19. Zeb
ZEB
A week goes by, and things at the house start to fall into a new routine. Ember is the ideal guest, quiet and considerate. She insists on taking her turn at cooking, even though I tell her it’s not necessary, and she pitches in with housework every chance she gets.
She’s a beam of sunshine in our sometimes too-serious mancave, lightening the mood in a much better way than Griffin’s ridiculous behavior.
We played poker tonight—regular poker, not strip poker, unfortunately—and with chips instead of real money, since we know Ember’s saving up for a deposit on a new place. She did all right, ending the night up from where she started.
It was a good time, but it was hard to focus on my cards with Ember wearing the low-cut red shirt Frank and I picked out for her. The swell at the tops of her breasts, and the occasional glimpse of the valley between her breasts, had my dick sitting up and begging repeatedly.
I’ve turned into a fucking perv with her living here.
Now it’s the middle of the night, and I just woke up from an honest to god wet dream. For fuck’s sake! I haven’t been fifteen in a long time.
I get up and change my sheets, carry the dirty ones to the laundry area, and detour through the kitchen on the way back to get a drink of water. Only, when I get there, I see Ember had the same idea.
She’s standing by the sink, glass in hand. And Griffin, who’s sleeping on the couch this week, is up and talking to her.
I don’t know what stops me—maybe the way he’s standing too close to her, or the way their voices are quieter than normal, even for the middle of the night. Whatever, I pull back until I’m just out of sight. And instead of returning to my room, I listen.
Quieter than normal is not so quiet that I can’t hear them from this distance. “I don’t want to talk about it,” Ember says.
“Come on, Emmy. Are we really going to dance around it forever?”
Her sigh sounds exasperated, which is my normal state when I’m around Griffin. But then she says, “It shouldn’t have happened, and it definitely can’t happen again.”
My ears perk all the way up then.
“Why not?” Griffin says.
“You know why.”
“But you can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it.”
“That’s not the point!” Her voice gets louder, and then she’s almost whispering when she adds, “It’s not appropriate for us to be involved that way. Or any way.”
“We’re both adults. We’re attracted to each other. What’s the harm?”
“We work together! And I’m your manager.”
“So? We can be colleagues with benefits.”
I’ve heard enough. I back away and head for my room, because if I listen to any more of this, I’m going to explode like a rocket and tear Griffin’s head off.
Right at this moment, I hate him for having been with her. He touched her, he was inside her, he heard the sounds she made while he fucked her.
Nearly blind with rage, I pass by the bedroom where Frank is sleeping, and on impulse, I go in and nudge his shoulder.
He comes fully awake so fast it’s almost scary. The glare he sends me is less than friendly, but that’s the kind of mood I’m in myself. “What the fuck, Zeb?”
“Griffin fucked Ember.”
Frank goes still. His voice, when he speaks, is low and dangerous. “He did what?”
“They’re in the kitchen talking about it right now. He wants her to make it a regular thing.”
That’s all it takes. He’s out of bed, pulling a robe on over his boxer briefs, striding down the hall toward the kitchen, and I’m right in step with him. Maybe some fireworks are what we need after all.