The Best Man | Part 17: Close Call (Patreon)

All characters depicted in this story are fictional and 18 years of age or older. Everything portrayed is safe, sane, and consensual.

The stall felt too small, too hot, too loud with the sound of my own pulse thudding in my ears. Calvin’s chest was still pressed against mine, our bodies plastered together in the cramped space. His breath fanned my cheek, heavy, teasing, like we weren’t one wrong move away from being caught.

“Fuck,” I mouthed, shoving at him again, panic sparking through me. “What if he—”

Calvin only smirked in the dim light, his eyes gleaming with mischief. He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered, “Then we’ll give him a show.”

I gaped at him, horrified and turned on all at once.

Before I could argue, his hand slid boldly down, giving my ass a playful smack. The sound was sharp in the quiet stall, and I froze, my stomach dropping. He grinned wider, completely unbothered, and mouthed a silent relax before smoothing his palm over the sting like a promise.

Nathan’s footsteps echoed again, closer now, the tap of leather soles against tile. “Masey? You in here?”

I shoved at Calvin one more time, panic clawing at my throat. He finally stepped back, but not without lingering; his fingers giving one last squeeze, his grin carved deep, smug and unshakable. He tilted his head toward the stall door as if to say: Go on. Face him.

I scrambled upright, adjusting my shirt, trying not to look like I’d just been pinned to a wall and nearly eaten alive...I swallowed hard, gave him a glare that only made his smirk grow, then slowly pushed the lock. The metal clicked far too loud in my ears.

When I slipped out of the stall, my legs still shaky, Calvin stayed inside, silent but vibrating with amusement. I knew the bastard was probably leaning against the wall, listening, waiting to see how badly I’d squirm.I forced myself to breathe normally as I crossed to the sink, flipping on the water for cover.

Nathan rounded the corner just as I splashed my face. His tie was loosened, suit jacket slung over one arm, and he looked both relieved and mildly annoyed.

“There you are,” he said, shaking his head. “I was about to send out a search party.”

I grabbed a paper towel, blotting at my face. “Just needed a minute. Too many speeches, too much champagne.”

“Uh-huh.” Nathan’s eyes flicked over me, the way only an older brother could. He noticed everything. The untucked edge of my shirt, my hair sticking slightly out of place. He frowned but didn’t press...yet.

“You were incredible, by the way,” he added after a beat, his voice softening. “That speech. I mean… you got everyone, man. There were tears. Olivia was a wreck. And me? Forget it. You really pulled it out.”

My throat tightened, both from the words themselves and from the fact that, behind me, Calvin was no doubt biting his lip to keep from laughing at the sentimental moment.

“Thanks,” I said quickly, ducking my head.

But Nathan stepped closer. His expression turned serious, earnest. “I knew exactly what you were saying. Even if no one else caught it.”

My chest went hot. “What do you mean?”

“The part about me always being there. About… you never saying everything out loud but me still knowing.” He gave me that soft, brotherly smile I’d seen since I was a kid. “You don’t have to explain, Mason. I understood. And I want you to know… I’m proud of you.”

God. My eyes burned.

And then he wrapped me up in a hug. A real one, tight, like the kind that almost knocked the air out of me. I stood there stiff for a second, overwhelmed, until I gave in and hugged him back. Over his shoulder, my eyes darted toward the stall I’d just left. Calvin was hidden inside, probably smirking, probably stroking himself just for the thrill of it. The contrast made me dizzy: Nathan’s warmth, Calvin’s heat.

When Nathan finally pulled back, his gaze snagged on something near my collar. His brow furrowed.

“What’s that?” he asked.

Panic lit me up. I turned slightly, feigning confusion. “What?”

“On your neck.” Nathan reached out before I could stop him, brushing his thumb over my skin just below my jaw. “It’s… red.”

I jerked back too fast. “It’s nothing. Just, uh… a rash. Maybe the collar’s too tight. Heat rash. You know how I get.” My words tumbled out, messy.

Nathan tilted his head, skeptical. “Heat rash?”

“Yeah.” I forced a laugh. “Stress, nerves. I’ve been sweating since we got here. Happens all the time.”

For a long second, he just looked at me. My stomach churned. Then, mercifully, he sighed and let it go.

“You really should learn to take better care of yourself,” he muttered. “It’s a big day for me tomorrow, Mase. Don’t fall apart on me now.”

“Promise.” I grinned weakly, praying he’d buy it.

Nathan studied me a moment longer, then finally glanced at the mirror, straightening his tie. “Alright. Let’s head back. People are probably wondering where we disappeared to.”

“Go ahead,” I said, a little too fast. “I’ll catch up. Just… finishing up.”

He gave me a long look, but shrugged. “Don’t take too long.”

As his footsteps echoed toward the door, relief surged through me. I waited, ears straining until the door finally swung shut behind him.

I exhaled shakily, gripping the edge of the sink.

The stall creaked open.

Calvin emerged, smug as sin, his shirt undone halfway, eyes glittering with mischief. He stretched, casual as anything, then sauntered over until he was behind me again. His hands slid boldly around my waist.

“You should’ve seen your face,” he whispered, biting back a laugh. “Big brother almost caught you branded with my teeth.”

“Shut up,” I hissed, but my voice shook.

He pressed closer, grinding against me lazily, his breath hot at my ear. “Could’ve told him the truth, you know. ‘Nathan, meet the man who put that mark on me.’” His tongue flicked at the edge of my jaw. “Bet he’d love that.”

I shoved him off, heart racing, but not before a traitorous shiver ran down my spine. I walked toward the bathroom door, forcing my legs steady even as his eyes burned into my back.

“Get dressed, Cal,” I muttered, keeping my voice low. “And stay the hell out of trouble.”

He grinned, slow and wicked. “No promises, Masey.”

My hand gripped the handle, but before I could pull it open, his voice followed me, low and taunting:

“Can’t wait to see how you cover that hickey tomorrow.”

There was a beat of silence, heavy, charged. Then his voice dipped even lower.

“And I’m going to be giving you some more tonight. See you back at the room.”The Best Man | Part 18: Midnight Room Heat