Page 21 of Honeyed

Of course, our new situation is going to cause everlasting ripple effects in our friendship, but this conversation is like old times. The regular us.

Alana shrugs. “If it means I get free meals that are edible, I’ll get married any day of the week.”

“Then I guess you’re in luck, because I picked up the ingredients for my famous chicken tacos on the way over.”

“Have I told you lately that I adore you, my husband?” She flutters her eyelashes like some nineteen-fifties housewife as she takes on the same accent.

“Someone has to bring the bread home and support the house.” I make a muscle, completely joking.

She rolls her eyes as she turns, my gaze landing on how those soft sweater pants outline the most perfect ass I’ve ever seen.

“Over dinner, we can discuss you bank rolling my storefront. If I’m not getting orgasms out of this deal, you’ve at least got to compensate me in other ways.”

I nearly choke on my tongue as Alana rumbles down the stairs, laughing her head off. How she can joke about something like that is beyond me, but my best friend has always been crass and sarcastic. More than anyone I know. It’s one of the reasons I love her so much because I’ve always been on the more quiet, shy side. Being with Alana and seeing how free she is to express herself makes me want to do the same.

But her using the word orgasms does dangerous things to the appendage just behind my zipper. And considering I delivered her first one ten years ago, the last and only time we crossed the line, it’s a goddamn forbidden fruit to mention that while we’re living under the same roof.

It takes nearly five minutes for me to get my head, heart, and cock under control before I go downstairs and make dinner for my wife.

9

ALANA

Rubbing my stomach, I sigh as I take a sip of red wine. “I’m going to pack some on with you living here, aren’t I?”

Warren rubs his jaw as he smirks, the dark blue T-shirt doing too many gorgeous things to his eyes and biceps.

“As if I couldn’t throw you over my shoulder soaking wet.”

We both know he’s done just that a couple times before; at pool parties over the years, during trips to the beach when he’d run with me into the water, and that one time I got too drunk at a bonfire, and he had to carry me to his truck with beer dripping down the front of me.

But the connotation in his voice feels different. Everything feels different. And yet oddly the same. How many times have we shared a meal? Has he cooked for me? The answer is too many times to count. So many instances of us sitting across a table laughing have happened over the years that this feels extremely normal.

Like we should have been sharing moments like this as a couple for longer than either of us cares to admit. And even though I hear the simmer of heat in his tone when he talks about manhandling me, I know things aren’t so different that he’ll act on it.

“I’m so full I might puke if you attempt that,” I warn him in a joking manner.

“Seen you puke enough times to know how to handle that, too,” he reminds me.

“Nothing we haven’t experienced with each other, huh?” I try not to insinuate, but it bleeds into my statement.

Warren chooses to ignore it. “Even marriage.”

I snort, the lunacy of it invading my brain. “This is insane, right?”

“Certifiable. But we’re here now, so let’s get down to brass tacks. Do what we set out to accomplish.” The expression on his face is serious. “We have to figure out how to help August.”

My heart melts with how diligent he is when it comes to her. I know his past, with his biological parents and the trauma stemming from his mother’s murder, haunts him when he looks at the young waitress we’ve known for years. In her, he sees himself. Yes, August lives under the roof of a mad woman, but she hasn’t experienced anything she can’t come back from. Not yet, anyway. Warren is a good man, the best kind, and he wants to make sure she never gets to the point where she can’t overcome the kind of trauma that has been dumped on him.

“You mentioned a scholarship. We could invent a fake one and have her apply to it.” I’ve been giving this some thought.

“That’s not illegal? I mean, I know it’s immoral …”

“Do we care? I mean, I feel like it’s fine. It’s not like we’re scamming other kids into applying for it. I’ve made plenty a website and landing pages in my day. Leave it to me. She’ll think she’s applying to some fancy-schmancy scholarship, when really, she’s the only applicant and we’ve hand-picked her to have her entire tuition paid for. We’re not hurting anyone by doing this.”

Whipping that up will be no problem, and I don’t feel the least bit guilty lying to August. White lies are for someone else’s good, and in this case, August deserves every single good thing in life.

“We’ll just be lying to a girl who trusts us, despite her propensity not to trust anyone.” He chews on his full bottom lip.

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