I don’t know how I’m supposed to be calm when I’m about to help my best friend of over four decades get laid for the first time since his divorce. For all the ways in which we’ve been close, I’ve never donethis. I never had to. Lawson was never promiscuous, never wanted my help finding someone at a college party or even before then, back in high school. When I was testing out the waters, he was content to float at the surface, never dipping his toes in.
But now he wants to dive into the same pool I’ve been swimming in since my late teens, and I’m supposed to just…ignore that for myself? I’m supposed to ignore the fact that Lawson asked to get intimate withme, even though I’m more than certain it would be a catastrophic error on my part to accept his proposal, tempted as I am by the possibility that was never in reach before.
Fuck. I don’t know how to do this. How to brush aside what every fiber of my being is telling me it wants. Thatwantdoesn’t give a shit about the repercussions. It’s base and instinctual and thinks if I get just one taste—one taste—I’ll be able to go on my way afterwards, same as before. Yet I know that’s not the truth. I’ll be changed.
Lawson might think we can weather that sort of shift in our friendship, and maybe he’s right that it wouldn’t tear us apart. But it would tearmeapart, at least a little.
Could I accept that damage for him?
The knock on my door is expected, but it ratchets my pulse back up nonetheless. Lawson lets himself in, kicking off his boots, wearing a nice pair of jeans and a button-down as if he’s going on a first date.
Jesus. The man is too fucking pure.
“Drink?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “No, I might have along drive.”
Right. If we find him a guy to hook up with, Lawson will go meet him.
I think I might be sick.
I grab myself a glass of water before joining him at the couch. He has his phone out, the hookup app I told him about downloading.
“I got myself ready,” he says off-hand. “I wasn’t sure if guys would want to take the time to do that in this sort of situation.”
“You…” I have to take a breath and start again. “You prepped yourself?”
“Well, yeah. Laura wasn’t a fan of that, so I’d do it myself.”
Oh good God.
I’ve never been a violent person, but I have the sudden and desperate urge to find Laura and shake the woman. Compatible sexually or not, she couldn’t see to her husband’s own comfort?
“Any man that can’t finger you before he dicks you down isn’t worth your time, Lawson.”
He looks mildly surprised by that statement, eyes holding mine. “Truly?”
“Maybe some people have different opinions about it,” I allow. “And sure, some folks may prefer to do the prep themselves. But if your partner isn’t willing to make sure it’s a comfortable experience for you, find someone who is.”
He blinks, clearly thinking that over. “I just figured, being a quick thing and all…”
“A hookup doesn’t mean it has to be quick. It sure doesn’t have to hurt. You have a right to demand some respect from someone who’s about to stick their dick in your body.”
“Jesus,” he mutters, flushing slightly. “All right.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says, sounding more sure. “So how do I do this?”
Letting out a breath, I help Lawson create an account, and we start perusing men near Darling. I let Lawson take the lead, not sure what he might be looking for. Turns out, I’m not sure he knows either. There’s not a single physical type he stops to look at. Instead, he reads the information for each, not deciding based solely on appearances. It’s slow going, and I can tell his frustration is mounting.
“How do I choose?” he asks after a good half hour.
“However you’d like,” I answer honestly. “You can see who’s willing to top.”
He nods, worrying at his lip.
“You’re not drawn to any of them?” I check, wanting to make sure.
