Free Keep Her by Faith Andrews Page B

It’s not fair to her or you, and when you get your head out from between her legs and go back to Marissa, or realize this isn’t going anywhere, Marcus is going to hand you your balls in a neat little package.”
    Did he think I was afraid of Marcus, physically? That was so not the case. I might not be as bulky, but I was just as strong, if not stronger. We benched the same weight at the gym together and with all my free time sitting around at the firehouse, I probably worked out at least three more times a week than he did. This wasn’t about battling fist to fist. It was a head to head thing. It was about respect. In that aspect, Derek was right. I didn’t want to fuck with Marcus because he was my oldest friend and I didn’t want to piss him off over something that might turn out to be nothing.
    “What are you pussies coffee-talking about in here? Sounds like the fucking Oprah show.” Ramos came booming in from the back room, a towel wrapped around his waist. He headed straight for the bacon, barging his way into the conversation. He was one to talk about us being pussies. He was the most pussy-whipped of us all. His wife was also pregnant. They had a quick shotgun wedding when they found out about the baby, but Ramos wasn’t suckered into anything. He’d loved Angel—as we liked to call her for being so damn sweet to everyone—since their first date in high school. He only pretended he was some macho, alpha male who wore the pants. We all knew otherwise.
    “We’re talking about your mother, Ramos. She was really good last night,” Derek chuckled from his stool at the table.
    “Your mother” jokes were always the lowest blow, but they also got the most laughs.
    Following suit, I catcalled, “Ohhhh! Ramos’s mother gets around. I had her the night before.”
    “Very funny, dick. But from what I heard while eavesdropping on you clucking hens, you fucked Marcus Grayson’s sister and you’re gonna be a dead man,” he cackled, tightening the towel around his loose and flabby middle.
    “What the fuck, guys? You really don’t think I can take Grayson? Not that I plan on fighting him, but why are you all so hell bent on him kicking my ass?”
    “Because you’re gonna hurt his sister, and even though it’s usually bros before hos, when you fuck with a dude’s sister, your ass is grass.”
    I darted a frustrated glare at Ramos—now he was a poet? What the hell did he know? “And how do you know I’m going to hurt her? It’s not like that. We’re just having fun. She knows my situation with Marissa and she has no expectations. It’ll be fine.”
    “Until he finds out,” Derek added with a disapproving shake of his head.
    “Jesus Christ, you two. So much for gloating about my hot piece of ass. You’re taking all the fun out of this.”
    “And Marcus is gonna take the jizz out of your balls.”
    Derek nearly fell off the chair laughing at Ramos’s remark. “Shit, kid. You’re one stupid mother fucker, but do what you want. It’s not like you forced her into it or anything, so I guess just go with it. But, when the shit hits the fan—and it will—just remember… we told you so.”
    Please. I knew what I was doing. I was just having a good time. There was no reason to overanalyze where this was going. Somewhere in between our Cabaret interpretations, we actually talked about not taking anything too serious. She was on board with that and not telling Marcus. We had all our ducks in a row and I wasn’t gonna let these cocks make me think otherwise.

 
     
     
    Me: Don’t you have a cat to rescue from a tree or something?
     
    Beck: Nope. The only pussy that needs rescuing is yours.
     
    Me: LOL. You’re right. Come over.
     
    Beck: Can’t. 12 more hours and then I can finally get outta here.
     
    Me: Aren’t you exhausted?
     
    Beck: No. Been doing nothing but sitting around. Not many fires to put out.
     
    Me: I’ve got one for you to put out.
     
    Beck: Being a fireman leaves us with