“Please don’t tell me you’re beating off to her—no, never mind, I don’t need to know about what goes on inside that thick head of yours.”
He flipped me off. “Fuck off.”
“Maybe we should skip mentioning the podcast so she doesn’t think we’re obsessive stalker listeners like you.” I tore off the first note and tossed it in the trash, then started again.
“I’m not a stalker, I just think she’s so… wise,” he said with a dreamy sigh. “And insightful. And she just… gets people, you know? And she’s so pretty.”
“I’m well aware of your crush, but let’s not include the fact that you’re mooning over her like an idiot in the note.”
“Obviously not. The crush remains our secret.”
“It’d be more of a secret if you could control yourself around her.”
“I’m completely in control! She has no idea,” Rhett protested. “How about offering to pick up something from the store on our way back from shift? As a peace offering.”
“A peace offering?”
“Yeah, like wine? Chocolate? One of those fancy cheese boards she likes?”
“No, if we’re going to stop being overbearing, we need to leave it open-ended.”
Rhett clapped. “Good call. Tell her to let us know if she needs anything. And we can leave the groceries at her doorstep in case she’s not ready to see us.”
“Right. We can’t get in the way of another date. Girl’s gonna kill us if she doesn’t get some dick soon.” I nodded, something uncomfortable twisting in my stomach at the thought of Aimee fucking someone who called himself Karl-with-a-K. I cleared my throat. “Don’t want to cockblock her again.”
“I mean… we could cockblock her a little,” Rhett waggled his eyebrows at me. “That guy was an ass. ‘Hey Karl with a K, I’m Rhett with an R.’”
“What the fuck else would Rhett start with?” I elbowed him in the ribs, harder than was strictly necessary. “But you can’t say shit like that about Ryker’s sister. And we’re trying to be better, remember? We have to trust her judgment and let her decide what she needs.”
“I know, I know. It’s just…” He trailed off, staring at the blank notepad. “These guys she keeps bringing home, they’re such dicks. Why is she bothering with them?”
“Did they actually suck? Or was that wishful thinking?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” His voice took on that squeaky tone it did when he was lying. “Why would I want anyone to suck? Unless it’s my dick.”
“You make a good point. I think she wants to suck some dick.”
“That is NOT what I said.”
“Who knows what she’s into? But she deserves to have some fun, let loose, and get laid if she wants. Finally get over what’s-his-face. Gavin or whatever.”
“Garrett? What an asshole.”
“You met him?” I asked, genuinely curious about Aimee’s ex.
“Nah. But I hated him on principle. I don’t like anyone who makes Aimee sad.”
I finished the non-intrusive note and held it up for Rhett’s approval. He took the pad, read it over, and started to write something, then stopped.
“Your handwriting is better than mine.”
“And spelling.”
“Fuck off, I’m dyslexic.” He said it with a grin, the way he always did, turning it into a punchline. A twist of guilt hit me for the spelling crack. I’d heard enough about his parents—both surgeons, both convinced their son’s reading difficulties meant he was stupid—to know that joke landed harder than Rhett let on. “Still, I’ve got something you don’t: I can draw.” He leaned in and started to sketch, and I watched as his hand moved across the paper, two buff firefighters appearing before my eyes. His fingers were long and strong, callused from years of handling equipment and climbing ladders. I found myself wondering how those fingers would feel against my skin.
Nope, not going there.
“Cute. But you made me way too buff.”
