At this point, I'm fully expecting to wake up from a frustrating fever dream. But this is real; this is happening. My best friend's heated eyes are flickering over my face like I'm the hottest thing he's ever seen.

Hot enough to destroy a family, the voice in my head chides. No, two families. And, much to my own surprise as well as Bret's, stinging tears well up in my eyes.

Bret is instantly stricken with remorse, clutching my head in his hands. My nose feels hot.

"Shh... It's okay. It was too much, I'm sorry..."

A few drops slip out, portending a blustery downpour.

I shake my head. Yes, I'm overwhelmed, but it's not that. "What's wrong, huh?" Bret lifts my chin, concerned eyes boring into mine. My vision blurs.

"I-I don't wanna be that person anymore..." I trail off feebly. My ears are wet from trailing tears, damp strands of hair clinging to my face. "I don't wanna be the reason...your relationship-"

"No, Evan, no." Bret shakes his head vehemently, thumbing at my blubbery lips. "It's not like that, I swear to you. I made my decision alone. I deliberately didn't talk to you about it. Whatever happened, whatever happens, it's on me."

This calms me somewhat, but my body is still wracked by the aftershocks of silent sobs. "Darling, I can't explain..." Bret struggles to find the words. "I wish I could explain what's going on inside me better. But you know I suck with words. What happened with my engagement just isn't your fault, trust me on that."

"It is," I sniffle.

Bret emits a displeased sound.

"It's not."

"I'm just wrecking homes, like I always do..." The news is going to give his parents a heart attack. And the court might give the baby to someone else. And all of his friends are going to wonder, what is he doing, throwing everything away?! He deserves better than his father's used goods; he should be with Sammy.

"Let me kiss you," Bret urges, bringing our faces together. There's a tremor in his fingers, an artifact of the explosive internal emotions barely contained under his skin. "Let me show you why I had to do it. I don't know how else to...articulate it."

I stare at the plump, pink line of flesh with a tightening stomach, so close that his breath is hot on my own lips. "C'mon, man." Bret's hands frame my face. "I finally had the balls to tell you what I felt..." He strokes my cheek.

The prospect of kissing a brother shouldn't be so enticing, and yet, something about kissing Bret makes me nervous and excited.

Heat pools in my lower belly as Bret leans even closer. His hands brush along my cheekbone, jaw, chin. It's suddenly so fucking hard to breathe. "Haven't you played with me enough?" Bret whispers.

Once is enough. Twice is too much, definitely asking for complications...

Don't think about it too much.

Muzzling the voice in my head, I grab the collar of Bret's shirt. Rationality can take a long hike.

"Do it, then," I whisper, "coward," and give him what he's always deserved.

The way Bret swoops down, capturing my lips, frightens me momentarily. He comes onto me like a bear in heat; my body instinctively shrinks away. But he's not having it, his mouth chasing mine and his weight bearing me firmly into the mattress, muffling my yelp of surprise.

Our mouths slot together in a searing, all-consuming moment of crushing pressure, and the room instantly fuzzes out into static. He slides one hand up the nape of my neck, cradling it, and kisses me deeply. Testament to his desperation, Bret's tongue starts exploring the warm, wet cavern of my mouth almost immediately; he can't get close enough. The tension suddenly bleeds out of my shoulders. My hand comes to rest on his clothed back; the tremor of excitement I sense under his skin makes me shiver in response. Our tongues entwine in a long, slow, heated dance. Each little noise is amplified, the soft smacking sounds of our lips, the little gasps, the tortured breaths.

For the first time, I've got my best friend's tongue in my mouth, and I'm realizing what a fucking travesty it is that we could've been doing this all along but haven't been.

"Bret..." I whisper, lip caught between his teeth. Pulling away for air, we press our foreheads together, heady with want. "Bret, I-"

"Just let it happen, Evan." Bret responds with a savage growl and then we're kissing like wild animals, a flurry of teeth and saliva and tongue, my plea buried in his mouth. The kiss is passion and urgency and unbridled desire.

My legs fall open and he crowds between them. Our tongues jousting, he grabs a fistful of my hair at the crown of my head and tugs, kissing me so passionately I know my lips will sting for days.

Fire licks my skin. It's messy, the way we devour each other's mouths, gasping, desperate and aggressive, devolving into something primal and white-hot. Biting possessively and sucking until my face is painfully hollowed out and my facial muscles ache. Wrecking each other's clothes. Aching to touch all of him at once. Sweetheart on one breath, motherfucker on the next. My hands under his shirt, clawing at burning skin. Tongues WWE wrestling. Hooking one knee around the back of his thigh to draw him closer. His crotch pushing against the handle of the toy, pressing it deeper inside me, making me cry out his name.

"Shut up," Bret rasps. "My family will hear you." Then he's at my throat, desperation in the cut of his teeth; my head drops back, chin wet with his saliva. His hand sweeps up into my hair and clutches a fistful of the wavy strands, stubble rasping against my skin as he smears his tongue along my jaw. The way his body is undulating steadily, fucking me with the toy, lets me know it's deliberate. My nails dig into his back muscles for purchase. He pulls away after licking a stripe up my neck, his lips a furious shade of red. His shirt is untucked, hair a mess.

Pressing his temple against my cheek, he looks down between my legs with innocent curiosity. Carefully, he fondles my sac, kneading the flesh between his fingers while looking into my eyes. They seem glazed, dazed and crazed with lust. Finding an abundance of want there, Bret's hand slips around my member, jerking me off. I gasp, each breath a battle of the lungs. Between that and the way he's thrusting against me, the bed-frame starts rattling against the wall.

"Bret, please," I whine, twisting my head from side to side, "I can't take it anymore."

Then, suddenly, Bret is moving down between my legs.

I watch, lower lip snagged between my teeth, as he rears up onto his knees. He whips his shirt off and my body shuts down in increments. Mouth, cotton. Head, empty. Lungs, gasping little gulps of air like a dying engine on its last, sputtering breaths. He's rugged, muscular, toned. He's a Greco-Roman statue, his pecs solid and abs chiseled perfection and football-sized biceps corded like steel cables, riddled with lightening-bolt veins, ridges, and bulges.

Making soulful eye contact that has my heart in an iron grip, he leans down and fits his mouth around the handle of my toy, pulling with his teeth until it comes free with an audible pop.

He drops it over the edge of the bed like a dog who's found something better to play with.

"This it? I thought you'd go for something bigger, Evan."

Now empty, I whimper at the sensory deprivation. "Fuck, that's a pretty little hole..." Bret licks his lips upon seeing what he's going to be working with. I never would've guessed he could be so dirty, so filthy.

He raises my legs over his shoulders, exposing me to him, and looks at me with an expression so similar to Rudy's soul-searching emotional plea that a shiver courses through my body from head to toe. He looks at me the way he looks at double bacon cheeseburgers: smouldering heat in his eyes, mouth firmly set with determination. Then he digs in with rapacity, and ravishes me.

My moan comes out sounding like a scream, toes curling, when his tongue plunges past my weakened defences. It's trying to meld with my body, probing and licking and swirling aggressively until I'm a moaning, panting, writhing mess.

"Your pussy tastes like my body wash." Bret glances up with an expression of incredulity. "I...fuckin' love that."

I bury my fingers in his hair and throw my head back. Brow crumpled, I gasp at the ceiling.

"Bret, wait!" My abs tighten and flex, body squirming before locking up. "I can't-" I surge upwards, sucking a breath from his mouth. Stars explode behind my eyes. My body seizes, trembling, as I pour out all my longing on Bret's abs, and collapse back on the bed.

He stares down at me, eyebrows drawn in like he's battling a complicated mathematical equation and losing. Then the faintest smile appears onto his face and slowly, gradually, blooms into a full grin, the kind that shows all his teeth and makes his eyes scrunch up.

Syrupy discharge trails down into the cleft between my cheeks. Bret digs his fingers in it, coats my hole with it and takes a teasing lick before burying his face in there.

"Mmm..." When he lifts his head, his face is covered in slick sheen.

Panting, I toss my head back and growl in sexually frustrated agony. My head is spinning.

Has this side of Bret been here all along? Because my entire soul just left my body through my dick, and we didn't even really do anything.

Now that I've dipped my toe into the ocean that is Bret Palmer, I want to drown myself in him.

"Fuck, Evan... You don't know what you do to me." Bret mutters, unbuckling his belt. He unzips his fly, giving me a tantalizing glimpse of his treasure trail, his bulge nearly escaping its cotton prison. Then he's pushing his underwear and jeans down and oh.

His dick is massively pumped up, veiny and turgid and flushed, balls drawn up painfully tight. For me. For me. I reach out to touch them cautiously and the contact makes me shiver like an electric shock from a live wire.

Bret shoves my thighs apart. 

"Lay back and hold your legs up for me," he orders.

He could ask me to do anything and I'd listen, pain and tearing be damned. I grip my thighs and raise my legs in the air.

"Like that. Show it to me." He feasts his eyes hungrily, beginning to stroke himself.

I'm so exposed, and somehow excited by it. A matching desire burns in his eyes. "Don't move. Stay just like that."

"What're you-"

"I know you know exactly what I'm doing." Bret glances down at me, hand moving faster over his girthy member. "And don't pretend like you're not enjoying it," he grits out.

Cheeks flaming, I turn my head.

It seems that even in his crazed state of arousal, he's too merciful for the rough, forceful taking I envisioned. I wish I could say I was ready for it, but he knows I'm not even close. Unaware of how well-endowed his lineage is, he's probably frustrated by my useless toy.

I snap my head back immediately when he demands, "look at me. Keep those baby blues on me."

I never liked eye contact in bed. I don't normally want to be looked at; it's too awkward. But I force myself to suppress my shyness and look at him, really look at him.

I study his body intently: the gleam of sweat, the sporadic jerks, the way his eyebrows are pulling together, eyes squeezed shut, the rigid cords forming in his neck. I lay back and watch him unravel, learning what he looks like so close to orgasm. In flashbacks, I see him pinning me to the grass of the football stadium with a celebratory grin, his knees two brackets around my chest, to the mat during wrestling, his brow crumpled and slick with sweat, see him as a boy, dangling a spider over my mouth while I shrieked beneath him, picture every innocent little touch. My heart feels weird, soft and weak like it would be mushy to the touch. His eyes burn with such ardent emotion, I have to wonder what this means for him, how many times he's jerked off to me in secret, what it would mean to him to finally fuck me.

His body begins to tremble, muscles flexing. I watch in awe as he shoots strings of cream over my body. I'm soaked, dripping with it, a canvas for his passion.

My vision goes hazy and dims temporarily, and the next thing I know, my own batter is added to the mix.

Bret is lying next to me, gently thumbing my cheekbone. I'm spaced out, unfocused, still riding the high. I just came untouched, twice. A sudden bout of vulnerability hits me and I curl up against his side. I don't even mind the babygirlification; I'm sensitive and needy and really craving it right now. It takes all of my willpower not to blurt out something really silly.

"It's okay. You're safe." Bret folds me up in his arms and kisses me reassuringly. I know I am. It's like it always was, like nothing's changed: he's my best friend, a judgement free zone, a warm, inviting home. He's always stood up for me and protected me. He loved me at my worst and he still loves me, more than anyone else in the world. "Don't ever hide anything from me again." He noses into my hair. "And no more keeping secrets from each other, okay?"

"No more secrets," I slur, agreeing. I'm feeling spent, utterly drained in every sense, but also elated.

Pressed flush together, our hearts beat out of rhythm as we gaze at each other yearningly, rubbing each other's arms, breathing each other in deeply, just basking in the closeness. Through soft kisses and soothing touches, we release a multitude of pent-up emotions, apologizing, conveying love, in a way we can't do with words. Bret's face nuzzles into the crook of my neck while his fingers absently swirl our sticky loads together on my abs until they're indistinguishable.

This was the most intense experience we've ever had together and we've had a lot. I don't understand how Bret can be so sweet and so lethally hot at the same time. I wonder if I really know him at all. He went from bro to daddy, from 'sup to shut up and kiss me.

"We should probably slow down, right?" His knuckles graze my cheek lightly. It's going to take me a while to get used to the fact that for some weird fucking reason he still wants me, after all the ways in which I keep debasing myself. "You look like you're going to fall apart any second now..." He chuckles softly, brushing his fingers through my hair and kissing my feverish forehead as tenderly as if I were a delicate flower. Only now do I realize I'm still trembling. I feel like I could fall asleep right here and now.

"Shut up. It's your fault..."

"You're right; it is," he says firmly, looking proud of it. He strokes my cheek with his finger, making it glow.

Bret gazes at me so earnestly it's a bit terrifying. "I wanna do this right," he murmurs. "Like, I know I've joked about wanting to see your penis. But this is more like...I want you to be the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning." I don't think I've ever seen him so serious. "I know I can be a clown but this isn't a joke, man."

He folds his arms around me and lays his head on top of mine.

"And... For what it's worth, I don't want you to see anyone else," he admits. "Not my dad, not a Grindr hookup, no one else. What you do with that information is up to you."

"Okay." I take a deep breath.

Bret gets up to start cleaning our mess. I lay there, spent, in the silence and watch him clean his face. There's a storm brewing behind his eyes; I can sense it.

He fidgets with the wet wipe in his hands. Finally, he stops and faces me, shoulders almost to his ears.

"How about we, um, go somewhere together, just you and me? Sometime. Somewhere."

My eyebrows arc.

"So you wanna..."

"Yeah, Evan. Yeah, I do."

A chance is the least I could give him.

"Then pick me up in your totalled truck and take me to the cheapest place in town," I whisper. "I don't care where; let's just go out."

"Okay," he blows out. A slow smile spreads over his face.

"I'm not making any promises," I warn.

"You don't have to."

I still have a lot to sort out. Do I want more from him? Do I really want him, a relationship with him? Am I just desperate, unable to be alone? Is it my ego?

If I don't get my shit together, I could lose him forever. We'll stop talking, drift apart. The idea of him no longer being in my life is insufferable.

I don't know if I can be with him. It's going to be weird; it might even be too weird. But if we don't try, we'll never know.

•••

I've just gotten off the phone with my mom. She's having one of her not-so-good days. That kind of paralyzing, total grief never really goes away, even when you're better.

Almost as soon as I hang up, my phone pings with a message from Bret.

He writes: "bro" but in a flirty way

I reply: Bro 😳

Moments lager, he announces: i'm coming over bro 😳

So I exchange my bathrobe for some clean clothes - nothing special; it's just Bret, after all - and pocket the envelope of cash I know I need to give back.

I stare at myself in the hall mirror of my apartment, my heart flipping cartwheels. Is this gonna be mega weird? I don't know if I can do this...

Before I can chicken out, Bret arrives. I'm expecting my usual butchy, flannel-clad friend, but a gentleman steps down from the truck instead. His baseball cap is gone; its absence makes me notice his eyes more and makes him resemble those bro-y meathead idiots less. He's in a button-up dress shirt with the first few buttons undone, entire sternum on display.

Bret opens the door for me; that part isn't new.

"'Sup, darling?" He eyes me up and down, rubbing his lips distractedly. "You look prettier than ever." The compliment makes my nose twitch shyly. "Ready to go?"

"Where're we going?"

"No questions, just come with me." Bret flicks my nose. "I planned something nice."

On a normal date, sex is the principal objective for me. But Bret seems content to wait, and give me the authentic dating experience. I'm out of my depths here.

"Wait." I press the envelope towards him. "First, Bret, I-"

"Shh." Bret slips the envelope back into my pocket and raps his knuckles over it. "Don't."

So up I go into his old pickup. Elbow out the window. Looking out at the smear of lights going by. Warm August air rushing through my hair, I laugh while Bret sings along to the radio, belting out, "'magine if I never met the broskis!"

It kind of feels...normal. Easy.

Chelsea texts him, asking him to pick up groceries on his way home.

We pull up at a restaurant I've never been to before. Immediately, I know I'm under-dressed. When I express my concern to Bret, he waves me off.

"And here I thought you were stupid enough to try and cook for me," I smirk.

"Haha. I can make a mean peanut butter and jelly sandwich but everything else is questionable and you know it."

After parking, Bret reaches behind him and produces some casual clothing from the backseat. I watch, agape, as he changes into the V-neck and light jacket like it's nothing.

"There. Now we're the same," he smiles brightly.

Bret comes around to my side and opens my door, helping me down. I let go of his hand once I'm on the ground, wary of onlookers, but Bret is all, nah, we doing this, bro, and scoops my hand back up.

It's an Italian place, with the most beautiful, idyllic interior. It looks alarmingly expensive. Just when I think it can't get fancier, the waitress leads us up to the rooftop.

Bret lets me order first. He follows with his own order and also gets a bottle of wine.

"I...can't believe we're doing this," I exhale slowly, eyeing the opulent surroundings. I'm actually on a date with my best friend. Bret is usually my plan of escape out of these things.

"Tell me if you can relate to this," he begins thoughtfully, smearing butter on some garlic bread. "You've got a well-defined type that you always go for. But every once in a while you go through this phase where you fall for someone totally atypical. They're nowhere close to your type, maybe even the exact opposite, but it's like your judgement's impaired, and...you can't help but feel attracted to them."

"Yeah," I concede, thinking of Rudy.

"That's what I thought you were at first." He looks pointedly at me. "A phase. But then it just...never went away."

I blush, lowering my gaze.

"Why do you like me, anyway?"

Bret peers at me intently.

"You mean apart from the obvious? For one thing, you don't care that I come from money. Everyone else wants me for my looks and my dad's money. You knew all of that and still didn't want me. You're hard to get."

"Oh yeah? I'm the damsel and you're the Prince Charming who swept me off my feet, right?" I tease.

"You're the pretty one. The one who never saw me, the one who was only looking at more mature men, and needed to be pursued and wooed like a proper princess."

"And what about the obvious reasons?"

Bret smirks softly, sticking one end of a slice of buttered garlic bread in his mouth.

"You're handsome, bro." He bites into it with a crunch.

I flush deeper, immediately lowering my gaze. "What? You don't believe me?"

"Not...really." I'm too skinny; my muscles are puny compared to his, and seem to have reached their genetically-coded peak. They won't grow no matter what I do. My eyes are weird, not the pretty shade of blue. "Everyone has things they're insecure about..."

Bret shakes his head impatiently, a tight frown between his eyes.

"You shouldn't have any insecurities," he states, matter-of-fact. "I'm willing to bet your biggest ones are turn-ons for me."

"Getting cheated on is really bad for your confidence, I guess." I rub my forearm lamely.

"If you don't like your body, let me have it. Put it on me."

I flush roseate under his state, making Bret smile. "Look at you. You're so...'pulchritudinous.'"

"What?"

"It means beautiful. I learned a fancy new word the other day, just for you."

"Damn, you're really trying, aren't you?" Who knew the big brute could be so romantic?

"Anyway, you have a tiny waist and the smoothest skin," Bret rattles off. "You look like a fucking human Ken doll. But Barbie also. You fulfill all the bisexual needs. I can see why men go crazy for you. You're pretty enough to pass for a girl with the right plumbing to know how to please a guy better than a girl."

An unbidden image surges into my mind of my straining lips wrapped around Bret's pythonic member, and I nearly swallow my own tongue.

Luckily, the appetizers arrive before I have to respond.

"You may not believe me about what I said but it's true," he murmurs. "You're so beautiful."

I shake my head bashfully.

"Bret, you're very sweet, but-"

"Shut the fuck up, Evan. You were beautiful even when you were an awkward shrimp with braces that would've shredded my tongue to ribbons if I'd worked up the courage to kiss you. Are you a bit stubborn? Yes. Do you have a dirty mouth? Most definitely. But you are beautiful. And not just because I think you are."

Various platters are deposited one by one on the table by the spry ginger waitress and still I stare straight ahead, jaw hanging.

He's good, too good to me. Now I know I'm going to fuck this up.