CHAPTER 9
Jesse
Murph is hugging me. Like really hugging me. It’s not one of our bro hugs. It’s like our goodbye hug when he left for the Army, the one when he came back, and the one we shared the day his dad died. It’s the kind of hug you give someone you can’t live without.
I’ve got my friend back.
Wrapping my arms around his back, I squeeze, smiling into his shoulder. After feeling like he practically disappeared from me for the past month, the warmth of his body and the hard plains of his chest pressed against mine are more profound than ever. He feels more real, like a missing piece that’s been reunited with my body, my life.
I guess it’s true how they say that you don’t truly appreciate something until you’ve lost it. I thought I appreciated him, even going as far as following him here to repair things and show my support, but getting a Murph hug like this puts things more into perspective. He should have been able to tell me about the part of his life that I was unaware of, but because he wasn’t able to, I have to accept the fact that it means I was doing something wrong. I don’t want to live another minute of our friendship with blinders on. I’m never going to take him for granted again.
“I’ll never leave you,” I whisper. “You’re stuck with me.”
The tension in his body softens, giving me a thrill that my words had that effect on him. I matter. To him. We’re still us, and maybe nothing was ever ruined at all.
The sound of a throat clearing comes crashing down on our homecoming. Shit. I forgot all about this Philip guy. He arches one of his tweezed brows, his gaze fixed on me where I’m peering over Murph’s shoulder. Is he giving me the stink eye?
“Am I interrupting something?” he asks, clearly a loaded question that has a touch-him-and-die ring to it as he props his hands on his hips.
Damn. Murph wasn’t kidding. What’s it been—like, two days—and this guy has laid claim to him already?
Um, hello! Best friend here. I’ve known him a hell of a lot longer than you, little fella.
Drawing his arms back, my victory hug evaporates as Murph turns slowly around. “Oh… Philip. Hi. How’s it going?”
The phony surprise in his voice has me holding back a snicker. Murph might be a hell of a fly fisherman, but he’s shit at acting.
Arms folded across his button-laden chest, Philip’s teal glitter-polished nails are a stark contrast to his pale arms. “You said you were going to meet me in the Crosby Lounge,” he informs him haughtily.
“Um, no. I said I might check out one of the lounges one day. I’m sorry if there was a misunderstanding.”
Philip’s steely gaze settles on Murph’s table and then he peers around at mine. A tendril of panic flickers through me, watching the relief wash over his face.
Crap. Murph and I weren’t sitting together, and he knows it.
Huffing, his chin hitches up an inch higher. He studies his nails, looking bored, and shrugs. “Well, I forgive you. There’s still time to catch Justice League on the big screen in the lounge though, if we hurry. Are you ready to go? It smells like a sewage plant in here.”
I flinch at that bit of whip-cracking. Damn. This guy is feisty. If I tried to talk to Murph like that, he’d put me in one of his headlocks.
It’s surreal to see the abject difference of his reaction to Philip’s sass. The tension is rolling off of him like a distress signal. If I were a mother bobcat, his silent fear would be equivalent to a baby’s scream. I feel it to my protective core like a Spidey sense that’s been awakened. I swear he’s sweating and has forgotten to breathe. What the heck did Philip do to my friend?
Sizing Philip up, I may not know shit about gay guys or what exactly Murph was expecting from me when he told me about his sexuality, but I know what to do now to help, and the realization is as uplifting as when Delores is on the open road with the windows down. If Philip no longer thinks I’m a threat because Murph and I weren’t elbow to elbow over dinner, I just need to get him back to stink-eye level before he steamrolls Murph into a movie marathon. Besides, no one’s going to look down their sparkly nails at me like I can’t hug my best friend.
Slinking my arm around Murph’s waist, I squeeze in close to his side. “That sounds great, actually! What do you say we head down there after we finish up our dinner, babe?”
I’m still trying to determine how the word ‘babe’ feels on my lips directed at a dude when Murph looks at me like I’ve just grown a tit on my forehead. Smiling like I’m smitten and rubbing my chin against his shoulder like a nuzzling cat, I bat my lashes, hoping he’ll pick up what I’m laying down. Best friend rescue mission in action!
He just stares at me though, like my forehead tit doubled in size. We clearly need to work on our ESP.
Glancing over at Philip, I’m relieved at least one of them seems to understand. I almost feel sorry for him, his jaw hanging open in horror. I might have to have a discussion with Murph about his small talk skills. I sure hope he didn’t accidentally lead the guy on.
Apparently, he’s still suffering from fear paralysis, gaping at me, so I give him another squeeze and slink my other arm across the front of his waist. “Hm? What do you say? You know I love snuggling with you. It’ll be just like at home.”
“At home?” Philip parrots, but it’s more like a demand for clarification.
“Y-yeah,” Murph finally speaks. “Um, Philip, this is… uh, this is my friend Jesse. We grew up together.”
“Sorry, we haven’t been introduced yet. Nice to meet you.” I extend my hand, but he just stares at it like I was scratching my ass with it. Rude!
And Murph sure isn’t very good at being rescued. I gave him an out, and he threw me in the friend zone. Sure, I want to be back in the friend zone, but I don’t know if that’s going to be enough repellent for Philip. His face is like a threat meter. All the tension there has settled again, like he thinks he still has a chance with Murph.
“Friend?” he parrots, sounding way too hopeful for my liking.
What is this? An interrogation? I need to up my rescue game.
Slipping my hand into Murph’s back pocket, I feel him tense under my touch as my fingers slide down the denim over the curve of his ass. Weird, but whatever. An ass is an ass, and we’ve both slapped each other’s several times over the years.
Man, he’s really warm. Dude throws off hella body heat.
Philip notices, just as I had intended, his eyes growing wide. I’m not sure why his jealousy makes me proud to claim Murph. Regardless, Philip’s threat meter is successfully rising again. I should do this shit for a living.
Trying to look bashful, I bat my lashes at Murph again, and shrug. “It’s all still new for us, but we’ve kind of danced around something for years, so in a way, it sort of just feels like… overdue, I guess?”
Man, I am good! That was Academy Award-winning stuff there.
A small gasp leaves Philip’s lips. There are, like, over a thousand guys on this cruise and it’s still the beginning of the trip. No need for dramatics, Philly. You’ll recover. Bottom line is Murph will be safe to enjoy himself.
“Um… y-yeah,” Murph rasps, reaching around and patting my side. “We’re still… figuring things out.”
Was the vein in Philip’s neck that big before?
Straightening his posture, he tugs the hem of his sheer tank down. “Well, maybe I’ll see you two lovebirds down there then.”
“For sure. Enjoy the show,” I enthuse, leaning my head on Murph’s shoulder.
I never realized what a squishy bear he is, solid in most places, but soft and inviting in others. He’s like a brick wall wrapped in a down comforter, firm, yet comfy where it counts. And has his beard always smelled this amazing?
Does he use beard oil or does his natural scent get trapped in all those man-fibers? He smells like home, making it suddenly not seem as far away.
That’s silly. Maybe it’s just because I feel important again. I don’t know why I never realized it before, but being Murph’s best friend makes me feel like… more.
I really like being more.