Give Me More (Salacious Players’ Club)

Isabel

I know something is up when my husband walks through the front door—alone. He’s wearing a scowl and barely says a word as he bounds up the stairs toward our master bedroom.

Coming home from that trip felt like the ultimate test—one that we failed. A little over twenty-four hours back in BP and we’re already falling apart. I have a good idea why too.

I follow Hunter up the stairs and find him taking off his suit in the walk-in closet, hanging his jacket on the hanger and angrily yanking off his tie.

“What happened?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he mutters.

I swallow down the rising emotion from hearing how frustrated he is. He doesn’t say a word as he tears off his shirt, balls it up and tosses it into the hamper. As he starts on the button of his pants, he finally looks at me, and I notice the dam break inside him.

“I figured he’d go back eventually. I thought he might just take some time, but no. He’s already at the club. He’s probably already naked with the bartender, and I honestly don’t know why I care. That’s how he wants to live his life. That’s up to him. I’m just sorry your emotions got involved…and I did this. I brought all of this on. I never should have asked you to do that…”

Honestly, I feared this more than I expected it, but I had a feeling that we wouldn’t be able to keep him for long. I mean, what did we expect? To bring him into our marriage forever? It’s not fair to anyone, least of all him.

And my husband knows that, but I’m afraid he’s gotten himself even more emotionally involved than I have. And I’m nearly dying inside with how this feels, not to have Drake here. To know someone else gets his smile and his touch.

“Have you told him how you feel?” I ask.

Hunter freezes. “What? That I’m tired of him being a thirty-four-year-old man whore? Actually…yeah, I kind of did.”

I wince. “No, Hunter. That’s not what I meant.”

He turns his back on me as he undoes his pants, pulling out his belt and hanging it on the hook. It’s a long time before he responds. “What do you mean, Isabel?”

My throat stings for real now. “Did you tell Drake how you feel about him?”

His head snaps toward me. “I know what you’re thinking, Iz, but it’s not like that. Yeah, we fooled around a little, but there’s nothing more there. We’re just friends.”

I bite the inside of my lip as I fight away the tears that want to come. I can’t speak, but he continues for me, “Besides, I shouldn’t have to. He should know…we are special. I thought we would have meant more. But he couldn’t stick around for one fucking day.”

“Stick around for what, Hunter? He’s been here his entire adult life. You’ve sheltered him, protected him, gave him a home and a family. Fuck, Hunter, you gave him your wife.”

His nostrils flare as I say that, and he quickly looks away. But I draw his attention back. “You give him hell for never settling down and for being promiscuous, but you have kept him in a chokehold, tethered to you for his entire life. He’s never had any room to grow.”

He lets out an angry sounding huff. “What are you saying? I just let him go?”

“What choice do we have?”

That question lingers in the air between us, even as he storms out of the closet and gets into the shower. What choice do we have? None. Hunter and I chose each other, and we’ve kept Drake on a short leash this entire time.

And while the vacation was fun, we did the worst thing possible. We gave him a taste of the one thing he can’t have. He turned the third wheel into the center of attention for a brief moment, and I know the idea of forming a full relationship between all three of us has crossed everyone’s mind, but until those two get over whatever is keeping them stuck in their old ways, it will never happen. Hunter will have to be the one to bring it up first, and that’s the most unlikely thing of all.

It’s past midnight when I hear the front door open. Hunter is asleep fitfully next to me, tossing and turning every few minutes. So I ease myself out of bed, without making a sound. I notice the light on in the kitchen as I make my way down the stairs. In nothing but a pair of underwear and one of Hunter’s T-shirts, we’re past modesty at this point.

I half expect Drake to be drunk again, like the last time I caught him sneaking in too late, but he’s not this time. I see the sobriety in his eyes the moment our gazes meet each other’s. He’s not just sober—he’s somber. And I think I know why.

“Did I wake you?” he asks.

I shake my head.

Awkward silence settles over the room. Finally, he says the words that I desperately needed to hear.

“I didn’t sleep with him.”

Thank God.

“Why not?” I’m gripping the kitchen island between us as if it’s the only thing holding me up.

“I don’t know…”

“What happened between us was just a fling, Drake. A crazy vacation, but it’s over now,” I reply, watching his expression for a sign that he agrees.

His brow furrows as he steps toward me. “Is that really what you think? You think it meant nothing?”

“Do you?”

We stare at each other for a long, tense moment before he scoffs and runs his hands angrily through his hair. “I think we’re both at the mercy of the person upstairs. I think what he wants and what he’s willing to admit he wants are two different things and until he fucking figures that out, we’re both stuck like this.”

I blink away the impending tears because I know deep down that what he wants will never happen. And if Hunter can’t get over that, then Drake will never be happy. And if Drake can’t have Hunter, then I can’t have Drake.

Dread stabs my heart like a knife.

Brushing the pain aside, I move silently around the island, opening the cabinet next to Drake to retrieve a glass for water. As I close the door, I feel him standing closer. When I try to move around him to get to the fridge, he blocks my path.

The knife sinks in a little deeper.

“Drake,” I whisper, unable to look him in the eye. His hand touches my waist as he steps closer, breathing against my neck.

“I’ve never been so addicted to another person in my life, Isabel. But I can’t stop thinking about you.” His lips touch my neck, and I close my eyes from the shame that washes over me. I don’t move, but I don’t stop him either.

“I still feel you in my hands. Every time I close my eyes, I hear the sounds you made when I was fucking you. I know your taste and your smell. I know I have to move on, but I don’t know if I can.” His voice is pained and sincere. So sincere it cracks my heart in two.

I want to fall into his big arms and feel that special comfort I only feel in Drake’s embrace. And for a moment, I almost do. I don’t know if doing that would be weak or brave, but I am neither.

Turning my head, I stare into his eyes, our mouths so close I can feel his breath. “We can’t. Not anymore.”

The pain that flashes in his eyes is worse than the knife currently lodged in my chest. Instead of kissing my lips, he rests his forehead against mine and we stay like that for a moment, breathing each other in as much as we can, expressing everything through our simple touches that we can’t express with more.

Finally, I pull away, and he lets me. As I’m leaving the kitchen, feeling as if my body is heavier and slower than it was when I came down here, he says my name, so I stop and turn toward him.

“You know you’ve always been my girl, right?”

I bite back my emotions. Calmly, I nod.

“And no matter what, you’ll always be my girl.”

Tears prick my eyes and I force a smile. “Good night, Drake.”

“Good night, Isabel.”

Upstairs, I crawl into bed next to Hunter, but I fall asleep with my back to him, something I almost never do, but right now, I’m mad at him. He did this to us, played with our hearts like they were his toys, and now he’s tearing us all apart. And if he’s not careful, he’s going to ruin more than just his friendship.