Cheesy on the Eyes by Teagan Hunter Page 0,13

here, I had way too many embarrassing drunken nights under my belt.

I was tired. Worn down.

Then, I found Winston—or he found me.

He offered me understanding, and a place to stay. I lived with him until his now wife started staying there. Guess you can say Winston has a thing for taking in strays.

With Winston came Foster. They’ve been friends since they were kids, and I’d heard all kinds of crazy stories about him before he moved back a couple years ago to shack up with Winston’s twin sister. He’s now running a successful landscaping business and heading a committee to keep the island all gussied up for the tourists.

Just last year, Porter, a friend of Foster’s from when he lived in California, came looking for a slower-paced kind of life for him and his daughter and ended up staying for a whole other reason. I guess this town kind of has a thing for getting people to stay.

I’m not big on letting new people into my life, but I wouldn’t trade bailing on my hometown for anything. Sure, I miss my mom and my sisters, but it led me to some of the best friends I’ve ever had.

“You’re a dad,” I tell Porter. “You could have handled them.”

Porter lifts his brows. “You’re comparing my angelic daughter to these two?”

“Angelic? Ha!” I huff. “She superglued my hand to my stomach less than a month ago.”

He shrugs. “Shouldn’t have fallen asleep on the job, then.”

“You’re like a multimillionaire or some shit—can’t you fork out the money for a real babysitter and not use your poor, unsuspecting friends to cover for you?”

“Billionaire,” he corrects, grinning, quite proud of the fact that his small internet security company finally crossed the billion-dollar-revenue line. “And no. I might be rich, but I’m cheap.”

“Dick,” I mutter, though there’s no real ire behind my words.

Truth is, I’d babysit Kyrie for Porter and his fiancée, Dory, any day. The kid is a trip. A little bit of a shithead for supergluing me to…well, me, but still fun.

“Dude, whatever you do, do not have kids. It’s completely killed our sex life,” Foster says, butting into the conversation. His hair looks wild, like he’s been running his hands through it. “I thought it was bad when Nellie was younger and just slept all the time, but now that she’s walking and destroying everything in her path, it’s killing us. We’re just so damn tired all. The. Time. We have no energy to bang.”

Winston groans. “I thought we discussed you talking about your sex life when I’m around.”

“Newsflash, your sister and I have sex.” Foster grins. “In fact, her favorite position is—”

Thwack!

“What the fuck! Did you just bitch-slap me? In the middle of a fucking restaurant?”

Winston shrugs. “We’re good. I know the owner.”

“I do, too, asswipe—y’know, since he’s my father-in-law.”

“And I bet he wouldn’t want to hear about you banging Wren either. In fact…” Winston slaps Foster again. “That’s for banging my sister.”

“I swear to fucking god…”

Foster shoves Winston, and the two start a war, not giving a shit that we’re sitting in a booth at Slice and people are beginning to stare.

“Should we break them up?” Porter asks.

“I don’t know…I kind of want to see who wins.”

“I’ll toss down fifty bucks on Foster. He’s scrappy. Can confirm.”

“I’ll take that bet because I lived with Winston. I’ve seen how much he can bench-press.”

Porter holds his hand out and we shake on the deal, continuing to watch the two idiots wrestle back and forth, slipping a few stomach punches in when they can.

When an angry Simon barrels through his restaurant toward the two idiots, we still don’t make the move to break them up, knowing full well Simon can handle them on his own.

Thwack! Thwack!

Simon smacks each of them in the back of the head.

“Seriously? This is my place of business,” he seethes, glaring down at his son and son-in-law.

The boys have the decency to look remorseful, unwinding their arms from around one another and muttering their apologies.

He leans down, eyes ablaze. “If you two so much as breathe too loudly, I will personally escort you from the premises and then beat your asses myself. We clear?”

“Yes, sir. Won’t happen again, sir,” Foster mumbles.

“Got it, Dad,” Winston says, looking everywhere but at his father.

“Good.” Simon straightens up, then looks at me and Porter, holding his hand out. “Cough it up.”

“What?” Porter asks.

“Don’t play dumb with me. I know you two placed bets on this little tiff, and you both bet wrong. I win.