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I sat down in the armchair across from the sofa. “I’m staying.”
Something passed across Fiona’s face. Relief, maybe. Excitement, definitely. Ross looked like he wanted the sofa to swallow him whole.
“Right,” Ross said. “Right. Good. Cool.”
“Relax, Ross,” Fiona said. “You look like you’re at the dentist.”
“I feel like I’m at the dentist.”
She laughed, and that broke something. She put some music on, low, and poured herself a glass of wine, and stood in the middle of our living room between the two of us, swaying slightly, taking her time.
I’d seen her in that dress for about four minutes and I already loved it. It tied at the hip. One pull and it would fall open.
“So,” she said, looking between us. “I’ve thought about this a lot.”
“We know,” Ross and I said at the same time, and all three of us laughed.
“I thought,” she went on, her cheeks pink, “maybe I’d start with my husband. Warm up. Make sure he’s really okay. Before I go anywhere near his best friend.” She took a sip of wine. “Or I just go straight over there and stop torturing the poor man.”
Ross shifted on the sofa. I could see the outline of his cock in his jeans already. So could Fiona. She looked at it, then at me, and bit her lip.
“Your call, Cal,” she said. “That’s the rule.”