26. The Triple Challenge

Monroe

Sawyer's a relentless competitor. He also adores his sister, so even if clamjam isn't a Merriam-Webster word, he leaves it on the board without protest.

"It's a challenge," Sawyer explains when she's gone. Ever the gamer, he attacks the board like a word warrior.

Me? I've got another challenge—getting to Juliet soon. Make that a double challenge since there's a curl of guilt in my gut. I'm sitting here drinking beer and playing a word game with my longtime college friend, all while lusting after his little sister.

It's more than lust, you dipshit.

The guilt tunnels deeper into me. If I were my client, how would I handle this?

As I pick up tiles, trying to assemble vexing words for the game, I keep turning over the issue. Guilt doesn't always need to be absolved. Sometimes, you have to live with it—like when a confession will only hurt the other person. But keeping this secret doesn't protect Sawyer. It protects me and keeps him unfairly in the dark. The kind of unfair that makes someone feel stupid or foolish if/when they learn the truth. I don't want that for my friend.

Guilt's not the only emotion taking up real estate in my ticker. There's something else jostling for space. It's the wish to declare this feeling. To name it. To acknowledge it to Sawyer.

Trouble is, it's not just my story to tell. I can't violate Juliet's privacy to ease my own mind.

So, I set the feeling aside, playing apex.

Sawyer sets down his beer, rubs his palms, and plays ex.

Damn. "Left my X open," I say, shaking my head at my gaffe.

"You did, and I appreciate it," he says.

I flip him the bird, and we play ferociously for twenty more minutes until I notice him yawning. Actually…has he been plagued by yawns for a while now?

He's only had one beer, so I'm not worried about him driving under the influence. I am worried about how tired he is even as he studies the board like an eagle.

Finally, he plays the word my off of clamjam, finishing the game. Getting to his feet, he unleashes another yawn as he says, "Pay up."

That's decided. "You need to stay here, buddy."

"Nah," he says, shaking his head.

"Yes. You do. It's not optional."

He sighs, then scratches his jaw, shrugging in admission. "I mean, it's a big house. And the furniture's all still here so…"

I gulp. Shit. I'm going to have to face up to some modicum of the truth. We don't have a spare bedroom in The Horny House. Only spare chaise lounges. I could offer him my bunk, but the last time I was in that bed, I fucked his sister. Soooo…

"There are a bunch of chaises," I offer.

His brow knits. "That's not weird."

I quickly explain, and he says gamely, "When in Rome." After we put the board away, he drops his beer bottle into the recycling bin, then stops with his hand still raised. "But where are you and Juliet sleeping?"

The kernel of guilt turns into a grapefruit as I pick up my half-full bottle, staring at it rather than him. "There's…a big bunk bed."

"You're sharing a bunk bed? Are you eight?"

The guilt expands to watermelon size. I wish I could tell him the truth. I wish I could say I can't stop thinking about your sister, and how much more I want than this little experiment.

"There wasn't anything else," I say.

With a nod, he accepts that, then cuts across the kitchen, but he stops again in the doorway, turning around. "And listen, I've been meaning to ask something all night."

I fiddle with the beer label then take a drink. "Yeah?"

"How long have you been into my sister?"

I didn't think spit takes were a real thing until just now.

Sawyer laughs at my expression. "I thought so."

"Fuck," I grumble, dragging my free hand through my hair. So much for taking the high road.

"Impressive that you're not denying it."

"There's no point. How did you…"

He scoffs as he returns to the table. "Not born yesterday. That whole dopey gaze when you talked about the store was a dead giveaway."

"Dammit." I'm so transparent.

He nods in agreement. "What are you going to do about it?"

"You're not going to tell me to stay the fuck away from her?"

He rolls his eyes. "What am I? Eight?"

Fair point. "I appreciate that." I lean back in the chair, sighing heavily. "I don't know, Sawyer. Your sister deserves the world."

"Yeah, she does. You can't give that to her?"

I want to. I desperately want to. "My track record is shit. I wasn't a good husband."

"You didn't cheat on Elizabeth, did you, man?"

"No. There are other ways to be a bad husband."

"And what were yours?"

"I was emotionally unavailable, Elizabeth said."

He snorts. "She was emotionally unavailable. Dude, you picked a woman who was obsessed with work."

I chew on that for a beat. He's not wrong. Elizabeth was a workaholic, but so was I. "I'd be the pot calling the kettle black."

"Maybe so, but she was also driven, ambitious, and single-minded."

"And it didn't work out," I add, then tap my chest. "Look at me now, I'm thirty-five, divorced and married to my job."

"That's your choice," he says, no ire, no judgment. Just an honest assessment.

"I want to be the best for my clients. They come to me for help and deserve someone who doesn't phone it in," I say, a little defensively.

He laughs, shaking his head. "If you're honest with them, you ought to be honest with yourself." He levels me with a hard stare, the kind that only a good friend can deliver. "You're afraid you're going to be like your dad."

Ouch. That stings. "That's the problem with friends who know you too well."

"Yup. They know you too well."

I scrub a hand across the back of my neck, letting his comments sink in. But really, this very reality has been sinking in for a few decades now. My father's been detached and dismissive since I was thirteen, probably before then too, so I taught myself to rely only on myself. That shit's hard to unlearn, harder to undo. Risky too. If I tried and failed, the collateral damage would be worse—Juliet. "You're not wrong. But the thing is I don't want to hurt her."

Sawyer leans forward, elbows on the table. "I get that. But you're the only one who knows what you're capable of," he says, ending his observation on a big, hearty yawn.

He stretches his arms, and quietly we leave the kitchen, gather blankets for the chaise. Once he flops down on it, he's out like a light.

I leave, and while I really should mull over his points, that's not what I do. My feet take me straight to the main bedroom. There's only one place I want to be.

She's asleep, though, so I'm quiet as I get ready for bed, stripping down to boxer briefs and brushing my teeth. When I'm done, I climb into bed, next to her, feeling a little unburdened, a little less guilty.

But still guilty in a whole new way.

How could I ever give her what she deserves? Maybe Sawyer's right. It would take a choice from me. What if I do it poorly? What if I don't have the skills to do love, like I have to teach it?

Sure, I could try to figure out my stuff better. Try to work on all these walls I erect. But is it fair to work on them with her? I don't think it is. It's not fair to ask her to wait for me to become a better partner either.

My heart twists painfully. I hate that feeling so instead I steal a sniff of her hair, that vanilla-honey scent going to my head.

Making me think maybesomeday.

When her eyes flutter open, though, I'm thinking one thing. Now.

"Hey," she whispers.

I half want to tell her that Sawyer figured me out, but when she cups my cheek and strokes my jaw, I don't want to talk at all. I cover her warm body in one swift move, grabbing her wrists, pinning them above her head, and dropping my mouth onto hers.

She wraps her legs around me, hooking them over my ass. She's soft and pliant, arching up into me, asking for what we both desperately want.

I kiss her harder, and at times like this, words only get in the way. But there are a few I need to say. I wrench away and meet her gaze. "Sawyer is staying the night. Can you be quiet as I fuck you?"

"I can try."

I shake my head as I shift my body next to hers. "You have to, Juliet."

She smiles. "Then you'll have to make me be quiet."

Challenge accepted.