Chapter 2

Penn

It would be all too easy to leave my best friend to his naked shenanigans instead of rescuing him again, but … well, I sort of like rescuing him.

Sometimes I worry that makes me a bit of a head case, but Madden is a competent, likable, capable man, and he doesn't often need help with things. So when he does, it feels like he needs me, and there's nothing I like more than being needed.

I set my monitors to sleep and go in search of Dryden. They opened this design business four years ago and since then have grown it to the point where Lisa and I were brought on part-time. Dryden's building a name for themself, but they want to keep their business small and intimate, which works for me since I don't have the time to be throwing more hours into this place. It also means they have no issue with me needing flexibility and are always happy to recommend our business to clients .

"I need to head off," I tell them.

Dryden looks up at me through too-large glasses, bald head catching the light. "What's wrong, honey?"

"Madden's, uh …"

"What did the gorgeous man do?"

I laugh because Dryden has a very slight … not crush, but appreciation for my best friend. "He's at a client's house, being his nudist self, and they got home early. He's lost his clothes, so he needs me to bail him out."

Dryden hums and strokes their chin. "You never told me that Madden works naked. I might need to go home and tear out some trees to have you boys over."

I smile because I know they're joking, but there's something about the fascination people have with Madden that gets on my nerves.

He's a great guy, and people love him, including all his roommates. Some days, it feels like I have to fight for his attention when I'd never make him fight for mine.

"I'm good to go?" I check.

"Sure are. I'll see you Friday."

"Thanks, see you then." I leave our modern, white office and head to the elevator that will take me to the parking lot. First thing I'll need to do is grab Madden some clothes, then somehow work out a way to get him out of our clients' house. I'd like to think this will teach him a lesson about getting naked at work, but I'm smarter than that. Madden's always been his own person, and him becoming a nudist isn't something I foresaw, but I'll support it anyway.

Doesn't mean I can't mess with him a little though.

Instead of heading home to grab some of my things, I go to the department store down the street and browse the costume section instead. There isn't a huge selection to choose from, but the giant chicken suit, complete with feet, should fit well. Ish .

I pay for everything, including water since it's fucking hot out, then jump in my car and navigate to the address. By the time I arrive, it's close to an hour since Madden called, and I'm praying he hasn't been caught doing … well, anything. I don't want him to have been caught at all.

I pull out my phone and send a text.

I'm out the front. Where are you?

He replies immediately.

Dog kennel.

Dog. Kennel. I stare at the two words, waiting for them to make sense, but as I reread, they don't get any sensier, I decide to let it go. I scan the front of the house.

I'm suddenly regretting this chicken suit costume because there's a gate on one side Madden could have walked out of, but it's in full view of the house, and if they see him leave like that, there will be questions. He's going to have to jump the fence on the other side; at least it's back from the road and mostly out of sight.

I go back to our chat.

There's a side fence on the left I can throw these clothes over. Go there then I'll knock on the front door and make up an excuse—like I've stopped by to check on the job or whatever. Get dressed, jump the fence, then meet me in the car.

Madden:

Aye, aye.

I unclip my seat belt and sneak along the front of the neighbors' property, hoping I won't be spotted. Our clients have large windows along the front and back of their house, so how Madden is supposed to get out of there without them knowing is beyond me.

But we're going to try.

I reach our clients' yard and head toward the side fence like I'm supposed to be there. Just fake confidence and act like I belong. That's all I need to do. Fuck, I hate this. I hate that I know the exact assumptions people would make seeing me. I'm not as easygoing as Madden, but that comes from our vastly different life experiences. When people say they don't give a fuck, it's because I have them all. The fucks, I mean. I give entirely too many fucks every single day, and things like this going wrong send my anxiety skyrocketing.

There are legitimate excuses I could come up with for why I'm lurking around their yard, but I don't trust myself to come up with any of them in the heat of the moment, so as soon as I'm close enough, I yeet my purchases over the fence and redirect for the house.

I practice what I'm going to say in my mind, hoping I can get it all out right. I'm here for a quick look. Want to make sure my team is on schedule. Need to check things are done correctly.

Very standard, very routine, every reason for me to be here.

My phone goes off with a message.

Madden:

Bwroak!

At least he's amused.

I approach the door, hands sweating, which is an odd reaction—given I'm the sensible one in all this, I'm also the one having to deal with the clients. I should have made Madden go to their door dressed like a chicken. Maybe one day, when we have a long list of clients and are in high demand, we'll be able to play games like that, but for now, every job counts .

Once I'm at the front door, I ball up my clammy hands and knock.

There's a voice down the hall, and after a few footsteps, Isabell answers. It takes her a second to place me. "Oh, hi."

"Hi, sorry to disturb you," I say, eyes drifting past her to the large glass doors at the back of the house. "I'm stopping in to check where my team is up to, if I may …"

"Of course, come in. It's already looking wonderful."

"Bit small though," David says.

We get that concern frequently. "When you're used to seeing a lot and then suddenly there's nothing there, it's a common perception to have. Don't worry, your backyard is all accounted for, and once we're done, it'll look exactly like the renderings we went over."

"Well," he says grudgingly. "I guess we'll see."

I follow them through and fake a great deal of interest looking at a blank stretch of dirt. Then, movement catches the corner of my eye. I turn back in Isabell and David's direction just in time to see, through the windows behind them, two orange-clad legs kicking and flailing in the air for a second before they disappear out of sight.

Dear god.

"Perfect. We're right on track," I assure them.

"What about all those footprints?" David asks. "Those are going to be gone before the grass goes down, right?"

They already should be. "Of course. They'll be the first thing my partner gets to in the morning."

"Right. Well, good."

I thank them for their time and all but scurry from the house. As soon as I'm outside, I can make out Madden-the-chicken sitting in my passenger seat. The urge to shake him is strong, but I push it down as I approach, and his warm smile spreads across his face.

My door clicks open, and I slide into the stuffy heat of the car, instantly hit by a wash of Madden's sweat and a hint of his fruity bath wash. His eyes are shining blue in the afternoon sun as they meet mine. "So … what have we learned?"

"That I have the greatest best friend in the world."

That makes me feel good, and it's sort of hard to hold anything against Madden when he's being his sweetest self. I look pointedly at all the yellow, fluffy feathers. "And …"

"That I need to keep a better eye on my clothes."

I laugh. "Nothing about not working naked?"

He bristles like what I've suggested is ridiculous. "It was hot. My body wanted to breathe."

"Did your body tell you that, did it?"

"Of course. I couldn't stop sweating."

"That's what most people do on a hot day. It doesn't mean they take off their clothes."

"I have nothing to be ashamed of."

That's true. It's hard not to get body envy from the man. We both played baseball in college, but it was never my endgame, was never the thing I wanted more than anything. It was fun, it kept me fit, and now that it's over, I don't miss it. I do miss the body I had while I was constantly training though. The body Madden still has.

"I'm not saying to be ashamed. Just … you really can't get through the workday without having to strip off?"

"People weren't made to wear clothes," he points out as endlessly calm as usual.

"And I wasn't made to be put in potentially embarrassing situations, but here we are."

He shrugs, feathers ruffling. "Should I remind you that you bought this?"

"You're wearing it."

"Didn't want to be rude."

I smirk his way. "I think that's the most I've seen you wear in years." He's covered from his neck to his feet with a chicken head hood that's up covering his blond hair.

"I wasn't gonna be … chicken about it."

I grab the chicken beak and tug it down over his face before Madden blindly swamps me in a hug. The chicken suit is hot, but I don't push him away. It's impossible to deny him when Madden's giving you attention. He's the kind of friend you know will be forever.

"Thank you for showing up," he says. "And I'm sorry. I'll try not to be a dumbass next time."

"Thank you."

"We also have to bypass the shed on the way home to pick up my clothes. I only have two pairs of shorts."

"Buy you some new shorts. Got it."

He lets go, and I start the car, flooding the small space with the cool blast of the air conditioner.

"But even if I didn't rescue you, one of your roommates would be here in a flash," I add, keeping the bitterness out of my voice. "You would have been fine."

Because that's the simple truth with Madden. He's always there for people, so they're always there for him.

Selflessly. Willingly. Enthusiastically.

I wish they'd all fuck off and let me do my job.

I'm Madden's best friend. They don't need to worry about him when he has me.