3. Kyle

Man .

Ever felt that special kind of agony when your best buddy is a lovesick wuss, and you’re stuck playing Cupid with a hangover? Yeah. Welcome to my fucking Saturday.

Nursing a black coffee as bitter as my exes, I was sprawled on the designer couch of our penthouse. Because why settle for less when Daddy’s trust fund can buy you ocean views? So. Me—a sight for sore eyes. Meanwhile, Logan? Pacing like a caged tiger.

“Sit your ass down,” I snapped, flicking through the channels. Daytime TV was a tragic wasteland. “You look like an anxious chipmunk.”

Infomercials. Seriously, who bought this crap? I was a pro, had the license to prove it, but anyone forking over money for a speaker that doubled as a decorative rock? Beyond my help.

“I’m twice your size,” Logan said, but it lacked heat. He dropped onto the other section of the couch like a puppet with its strings cut. Aww.

“Some of us don’t work out fifteen days a week.” I took a sip of coffee and studied him out of the corner of my eye. If he wasn’t careful, that frown would stick. “So, why the carpet marathon?”

“It’s a wood floor.”

“Not my fucking point.”

He traced a nail along the outer seam of his jeans. “Just… There were, like, four pairs of Milo’s socks in my laundry.”

Socks? Good fucking grief , looked like I was bringing my work home. Not that I’d treat Logan with the kid gloves I used with patients.

“Call Hollywood,” I said, dry as diamond dust. “With a hook like that, the horror movie just writes itself. ”

He shot me a halfhearted glare. “Very funny.”

“I’m a goddamn riot,” I agreed, stretching out and making myself at home—which I was. Although maybe not much longer, not if this went the way I suspected. “So. Socks.”

“It just made me think he’s been, you know. Staying over. A lot.”

“No wonder given he lives in a rat-infested shithole.”

”It’s not that bad.” Logan’s protest was token.

“Dude.” I infused it with so much patience that I could audition as Gandhi’s love child. “He’s here, what, four nights a week? You’re at his place maybe once a week, and that’s only because you’re an idiot in love who’s willing to look the other way when there’s a cockroach scrambling over his toes.”

“Yeah. Well.” Logan sighed, staring at his hands. Jesus, the drama. Someone get this guy a pearl necklace he could clutch to his bosom.

“Logan.” More patience. For real, I was a fucking saint. “If you wanna buy me out so he can move in, maybe ask before you both die of old age.”

That got his attention, head snapping up. “You’d move out?”

“Not a fan of sleeping with earplugs, man. And I prefer my threesomes with more boobs and fewer emotions.”

“So you’d…” He trailed off, clearly processing. For someone with half a brain, he was a bit slow on the uptake sometimes. “You’d find your own place? Alone ?”

Look at that—a case of ‘can’t abandon Kyle.’ Cute.

“You know I’m a big boy, right?” I asked. “I can tie my own shoes and everything.”

His lips curved down. “But we’ve shared a place since college. It’d be weird without you.”

Yeah, same. But whatever, I could cry on my expensive silk sheets later. “Maybe I’m ready to fly solo,” I told him. “Walk around naked, leave dishes in the sink, have wild parties with highly questionable guests.”

He slid me a skeptical look. “You do all that anyway.”

“Details.” I flopped a hand at him. “Point is, I’ll be fine. Seriously. People grow up, you know. Move on. Have lots of loud sex without their best friend in the next room.” I paused. “Hey, maybe I’ll find a place with a rooftop pool and bikini-clad neighbors. Might even install a home gym.”

His eyebrow performed an impressive jump. “ Really ?”

“Nah. But maybe a shrine to myself. Mirrors everywhere. A disco ball.”

One side of his mouth twitched up, then turned down again. “He’s sensitive about the money thing, though. Milo. Doesn’t want to feel like a…”

Another loose end, and boy, he was breaking my heart here. I finished for him. “A kept man? Sugar baby? Boy toy?”

Another half-smile. “All of the above.”

“So talk to him. Set up a chore wheel. Split the bills. Maybe he can pay you in…” I infused my tone with generous innuendo. “ Other ways. If you get my drift.”

“I really don’t,” he said with just a hint of sarcasm—finally. There was life on love-infested Mars. “Please spell it out for me.”

I opened my mouth.

“Actually,” he added quickly, “please don’t. It may leave scars.”

I scoffed. “Prude.”

“Freak.”

”Thank you.” I fanned myself, then ditched the act and fixed him with a hard look. “Okay, listen. Last I heard—because you won’t fucking shut up about it—your man is some hotshot photographer now.” Bit of a stretch, maybe, but Milo had placed second in some nature photography competition that seemed like kind of a big deal. His pictures weren’t half bad, though I personally preferred nudes. Anyway. “He can afford better than his current hellhole. So you might wanna grow some balls before he signs the lease on a new place.”

“Is this the kind of sweet, gentle advice you give your patients?” Logan asked, but the thoughtful tilt of his mouth suggested I’d gotten through to him.

“No, I said. “This kick in the ass is pro bono. Different rules.”

Before Logan could drag out a discussion that could really only lead to one conclusion, we got interrupted by the opening of the front door. Because yes, Milo had a key. For months now, in fact. Nine months in, and honestly, those two were still fucking ridiculous. I was ashamed to breathe the same air. Might give me cooties. Or—worse— feelings .

Milo spotted us and offered a tentative smile, setting down his camera bag. “Hi. All good?”

“Excellent.” I kicked my feet up on the coffee table. “We were just talking about you.”

”Coming from you, that’s…” He paused. “Mildly concerning. Should I be worried?”

“Only if you’re allergic to commitment,” I said.

Logan’s warning look could curdle milk. Good thing I was more of a tequila type of guy. “It’s nothing bad,” he told Milo. “I mean—I think? Hope.”

“You think it’s nothing bad?” Milo tilted his head, a fond gleam in his eyes. Seemed like he’d become fluent in Logan babble, which I could appreciate.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I pointed at Logan. “ He . Wants you ”—pointed at Milo—“to move in. Officially. Keys and everything. But oh, wait! You already have those.”

“I...” Milo blinked. “Really? Or are you just screwing with me?”

Logan groaned. “Kyle!”

“What?” I asked. “I’m expediting the process.”

“ Really ?” Milo repeated, and the innocently confused hedgehog impression was a little cute. If, you know, you’re into that kind of thing.

“Yes.” I clapped my hands. “So, hey. Don’t break his little heart or I’m gonna have to kill you. And I fucking hate getting my hands dirty.”

“I—,” Milo started just as Logan shot me a glare.

“How about some privacy?”

“Sure.” I set my coffee down and got up, stretching dramatically. “Places to be, people to do. Later, suckers. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. ”

“Is there such a thing?” Milo asked, and ah, the man had half a point. I pretended to think for a second.

“Furries. Unless, you know, they’re really hot.”

“Please leave,” Logan said, sounding pained. There was a smile sitting around his eyes, though, one that was mirrored by Milo. Yeah, they’d be fine. Thanks to me .

After a flippant wave, I headed out, hands in my pockets. Part of me felt… What was the word—nostalgic? Nah, too sappy. Maybe just a twinge of ‘end of an era’ vibes. Logan and I, we’d been through some stuff. He’d put up with my bullshit, and I’d been… well. I’d been an absolute delight.

But hey, nothing wrong with change. Meant I could finally get that bachelor pad with the revolving bed and mirrored ceiling.

Kidding.

Sort of.