Page 44 of Don't Bang a Bandmate

“You sure?” I ask after catching it.

He shrugs. “Old shirt.”

I clean myself off with it the best I can, then fold it up onto my lap. “Bronson?”

“Hm?”

“Areyouokay?”

He chuckles. “Oh, I’m doing just fine.”

I smile at his smugness, at the almost proud way he sits back, his flaccid cock still on display. “This isn’t weird for you?”

“No,” he answers. “Is it weird for you?”

I consider it for a moment, searching my feelings through a haze of sex and satisfaction. “No,” I realize. “Not really.”

Bronson shrugs, his eyes drawing a gentle line down my body before landing on my face again.

Hell, I check him out, too. The memory of his flesh, his scent and all the other scents still present on my skin.

And then another silence.

Quiet and comfortable. Just two friends hanging out. Relaxing. Taking care of each other. The lines between us... blurred into oblivion.

“Hey, Bronson.”

“Hm?”

“Have we totally screwed up our friendship?” I ask.

He thinks it over, tilting forward to set his elbows on his thighs. “No,” he answers.

“No?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“Jordan, we’ve known each other for a really long time.”

I nod in agreement, hanging on every word.

“There’s nothing you can do that could make me stop being your friend,” he says. “Hypothetically, for example, if you took Monroe’s offer?—”

“I’dneverdo that, Bronson.”

“Hypothetically,”he repeats, “if you took Monroe’s offer, I’d congratulate you.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what friends do. And I know you. I know you’d never do that, but if you did, you wouldn’t do it just to hurt any of us. Right?”

“Of course not.”

“So, when you ask me if I think a little bit of casual sex just screwed up a lifelong friendship, of course, the answer is no.”

I smile, the question itself now seeming ridiculous.

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