said, his shock evident. “You really are the best boss ever.”
Linc shook his head. “It’s not like it’s the worst thing I’ve had to cover up with you fucking chuckleheads.”
Wyatt giggled. “Chuckleheads. You’re so old.”
“And you’re a brat. Sit down and put your seatbelt on before this old man puts you over his knee,” Linc warned.
Webster flushed. Linc and Wyatt were so into each other that sometimes they seemed to forget the rest of the world existed and maybe hadn’t signed on for their kinky Daddy/boy relationship. Webster didn’t mind. They were all used to it, but now it tugged at something inside him, made him sad.
He’d always been happy for Linc and Wyatt, but he’d never really gotten the way they teased each other until now. Before Cy, Webster had never had that level of intimacy or connection with anybody. But now that he had, it felt like he’d left a part of him behind and it sucked.
“We put your apartment back together, but I’m not sure everything ended up back where it belongs. But we did our best,” Wyatt said, now facing forward, fingers threaded with Linc’s.
“We?” Webster asked, finding it hard to imagine Linc folding Webster’s underwear.
“Me, Charlie, and Day.”
Webster groaned. Charlie was Charlemagne Hastings, Wyatt’s best friend. Day was the husband of Elite’s owner Jackson. “Seriously?”
Wyatt shrugged. “What? We didn’t think you’d want your bosses rifling through your sex toys.”
“First, I don’t have any sex toys—”
Wyatt interrupted to drolly say, “That explains so much.”
Webster rolled his eyes. “Second, why would you think having my bosses’ spouses and/or friends going through my drawers would be any better?”
Wyatt tapped his chin. “Hmm, who do you think is more likely to look at you differently if he found a double-sided dildo, or a jockstrap, or sexy lingerie? A YouTuber, former cam boy, and a…well, a Charlie? Or the guys who sign your paycheck?”
Webster threw up his hands. “None of that would be found in my apartment, and honestly, they both sound terrible.”
Wyatt’s face took on a pouty expression. “How were we supposed to know you’re just as boring in the bedroom as you are with your wardrobe?”
Webster looked down at his khakis and polo shirt. “Hey, this is a uniform, thank you very much. Talk to your husband.”
“I’ve been in your closet, Webby. You’re like the king of khakis. You can’t blame that on Linc,” Wyatt said, giving Linc an indulgent smile, as if he was defending his honor.
“I think I preferred prison,” Webster muttered.
Wyatt shot him a pissy expression. “Well, your apartment is clean. You’re welcome.”
“Thank you,” Webster said begrudgingly. “Can you take me to my car? I have to make a stop.”
“A stop?” Linc asked.
“Yeah. Cy’s dog was booted out of the canine program and sent to a high-kill shelter. The prison nurse took her home, but I’d really like to bring her to my house. I think it will make Cy feel better when he gets out knowing she’s with us.”
There was a long stretch of silence before Wyatt craned his head around to look at him. “You’re, like, seriously in love with him, huh? Like, you not only boned your stepbrother, you fell for him. That’s so…hot.”
“Wyatt,” Linc said again, but Webster could see him holding back a smile in the rearview mirror.
“Can we please stop calling him my brother?” Webster said with a groan.
“I mean, we can, but does that make it any less true? Your mom married his dad. That makes you brothers,” Wyatt said smugly before adding, “I saw his picture. His mugshot was online. He’s very pretty.”
Webster laughed at that. “I don’t think anybody would describe him as pretty anymore. He’s more…” Webster trailed off, struggling to describe Cy in a way that made sense. No words seemed to exist that would make them understand how much Webster adored him. “Rough, weathered, huge…”
Wyatt snickered. “I bet.”
Webster shook his head but didn’t bother to respond. Instead, he googled Cy, his heart squeezing as his mugshot popped up, not of Cy now but at seventeen years old. He’d been so clean cut and baby faced, his skin much lighter than it was after years of pumping iron in the hot sun. It seemed almost incomprehensible to him that the seventeen-year-old boy with his long lashes and huge brown eyes was the same man who’d pounded him into the mattress last night, who’d told him he loved him, who could toss him around like a rag doll one minute and cuddle him the next.