Utterly Forgettable | MM Romance | Complete

Thirty-Two: I Should Find It Vaguely Alarming

"Get in here quick and start undressing," Emma called from her bedroom. Josh poked his head around the connecting door to her office.

"I thought we'd already established I don't swing that way," he said, suppressing a grin.

She wheeled herself into his field of vision dressed, of all things, in a swimming suit. "Ass."

The pun was too easy to pass up. "Yes, my preferences tend more towards that general area."

Something hit him on the face — when had she learned to aim?

"''Ass' as in 'don't be one'. Dress those. You're taking me swimming."

"You bought me swimming trunks? I think I should find it vaguely alarming that you know my size."

"I know many things, minion. Most of them alarming. Hurry up. Glorious sunshine beckons."

In her office, he slid out of his trousers and underwear before putting the trunks on. He'd been right — they were exactly his size. Emma was already brandishing an inflatable mattress as he walked in the bedroom. "Blow this. Spare me comments on general preferences."

Damn it, did she always have to have the last laugh?

#

"— and, of course, I went without him. I actually wanted to get there on time, and you know how it goes. He loves me —," Michelle was saying.

"—just not as much as he loves his beard," Emery finished for her.

"Lies," Mark countered, mock offense in his tone, "all of it, baseless lies. And you," he pointed an accusing finger at Emery, "I came to you as a healer, and this is how you repay me?"

Emery snorted. "I'm fairly certain my repayment involved taxes, though I understand you'd have welcomed new and improved beard-care tips instead." He gestured towards his clean-shaved face. "It is readily apparent I'm not the man for that job. I am feeding you, though, which I imagine carries some weight?"

Mark harrumphed, swallowing his bite of Emery's homemade pizza before sharing the night's most astounding piece of news. "Yeah, feeding me using my own girlfriend's recipe. I could eat this at home."

"Could you, now," Michelle countered, "are you sure? I don't remember you learning how to cook it."

Mark straightened on the couch, puppy dog eyes aimed at his girlfriend. "I meant I could beg for it at home, love."

"Of course that's what you meant," she replied with a fond eyeroll. "A for effort."

"Are you certain, an A?" Emery interrupted. "You're far too generous. I wouldn't even consider a C until he'd offered a foot massage if I were in your shoes." A pointed look at her high heels. "I mean that literally."

And now Michelle was laughing because Emery had made a joke, and the world tilted sideways.

"I thought men were supposed to stick together. There's no gender loyalty anymore," Mark grumbled.

"Implying that you believe there ever was such a thing?" Emery raised an eyebrow. "Josh, what have you allowed your friend to go through life believing?"

Both words and breath were robbed from him simultaneously. When Emery had mentioned having met Michelle, earlier that day, Josh had been baffled enough. He'd mistakenly pictured dinner as some stilted, formal affair on Emery's side. Him droning on about figures, Mark and Michelle nodding sleepily along, Josh the one tasked with keeping the event at least moderately lively.