“Show your lawyer that selfie so she knows what’s at stake,” Morgan advises. “No warm-blooded human would want you not to be able to fuck that.”
“Oh Mylanta! Just stop.”
“Seriously, Zoey, promise me you’ll at least consider a rebound romp with him when you’re free and ready,” Morgan requests earnestly, which is kind of hysterical and weird at the same time. I don’t know why we have this kind of relationship as siblings, but our sex lives have never been a taboo conversation. I know when he lost his virginity and who it was to—both times, male and female—and all the oddball details of his sex life before Ned. Luckily, he keeps his husband’s bedroom moves a secret. I don’t need to know that. “That boy looks like he’s built for meaningless sex, and the internet confirms it.”
“What do you mean, the internet confirms it?” I ask as he unlocks the Mini and we both slip inside.
He starts the engine and reaches for his seat belt as he elaborates. “He’s slept around. A lot. And he never disappoints, apparently.”
“Yeah, but for every woman who has actually slept with an athlete or celebrity, there are probably two more that claim to and haven’t. It’s the way society is,” I say, not that I care, because Jude’s past is his past.
“Okay, by that logic, if I disregard two out of three women who have said they’ve slept with him on the internet, then he’s probably just approaching triple digits and not in them,” Morgan replies and grins, but I know he’s not even kidding. It doesn’t matter. Jude’s told me he sleeps around. I did too once, so who cares? I glance out the window.
“There’s a dick pic.”
My head spins around so fast, I’m surprised I don’t have whiplash. Morgan laughs. “A dick pic? Like a picture of his dick? Jude’s dick? On the internet?”
“Yes. Well, I mean, his face isn’t in it, and apparently he denied it, but there’s the corner of a tattoo in it. The edge of a fancy letter. Maybe an R or a Y. The pic is taken from a weird angle. He’s lying on his side and it’s shot over his hip and so it’s a profile dick pic.”
I laugh because this is ridiculous and also makes me light-headed, and that reminds me of my dream this morning, which, if I’d managed to sleep a little longer, would have involved the dick we’re talking about and, sweet buttered biscuits, I am losing my mind. Morgan must have glanced over at my high-pitched laugh and seen my red cheeks and flustered expression. “Have you seen it?”
“The picture on the internet?”
“No. His dick,” Morgan replies. “If you have, then you can tell me if the picture is real.”
“No, I haven’t. We both were too drunk to get that far, and then there was barfing and that was it, remember?” I reply quickly. “And even if I do one day, I am not telling you about it.”
“And crying. There was crying,” Morgan adds oh-so-helpfully.
“Right. And that was your fault,” I remind him with a sideways glare. “You had to come out to Mom and Dad the same night I was supposed to get busy with Jude. You’re the reason I haven’t seen his wiener yet!”
Morgan’s laugh fills the car, and I find myself smiling despite the shitty start Adam tried to give my morning by murdering my teapot.
Morgan pulls to a stop in front of my building in a loading zone and turns on his four-way flashers. “Let me run in and get a shit ton of your business cards so I can give them out to parents at my school.”
“Really? That would be great, Morgy! Thank you.” We get out of the car and make our way into the office. Anastasia greets me with a smile and gives Morgan a long, appreciative stare. “Morning, Anastasia. This is my brother, Morgan.”
He waves at her and gives her a big, overly friendly smile. He might not be straight, but he loves attention from either sex. Anastasia grows an inch taller in her seat and pushes her Ds in his general direction. “Nice to meet you, Morgan.”
I’m halfway out of reception, about to round the corner into the open main room where my desk is located, when Anastasia calls out after me. “You have a client waiting.”
My heels squeak on the polished floor as I stop abruptly and look back at her. “I do?”
She nods. “Mr. Braddock from the other day. He’s back.”
The slowest, deepest, most obnoxious smile spreads across Morgan’s face. “Oh, this is going to be good.”
He passes me, and I turn and speed up my walk to catch up to him. I’m half a step behind him as he gets to my desk. Jude isn’t there. He’s a few feet away sitting in the chair across from Marti. Marti is smiling at him full of dreamy awe, like he invented the vibrator or something. Jude’s blanketing the chair with his frame, legs spread, shoulders back, takeout coffee cups in each hand balanced lazily on each thigh. He’s all confident, relaxed sex appeal.
He looks up as we both stop at my desk, and his eyes cloud over before he registers who Morgan is, but it hits him before I have to explain, which is good because I’m too busy absorbing that fleeting moment of darkness that overtook him. It was intense and possessive; it was effing hot.
“Morgan?” Jude stands up and strides over to join us by my desk.
“Jude Braddock, long time no see,” Morgan exclaims, and they do one of those bro-hug things made slightly awkward by the coffee cups in Jude’s hands.
“It’s been a long time, man. You look good. How’ve you been?”
“You grew up nice,” Morgan announces, and I cover my face with my hands.
