The Stepbrother (Red's Tavern 5)

My head was spinning. “What do you mean, one thing led to another?”

“I mean, I bet him twenty bucks he wouldn’t blow me, and he said he would gladly do it for free,” Fox said. “So you bet your ass I let him.”

“God,” I whispered. I felt like some tectonic shift had just happened. At the end of the day, it was meaningless. But Fox was just proving that I truly hadn’t known who he was.

Fox had a gleeful look on his face as he witnessed me in full brain-melt. “Oh God, I really do say too much when I’m drunk. You look like I just shattered your whole fucking world, Sam.”

“You’re just—you’re very straight, and—”

“I am straight,” Fox said. “I think. But maybe not very straight. I enjoyed that afternoon with him. And I had one wild night in New York a few years ago where I definitely accepted another blow job from this guy who was interning at my firm.”

My mind was still in the process of being flipped over like a picnic table. But I’d also always known guys like that existed. In fact, I’d met a few guys over the past few years on various apps who were by all outward purposes “straight,” but they simply enjoyed an anonymous BJ from a gay man every once in a while.

It wasn’t unheard of. But I sure as fuck never would have believed Fox would do anything like that.

“Christ,” I said.

Fox let out a long breath of air. “You’re actually the only person I’ve told that to,” he said.

“Thanks, I guess,” I said. “So to answer your question again, yes, I definitely remember the day I fell off that tree, and I’ll remember that day very differently from now on, knowing you were getting head from a dude upstairs.”

“Meanwhile you were down here climbing a tree and trying to jump into the pool.”

“I still can’t believe I did that,” I said. “I’d have a heart attack if I saw Logan try something like that. I’ve still got the scar to prove it.”

“I know you do. You can see it on the side of your stomach in all your shirtless Instagram pics.”

I reached out, giving him a push on his shoulder. “So you’re zooming in on my damn Insta pictures, too? Who’s the stalker now?”

“Like you said, it’s not stalking. You’re the one who puts it all out there right?” he said, teasing me.

I reached for my drink, taking another long sip.

“You know I meant what I said earlier,” Fox said. “I’m glad you’re happy.”

“And I really am sorry if I was harsh,” I said. “I just thought you had this... perfect life.”

He looked down at the gently shifting blue water, lost in thought for a long moment. “It is far from perfect, Sam.”

I watched him for a few quiet moments. His eyes were still downcast, and when I saw a few droplets on his cheeks, I thought it must have just been water from the pool that had splashed to his face. But then he brought the heel of his palm to wipe them away, letting out a sigh.

He was crying. Tearing up, at the very least.

Drunk Fox really was emotional Fox, apparently, these days.

“Oh God, am I really about to do this?” I said out loud, my voice low.

He looked up at me, sheepish, and I saw that his eyes were a little red from the tears.

“What?” he said quietly.

“Shit, yep, I really am about to do this,” I said, moving in closer to him. I hesitated for another moment before finally putting my arms around him and bringing him in close for a hug.

“Oh,” Fox said softly, tense at first in my arms and then relaxing a little.

Having the bulk of his shoulders so close to my body felt better than I’d expected. It was the first time we had ever hugged, in my memory. It felt completely unnatural, like I was hugging the enemy, but at the same time there was a strange, satisfying comfort to it.

He felt good in my arms.

“You’re a lot better of a person than me, Sam,” Fox said, his voice still a little hoarse. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t have anybody.”

I still felt like I’d stepped into some other universe, a time and place where Fox was shockingly vulnerable and shared emotions. I realized I’d never been drunk with him before—even back in high school, when I’d known that he’d snuck liquor from his dad sometimes, we’d never hung out at all.

“Well,” I said, still hugging him close, “you can’t expect to have friends if you don’t make time for them.”

He pulled back a little, looking at me. “Make time? My life is busy.”

“Bullshit. You can make whatever hours you want. You choose to be busy all the time, because all you want is more money.”