“Come with me to check on her?” he suggested, the last word barely tipping up into a question.
“This feels like a proposition.” I stood, steadying myself against the arm of the couch so I didn’t take a header onto the floor.
“You good?” Daniel asked, reaching out and grabbing my forearm.
I really needed to lay off the drinking. As if an afternoon in the drunk tank hadn’t already taught me that lesson. Now I was in the home of a man I’d taken to bed more than once, being led down the hallway to the bedroom he shared with a gorgeous woman who most likely also wanted to fuck me.
“Debatable,” I answered honestly.
“Do you need to sit down?”
“No,” I said. “I need to quit drinking.”
“Will you?”
The door at the end of the hall was closed, a soft white light filtering out into the hallway.
“Probably not.”
Daniel rapped his knuckles against the bedroom door, counted to five, then pushed it open. Sophie was on the bed when we came in, and she looked up at the both of us with a tentative little smile. Her laptop was open on the bed beside her, her cell phone on her thigh, wine glass in hand. In person, the room looked exactly the same as it had when she called me earlier in the evening. The same rich green on the walls and the ceiling, the white oak bedroom set. The wall by the door had a long dresser that matched the rest of the space. It held some framed photos, a glass tray with candles in various stages of their life. There was a window on the far wall, white blinds and velvet curtains pulled back around gold hooks.
It was very much not Daniel, I knew that at least.
His old apartment had been furnished well for a bachelor, but he didn’t have near the taste his future wife apparently held.
“Did you boys settle everything?” Sophie asked, raising her wine and taking a sip. She had maybe half a glass left before she was empty.
We’d all had so much to drink.
Enough that when she called me and Danielboys, a very unexpected rush of heat pooled in my stomach. I was still so hard from sucking Daniel off on the couch, from kissing him. He would have gotten me off, but I’d foolishly—or preferably—been the one to put a stop to it. I hadn’t wanted to go behind Sophie’s back. Hadn’t wanted to…fuck.
I didn’t even know.
“I think we’re in agreement,” Daniel told her and I managed to smile and nod along with him.
“You look flushed, Finn,” she said.
“A little too much to drink,” I admitted. “And the dick sucking didn’t help.”
The corner of her mouth quirked into a smile. “Who did the sucking?”
I gestured to myself with a marginal level of flourish, which earned me an understated laugh. Sophie stretched toward the nightstand and set her wine and phone down, eyeing me curiously.
“What?” I rasped.
“And now you’re here,” she said.
“Now I’m here.”
“Are you too drunk to talk about rules?”
“I’m relatively confident I’ll remember all of this for the rest of my life, so we can probably manage that. If we’re there, I mean.” I swallowed hard, leaning against the doorframe so I didn’t fall over. That failure in my legs had nothing to do with the drinking and everything to do with the fact standing in their bedroom felt a lot like signing my own death warrant.
“Are we?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Do you want to be?”