“I have special permission,” I told Isaac with a little smile. “It’s kind of a...personal thing.”
“I see,” Isaac said smoothly, turning to Cade. “Then I take it back, and I won’t call you that again.”
“It’s okay,” Cade said in confusion and looked at me.
It took me a moment before I realized what he was doing. “Why the fuck are you looking at me like I’m supposed to tell you if it’s okay or not?”
“It’s called trusting you,” Isaac said with a smile that he barely hid behind his hand.
I was so confused by the idea of Cade looking to me to determine if someone should call him by that nickname or not that I couldn’t find anything to say, and had almost completely forgotten why they were there in the first place. That was until I looked down at my lap and saw the picture nestled there softly and felt the familiar weight settle back into my chest.
“He tell ya?” Cade asked softly, and I didn't have to look up to know he was talking to Isaac.
“He did,” Isaac said. “Last night.”
“Oh,” Cade replied, and that one syllable spoke volumes. He didn’t know how to process that Isaac knew the truth, and he was probably wondering what he knew compared to what Isaac knew. I didn’t have the heart or the strength to tell him that in truth; Isaac knew a lot more. Or at least, I hadsaida lot more to Isaac, and that, in many ways, I’d never felt the need to explain myself to Cade as I did to Isaac. Not because Isaac was more deserving or because Cade didn’t matter, but because I knew the well of mourning in Cade was as wide and deep as the one in me, but that Isaac had needed more context.
“Is...that okay?” Isaac asked, his eyes darting all over Cade and not once flickering over me.
Cade stared at him, looked at me, then back at Isaac, confused. “Uh...yeah?”
“I know he’s as important to you as you are to him,” Isaac said in a serene voice.
“And?”
“And I’m just being sure.”
“Oh myGod,” I hissed. “You two sound like two exes fighting over their only child...or two people wanting the same man!”
“Gross,” Cade muttered, wrinkling his nose. “I got standards.”
“Alright, fuck you,” I said, kicking the shin of his real leg.
“Ow!” he grumbled, backing up. “Just ’cause Isaac’s been dealin’ with the sleaziest of people and is used to it don’t mean I gotta settle for it, ya horndog.”
“I’d say eat my ass, but you’d probably like it, you giant closet case,” I snarled, kicking at him again. “Come back here, I’ll kick the fake leg right off you, and then you can play the crippled card.”
“Sure,” Cade said with a grin. “And then when ya lose me as a friend, you can play the ‘oh woe is me’ card. Then what’re ya gonna do to get laid?”
“Look good and fuck good, that’s what!”
“Just ’cause men got lower standards for fuckin’ don’t mean you’re good at it.”
“Well,” Isaac said lightly. “As someone who’s experienced the gamut of male sexuality, and trained themselves to be good at it, and thus can properly gauge it in someone else...perhaps you shouldn’t speak for me quite yet, Cade.”
Cade, who had clearly forgotten Isaac was there, peered at him. “I mean...is he good?”
“Do you really want to know?” Isaac asked in amusement.
Cade’s eyes widened, gasping. “You slept with ’em?”
“Why do you sound horrified about it?” I complained, throwing a piece of chair at him, which he batted away easily, reminding me that ‘crippled’ did not mean useless, something Reggie had faced on a far more visceral level moments before.
“We did,” Isaac said, completely unfazed, apparently. “And he was...well, he has return ‘customers’ for a reason.”
“Damn,” Cade muttered. “And here I was thinkin’ guys were just that easy.”
“They are,” Isaac said with a laugh. “But again, you’re talking to someone who knows better than some how to measure another’s skill and intention properly. Maybe he only pulled out the good stuff for me?”
