Page 75 of Hot Doggin'
“Well, I don’t get it,” Brandt says, shaking his head.
“Hence, the inside part.” I shut our bedroom door again before anyone else can poke their heads in and ask more questions.
Nash pops the top on his can of soda. “So, let me get this straight. You bought a home together, sleep in the same bed, and basically, the only time you’re not together is the handful of hours each week Stiles goes to work. Am I missing something?” he asks, popping his brows.
“Sounds pretty gay to me,” West agrees, reaching for a soda from the fridge.
They’re just teasing, but they won’t let it go until they get some kind of reaction that satisfies them. “Look, just because two guys happen to be close doesn’t mean they’re…”
“For fuck’s sake!” Mac closes the distance between us, grabs my shirt, and hauls me up against his chest. He shoves his tongue in my mouth, holding the back of my head prisoner so I can’t escape his kiss. He makes it good, too. Not immediately pulling away.
When we separate, you can hear a pin drop. Not one word is spoken, and every Bitch is wearing an identical expression.
Shock and awe.
Nash is the first to speak. “Look, I was just fucking with you. You don’t have to go to extremes.”
Jax looks disgusted. “Look, I came here to eat. Don’t go ruining my appetite just to spite me.”
Riggs holds out his hand and Rhett grumbles before slapping a twenty dollar bill in his palm. “Told you,” Riggs smirks.
West frowns, looking confused. “What in the ever-loving-fuck is going on here?”
“We’re not acting or pretending,” Mac insists. “Stiles, what were we doing when they barged in here a minute ago without knocking?”
My face warms. Does he really want me to tell them what we were doing? “Uh, we were…”
“We were fucking,” Mac finishes. “He had me bent over the counter right there.” He points to where Mandy is standing.
Brandt reaches under the kitchen sink, grabs a spray bottle of disinfectant, and sprays the counter down. “Seriously, you fuckheads, we’re about to prepare food in here.”
“What the fuck ever,” West bitches, rolling his eyes. He wanders out of the kitchen and into the living room where he confiscates my recliner.
Everyone has pretty much the same reaction. Underwhelmed.
“Wait,” I call. “Nobody cares? That’s it? Mac and I are fucking and it’s no big deal?” I built this shit up in my head for months, making a mountain out of a molehill for nothing.
“So the fuck what?” West asks. “Was it a big deal when I kissed Brandt in group? Was it a big deal when we found out Rhett and Riggs had some secret past history? Nobody seemed to care when Brewer and Nash hooked up either. Why do we have to make a big deal about you two?”
“Because we’re not gay!” Mac shouts.
“I told you,” West smirks. “Everyone's a little bit gay. Congratulations for figuring it out.”
Mac turns to me, but I don’t have words. I don’t know what to say to him. Our friends, the people who matter most to us in this world, didn’t bat an eye about the two of us falling in love. We’re just McCormick and Stiles, Bitches with Stitches. Retired vets. Just two typical guys they’ve known for years. If only everything in life could be this easy.
“Here.” Nash hands Mac a wrapped gift. “Housewarming gift from the Bitches.”
In addition to all the food they brought, we received other gifts, like a bottle of wine, a caddy that holds our remotecontrols, and a brand new welcome mat for the front door. Mac tears the paper open, and his entire face lights up with joy.
“A thousand and one ways to cook hot dogs! Look, Stiles, they got me a hotdog cookbook!”
I bust out laughing because, how can I not? It’s the perfect gift for him. “Great, maybe you can figure out another way to cook them besides boiling them.”
“There’s no better way,” he insists. “Wait till you guys see our spare fridge in the garage! It’s filled with two cases of hotdogs.” Mac sets the cookbook down on the counter in the kitchen and then reaches into the drawer to grab a pair of metal tongs.
“You gonna grill them this time?” Mandy asks, eyeing the tongs.
McCormick frowns. He slides the tongs down the back of his shirt. “Grill them?” he asks, sounding confused. “My back itches. This thing makes a great back scratcher.”
