts banging to get in.
“That was uncomfortable…” he mumbles as he closes the distance between us. He reaches for me, but I pull away and his playful smile quickly fades. “What did I do?”
“How long are we going to do this, Hunter?”
“Do what?” he asks, which makes me even angrier. How dare he even act like that’s a question.
“This!” I snap. “This secret thing…this undefinable thing where we fuck each other and act like it’s nothing.”
“Oh, so you want to be done now? Then go ahead, Drake. Go pick up some chick at the bar, if that’s really what you want.”
My eyes roll as I turn away. “That’s not what I want.”
“Then what do you want?” he snaps, somehow taking the reins of this conversation as if I owe him something.
“I want to talk about what happened the other night. I want you to admit that you’re bisexual and that you’re okay with that.”
He scoffs, looking offended, as if I just accused him of being exactly what he is.