"I'm a great friend." With benefits. Except, it’s been six weeks since I saw Rhys and I don’t know when I’ll see him again. My cock is getting tired of my fist.
I rip a piece of bandage tape off and secure the microphone before turning it on and sliding the battery pack into my pocket. Then I fit the ear piece in and look at Crosby. "Ta Da!"
He leans in and inspects my ear. “It's not completely hidden, but it's not super obvious either." He admits and so I reach forward and start to unbutton his linen shirt.
"I've got it, thanks." He swats my hand away.
"Suit yourself." I shrug and go to pull a tray of cut fruit out of his fridge. I munch on a couple chunks of watermelon, sneak a small piece to Stella, and return it to the fridge while Crosby finishes getting the ear piece in place.
"This is never going to work." He grumbles.
So pessimistic.
"I'll feed you lines. It'll be just like the movies." I encourage him. Normally Crosby is pretty level headed and good in a pinch, it's why I love being his linemate on the ice. I know he's got my back just like he knows I have his. This bumbling version is sort of new. He usually shuts down if he’s stressed.
"When has that ever worked?" Crosby asks as he finishes buttoning his shirt.
"Never, but that doesn't mean it won't work for you!" I give him an enthusiastic clap to the chest with both hands and my ear is filled with a muffled thump. I wince. "Forgot about the mic."
He rolls his eyes and checks the time. I can see worry color his features. He is really down bad for this girl and I hate seeing him struggling.
"I'm gonna pick her up, and then meet you at the party." He repeats the plan to me. But instead of giving him shit, like I do to Bryson who keeps telling us about his proposal plans, I listen to Crosby and encourage him.
"Yep! And then I'll make you so suave she will be falling to her knees."
Mmm, knees.
Rhys and I are about the same height which made jerking him off from behind as natural as stroking my own cock. And, when we eventually get on our knees for each other I imagine it will be a good fit.
Laila is nearly a foot shorter than Crosby.
"What?" He asks.
My brain is too busy trying to work out the angles to tell me I shouldn’t say this out loud. "Well, she's pretty short, so if she's on her knees can she even reach your–"
"You fuck!" He roars and smacks the back of my head. I reach up and start rubbing it. "Don't picture her on her knees. Don't picture her at all!"
"10-4 Roger." I say and I do feel bad. I didn't mean to picture her giving him head, and actually, I didn't picture it, I pictured Rhys and I giving each other head but I'm not supposed to tell anyone about that so I can't really defend myself.
Crosby pushes me out the door and I call up another rideshare to take me to Felix's.
***
"This is the perfect wet test." Emmett says as I stand at the side of the back patio waiting for Crosby to arrive. E.T. is running me through the final test for best boxer briefs.
How comfortable they are if you suddenly find yourself wet.
I tried to argue that this doesn’t happen but then I remembered getting splashed by Rhys's car in Scotland, and us hosing off after we got all muddy trying to move Granny's car.
E.T. has the first pair of boxers on under his swim trunks. Felix set up a slip-n-slide for us, well probably for the kids coming to the party but let's be honest, we're commandeering it.
"What are the criteria for the test?" I ask.
"First, temperature regulation, do they stay cold for an extended period of time or do they return to ambient temperature." E.T. says as he looks at the spreadsheet on his phone. "Then the second test is staying power, do the legs stay in place or do they ride up."
"That seems important."
"I'm trying not to weigh the criteria but yeah, it is."
