Page 16 of Good Boy

“Get your fucking feet off my desk, you little shit.”

He turned on his heel, not bothering to ask me what I had to say.

“Just make sure you keep your hands to yourself. We wouldn’t want another incident.”

He paused, and then proceeded.

Fuck, that felt good.

The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped into my lavish condo. 8:00 p.m. sharp— just in time for dinner with Brian and his wife. My heart raced, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. Four long years had passed since we last crossed paths.

"Weston, you're just in time!" Cynthia called out from the dining room, her voice echoing through the high-ceilinged space. I watched as she meticulously set the table, ensuring every detail was perfect for our guests. Her movements were delicate yet purposeful, a skill she'd mastered throughout our marriage.

The doorbell rang, and my pulse quickened. I took a deep breath, attempting to steady myself before facing my old friend. As I opened the door, Brian and his wife entered, their presence filling the room instantly.

"Weston, it's been too long," Brian's wife said, her eyes sparkling with genuine happiness. She moved gracefully toward Cynthia, and the two of them engaged in small talk while watching the private chef bring out the food. Their conversation was filled with laughter and shared stories, creating an atmosphere of warmth that contrasted sharply with the cold, sterile feeling that usually filled my home.

Brian met my gaze, eyes glinting. A slow smile spread, white teeth flashing. “Weston.”

Heat flooded me as memories struck me hard—our bodies slick with sweat, Brian’s cock stretching me open, his breath shaky with each thrust he gave me.

I swallowed. “Brian.”

He strode forward, a bottle of Macallan extended. The same fucking bourbon from that night.

“A gift. For old times’ sake.”

"Brian, good to see you again," I said, feigning confidence as I extended my hand for a firm shake.

"Likewise," he replied, his smile infectious. "You've really made a name for yourself, haven't you?"

"Comes with the territory." I shrugged.

I couldn't help but stare at Brian as he leaned into the doorframe, looking like a Greek god in his tailored suit. Even after four years, he hadn't aged a day. He gazed at me, eyes dark. Heat and promise and things better left unsaid simmered between us. Things that could have destroyed us then, and still had the possibility to do so if they ever came to light.

"Come here, you," he said, pulling me in for a quick hug.

I stiffened, momentarily forgetting how to breathe as his arms encircled me. The scent of his cologne filled my nostrils, stirring up more memories I'd buried deep within my mind.

"Aww, how fucking beautiful."

Darius' voice cut through the haze, and I blinked back to reality. Brian released me and turned to acknowledge my biggest fucking headache leaning against the wall beside him.

"Wow, no way this is Parker's son? Is it?"

"It is. Unfortunately."

He reached out to shake Darius’ hand, but Darius scoffed and sliced his gaze between us before storming off.

"Sorry about that," I said, trying to brush off Darius’ attitude. "He isn’t properly trained."

Brian chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Haven't cracked the Ashbourne whip on him yet, huh?"

"Clearly not," I replied, watching as Darius stalked away from us, middle finger raised in defiance.

"Fuck you both," he called out over his shoulder.

We took our seats as Brian's wife chatted about their vacation home in the Hamptons. I tuned her out, my gaze straying to Brian.

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