Chapter 22
That afternoon, Karl mounted the block outside the tuxedo rental place’s dressing room and modeled yet another penguin suit
for Matthew and Athena.
After receiving his texted demand for reunion prep assistance, the couple had agreed to “provide extremely necessary social-event
guidance to the man voted most likely to firebomb an etiquette school,” as Athena had annoyingly put it. Next thing he knew,
they were tearing him from Molly’s side, hauling him downtown, carting endless tuxes to his dressing room, and strangling
him with bow ties.
Probably what he deserved for voluntarily texting someone. Should’ve known better.
He scowled at them both. But when Athena gave the finger-swirl signal, he obediently made a quarter turn. She tugged at the
hem of his deep-navy jacket, straightening it, then had him turn again.
“According to the last reunion update, the theme for the night is ‘Under the Sea,’” Matthew volunteered. “In case that helps
with your flower selection. You might want to choose something marine-life-themed.”
How was that even possible? Did the florist just staple a fucking eel to the arrangement and call it a day?
Fancy-people shit mystified him. Always had, apparently always would. Which was why he’d requested backup today, despite his numerous subsequent regrets.
“Decision time, assholes.” He planted his feet on the block. “This design? Or the black tux with the stupid cummerbund?”
“This design,” Matthew and Athena said in unison.
“You heard ’em,” he told the hovering sales assistant, and that was that. One errand down, two more to go.
After he paid and laid his plastic-covered tux in the back seat of his car, the three of them walked down the cobblestone
sidewalk to Fishwife Floral. Matthew immediately claimed Athena’s hand, and she jauntily swung their arms between them.
After a few steps, she slowed. “Listen, Special K, I was thinking . . .”
“Jesus H. Christ, anything but that,” Karl muttered, and Matthew glared at him.
The woman herself paid him zero goddamn heed. “You and Molly should do another trust-building activity tonight.” She halted
entirely, then tugged both men into the shade beside Bitches & Daughters Bank and huddled close, voice pitched low for privacy.
“This is basically your last free evening before the reunion, and Molly’s leaving soon after you attend, right?”
A week from tomorrow, according to her damn plane ticket. He knew better, though. “Yeah, but—”
“So time’s ticking down for her in Harlot’s Bay. You need to build maximum trust in minimal time. We can help.” Athena thought
for a moment. “Why don’t you and Molly come over to our house for dinner? Afterward, we can play Pictionary for communication-
and trust-building purposes.”
Karl shook his head. “Not necessary.”
“What’s not necessary?” Matthew’s brows drew together. “Dinner, or—”
“More trust building.” Karl shrugged. “Things are going great, thanks to your advice. Communication up the wazoo. By the time
the reunion’s done, she’ll either trash that plane ticket or buy another one to get back here as soon as she can.”
“I’m thrilled things are going so well for you, Karl. Really. But . . .” The knuckles of Matthew’s free hand dug into his
jaw. “Has Molly told you she’ll stay? Or visit again in the near future? Using actual words?”
Rude goddamn question. Especially when Karl had finally been feeling more confident about all this long-distance shit.
“Not out loud.” Shifting uncomfortably, he glowered at his best friend. “But I can tell.”
“Have you asked?”
Karl slumped against the bank’s brick exterior and continued glaring. In silence.
“So you were too scared to ask. But have you at least told her how you feel?” In response to his fulminating grumble, Athena
lifted her own free hand. “Don’t bother trying to stare me down. I’ll repeat myself: Karl Andrew Dean, have you told her how you feel?”
Well . . . “No. But she knows. She has to know.”
“How?” Matthew immediately asked. “How does she know, if you haven’t told her?”
“The same way you two assholes figured it out without my saying so.” Karl flung his arms wide, outraged and uneasy. “I can’t
hide it, okay? Every time she’s close, the way I feel pours out of me like a motherfucking fountain, Matthew. No way she could miss it.”
“I just . . .” Matthew’s eyes closed for a moment. “I just think maybe you should tell her. Using audible, easily understood
words, rather than counting on her ability to read you.”
Athena nodded. “Seconded.”
Every last corner of Karl’s affronted soul rejected the suggestion, and the sheer magnitude and violence of that automatic
denial overwhelmed him to the point where he couldn’t even speak. Only fume.
“I know you hate that idea. Here’s the problem, though.” All the sincerity in Matthew’s pristine goddamn soul showed in his
solemn gaze. “When you asked us for advice last weekend, we were honored that you trusted us to help you. But we were also
shocked you were willing to discuss something that bothered you without obfuscating the issue in eighteen separate layers
of crankiness and denial. You don’t tend to talk about your emotions. Not with us. Not even with your family.”
Athena cut in. “You don’t talk about much of anything, actually. Except what’s currently annoying you. Also the creative yet
practically infeasible ways you intend to murder those around you.”
He flipped her off for that, but didn’t argue. Couldn’t argue.
Of course he didn’t fucking talk about his emotions. Easier to show them. Besides—
“People can say whatever they want.” Karl crossed his arms over his chest, relieved to have finally found a good rebuttal.
“What they do? That shit matters more.”
Karl bet Molly’s ex had talked a good game. Right before he did his best to bleed her dry. Hell, her two-timing father had
told Molly and his wife just how much he loved and missed them every time he got home from his secret second family. Pretty
words meant nothing.
“True. But it’s hard to get close to someone who’s an emotional mystery, especially in a tight time span.” Matthew bumped his shoulder against Karl’s, a consoling gesture. “Which is why you need to tell her how you feel and what sort of future you want with her. Directly.”
Ugh. Had to be a better way to build trust and intimacy.
Like, for example, whacking a stupid ball through a stupid mini-windmill while wearing a stupid blindfold. Karl clearly hadn’t
appreciated Corporations Monthly’s total genius enough until this very moment.
“Don’t want to pressure her.” Aha! Another excellent argument! “Thought holding back would make her comfortable. Give her
time to trust me more. Still think that.”
So—for Molly’s sake—he shouldn’t tell her jack shit about his goddamn heart.
Both Matthew and Athena side-eyed him.
His best friend shook his head. “That’s not why you’re holding back.”
“You’re protecting yourself,” Athena elaborated. “Not her. You can—and should—explain your feelings without pressuring her
to return them.”
This time, he flipped them both the bird, because . . .
Well, just because. They’d earned it. They knew why.
“More importantly, I don’t think holding back will get you far with Molly. Not as far as you want to go, anyway.” Matthew
kissed his wife’s hair, then raised his head to meet Karl’s eyes. “As I said, it’s difficult to trust someone you don’t know.
And you are highly, highly reluctant to let yourself be known.”
“You know me.” Karl directed his best glower their way. “Both of you.”
“That’s true,” Matthew conceded. “But understanding how you think and how you show what you feel took me years, Karl. Years you don’t have with Molly, because she’s leaving in eight days.”
Athena leaned against her husband. “As for me . . . Matthew is kind of my Karl Cheat Sheet.”
“Doesn’t matter how it happened. You know me.” Karl stabbed an accusing finger in their direction. “Besides, you two don’t
need words to communicate.”
“Sometimes we don’t,” Matthew admitted. “But that’s only because we’ve talked so much this past year and still talk so much
now.”
Karl’s murderous scowl should’ve sent them both scurrying. Didn’t, though, because fuck. His. Life. “You’re good at words.
I’m not.”
“No shit, Special K.” Athena’s wrist flick dismissed that line of argument. “Were you great at making bread the first few
times you did it?”
Of course not. Getting good took practice. Wouldn’t admit that out loud, though, because he knew where this was going.
In short: not his way.
“Just try. Please.” All the patience and affection in Matthew’s voice? Would’ve melted the stoniest heart, much less one made
of Cadbury goddamn Creme. “For your own sake, because you deserve happiness and love. But also for Molly’s. Everything I know
about her says she deserves a good partner too. One who respects her and treats her well.”
“And who clearly adores her. Someone honest and reliable”—leaning to the side, Athena poked Karl’s upper arm—“whose shoulders
fill out a henley really impressively.”
“It’s true,” Matthew said gravely. “Your shoulders are exceptional.”
“Not to mention those thick thighs.” Apparently Athena could wolf-whistle. Which she did, loudly, while Karl’s ears burned.
“Hubba-hubba.”
“Okay, assholes, that’s—” Karl began.
“Hubba-hubba indeed.” Matthew might’ve been narrating a BBC documentary, his voice was so dry. “Molly couldn’t have a better
partner than you, Karl.”
“That would be true even if your ass gave up easily. But it won’t.” Athena offered Karl an innocent blink-blink of the eyes.
“It just won’t quit.”
Holy fuck. Shoulders shaking, Karl buried his face in his hands.
“All right, I think that’s enough objectification of my best friend, sweetheart. He’s trying to suffocate himself with his
own palms.” Wryly, Matthew added, “Plus, I’m getting jealous. We both know my butt isn’t nearly as dutiful as Karl’s.”
“I love it anyway.” The smack of a hard kiss was far too recognizable. “Don’t worry. Your thighs may only earn a single hubba,