Walk on the Wilder Side by Serena Bell

25

Brody

“Hey.”

Gabe stands a few feet away from the trailered small boat, leaning against a tree, his dog Buck at his side. I’ve just finished checking the plugs and fuel filter. It’s deja vu from our fight over the reviews.

He climbs up beside me. “You want some help?”

Startled, I say, “Sure.”

That’s how Gabe and I come to be working side by side, me quietly checking the fuses and wiring while he hooks up the trickle charger. Buck noses around the inside of the boat, hopping down from time to time, then back up again.

I catch myself humming. Humming!

I’m not a guy who hums when he works.

Or ever.

But I’m in such a good mood.

Getting some will do that to a guy, I tell myself, but I know it’s more than that. First of all, Rachel and I still haven’t officially had the kind of sex that involves me burying myself balls deep in her—

Gah.

But we have been spending a lot of time together the last week and a half, since the night when I told her what happened with Zoë and Justin. We’ve done a couple of parties, but we’ve also spent time talking and kissing and making each other feel really, really good. Telling her about Justin changed things between us. Some of it was the relief of telling someone. Anyone. But some of it was how carefully she listened. And what she said afterwards.

I get it. Why you value your friendship with Connor so much. If he’s the one guy who’s ever seen you for the man you really are.

Gabe clears his throat, drawing my eyes up from where I’m working. “I just wanted to say I appreciate the money you’ve been bringing in.”

I try not to keel over from sheer shock. Even when I was trying to turn over a new leaf with Gabe, when Zoë was first pregnant with Justin, he never outright praised me.

I almost tell him that, but then I think better of it. “Thanks.”

“Can I ask a question?”

My normal response: You’re going to do it anyway, so is there really any point to your asking me?

But today I say, “Sure.”

Gabe’s eyebrows go up. He wasn’t expecting that. He was expecting the usual snark from me.

“All the money coming in from you. That’s not all Real Romance parties, is it?”

It’s not really a question.

I never told Gabe about my plan, and I never updated Lucy on where it stood.

“No,” I say. “Not all Real Romance.”

I tell him about the new parties with my game store, book store, and spa partners. I explain that I started doing the sessions… and they’ve been working. The partners and I are making money. The clients—mostly women, but sometimes also couples—love them.

And best of all, I’ve been upselling the other trips at the end of each session, and getting signups.

Gabe nods. “I wondered where the random new signups were coming from. There were a bunch we couldn’t account for from any other funnel.”

I nod.

“I need you to keep me in the loop,” Gabe says in his boss/dad/asshole voice.

Two weeks ago, that would have sent me to the moon on a rage-rocket. But for whatever reason, today, I get it.

I’ve been a pain in Gabe’s ass. As a kid, I made him pick me up, staggering drunk or stoned out of my mind, from parties all over the Five Rivers region. He had to phone in my fake school excuses, show up at the principal’s office to pick me up for suspensions. He called my employers to beg them to give me back jobs I’d done everything I could to lose. He bailed me out of the drunk tank, cleaned me up after fights, gave me work when I couldn’t—or really, more accurately, wouldn’t—hold down another job.

And when he did, I rewarded him by bucking his authority, snarking at him, and generally giving him shit.

Since Zoë got pregnant, the only truly hotheaded thing I’ve done was throw a punch at Len, and I had plenty of good reasons to do that.

But Gabe doesn’t know that.

So it makes sense that he’d still have a few doubts.

And for once, I feel like it’s my job to close the gap.

“For real, Gabe. You can trust me.”

I don’t think I’ve ever said anything like that to my brother. Usually it would be, What the fuck? You don’t trust me?

I’m not sure how he’s going to react.

My heart’s beating like it does when Zoë calls. Or when Rachel gets anywhere in a hundred-foot radius.

Maybe that’s a bad example, only because it’s the least of my reactions to Rachel being near.

But you get the gist.

Gabe’s stern gaze assesses me for so long, I want to take back what I said about trusting me. And then he blows out a breath and says:

“Okay.”

Okay. And that’s it. That’s the end of the conversation.

After all that—after all these years—he’s willing to do it. To trust me.

Maybe it’s Lucy’s influence on him.

Or maybe things are changing for me.

I’ve worked really hard these last few weeks, and I haven’t minded or resented it.

Even before Rachel said those words—the man you really are—I wanted to be that man for her.

So maybe it’s that. Gabe’s softer, and I’m—invested.

But it’s also possible that I missed the truth, which is that at any point, if I’d asked Gabe nicely to trust me…?

He would have been willing to do it.

I open my mouth to ask, but there’s a strange—choking—noise from behind me, on the boat.

Gabe moves so fast he’s almost a blur, grabbing Buck and practically tossing him out of the boat, depositing him on the ground below. And not a moment too soon, because Buck proceeds to lose the contents of his stomach in the grass.

Gabe groans, then leans over. “Why is Buck’s vomit purple and glittery?”

It takes me a minute, but I figure it out. “We did a small party in this boat, and I guess one of Rachel’s toys got left behind. Buck must have found it and chewed it up.”

“God damn,” Gabe says. “I’m going to have to call the vet and make sure silicone isn’t toxic to dogs.”

“That one’s latex,” I tell him.

Gabe shoots me a long, hard look.

“What? I have nothing to do but listen to her spiel.”

And watch her handle the merch.

My cock gets heavy, thinking about it.

Gabe’s eyes narrow. Then narrow more.

“What?!” I’m already defending myself.

“You tell me!”

I’m about to lie by omission, or at least quibble by omission, but then Gabe says, “If you’re not sleeping with her yet, you’re going to.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

I frown at him, but only so I don’t smile. And is that a smile I see on my brother’s face?

No fucking way.

“You know how I know that?” Gabe asks.

I shake my head.

“Buck has put his stamp of approval on it.”

My brother is talking straight up nonsense. “You’re joking, right?”

“No. I’m dead serious.” And then Gabe tells me a story. About the boat ride I took Lucy on earlier this summer, her unfortunate seasickness incident, and the fate of one of his sweatshirts.

“So,” Gabe concludes. “Buck is putting his stamp of approval on you and Rachel.”

I open my mouth to tell Gabe that he’s not making any sense, but then I stop. Because I realize what Gabe is saying, in his own, roundabout way.

Gabe approves.

And that’s twice in one day, so there’s no fucking way I’m going to argue with him.