I blinked at how quickly things had gone from innuendo to exhaustion.
“Hey,” Trip said, “some of us have been working all day.”
“We’ve all been working,” I said through a fake smile.
“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry. I saw the sketches on my desk before dinner. Thanks, by the way. But you gotta admit, sketches aren’t the same as sinks and light fixtures.” He thought of something and laughed at himself. “I’d better be careful, or you’re gonna remind me of that in the fall, when I’m pushing paper and you’re doing site visits.”
“Count on it.”
“But I’m still worn out. We’re goin’ to bed. Y’all wanna hike to the quarry tomorrow? Remind ourselves why we’re doin’ this?”
“We’d love to,” Christy said.
* * *
“Hey,” Trip said the next morning, “I owe you an apology. Seems I’m doing it a lot lately, but…” He shrugged. “Anyway, I didn’t mean to make it sound like we’d been working and you hadn’t.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “But thanks.”
“And Christy told Wren that you’re feeling guilty. About your hand. ’Cause you weren’t able to help with the bungalows.”
“That’s part of it,” I admitted.
“Don’t,” he said flatly. “We’re a team. The girls too. The others step up when one of us is injured. Even when we aren’t,” he added, “like Wren and her thesis. You and Christy really made her life easier. Now it’s our turn to do the same for you. So forget about me and my dumb comments. I’d had a couple of drinks, but that’s no excuse.”
I nodded.
“Besides, I don’t want you to throw my words back at me. I meant what I said about this fall. You’re gonna be working your butt off, juggling school and site visits, while I’ll be a glorified secretary, moving papers from one stack to another.”
“Fair enough.”
“Anyway, how’s your hand?”
I had finally taken off the splint for good, and my hand felt odd without it. I flexed my fingers experimentally.
“Still a little weak?” Trip ventured. “Yeah, it’ll be like that for a while.”
“You seem to know a lot about it.”
“Yeah, I broke mine once.”
“Punch someone?”
“Ha! No. Caught a ball I shouldn’t’ve.”
My eyebrows rose with an invitation to explain.
“State tournament when I was a junior,” he said. “Bottom of the ninth, two outs. We were up by one, but they had a man on base. Full count, so it was my last chance to end it. I threw a beautiful slider. I knew the guy was gonna swing, and I thought I had him.”
“What happened?”
“He caught it with the end of his bat. Line drive, straight at my face. A real ‘catch it or eat it’ moment.”
“And you caught it?”
“Yeah. Threw up my pitching hand and caught it for the last out.” He laughed ruefully. “We won, but I broke three fingers. Had to wear a cast for six weeks. Took me another six before I could pitch again. My slider was never the same.” He flexed his right hand. “It still aches sometimes, when the weather turns.”
He gestured at mine. “Go easy on it for a week or two. Longer if you need to. Yeah, it’s ‘only’ your pinky finger, but you’d be surprised how much you use it.”
“Will do,” I agreed.
He clapped me on the back and turned us toward the clubhouse. “You wanna go over those sketches while the girls pack for the quarry?”
* * *
“God, this was exactly what I needed,” Wren said. She rolled to her back and stared at the sky. Wispy white mares’ tails floated high in the summer haze. The sun had started its long slide toward the western horizon, but we still had plenty of daylight left. “It’s hard work,” she added. “What you all do.”
“Which part?” Trip asked. “Hauling this stuff up the hill? Or the construction?”
“Both,” she laughed. “But I meant the construction.”
“Yeah. Thanks for your help this week. I couldn’t’ve done it without you.”
“Anything for my man.” She raised her left hand and gazed at her engagement ring. “I like the sound of that. My man,” she repeated.
“Feels good in your mouth,” Christy teased.
“You wouldn’t know,” Wren shot back.
“Whose fault is that?”
“Not mine,” Wren said. She waved her hand vaguely in Trip’s direction. “Talk to him.”
“I’m working on it,” he said. “I apologized, didn’t I? And I’ve been good all week.”
“You have,” Christy agreed. “Thank you.”
“But I shouldn’t have to remind you,” Wren said to him.
“Yes, dear,” he replied with genuine contrition.
“Better.” She arched her neck and stared at me upside down. “Now, what do I have to do to get you to stop saying that thing I hate?”
“Don’t be so demanding?”
“I told you,” Christy said in a singsong.
“Yeah, you did, my love,” Wren agreed. “I’ll work on it. How’s this? Paul, will you please come over here and give me your dick?”
“Oh, Wren,” Christy laughed. “You should see his face. I think you scared him.”
“Not scared,” I said. “Surprised. Did she just… ask nicely?”
“I think she did. What’re you gonna do about it?”
“What d’you think? Should I give her what she wants? Or tease her a little?”
“She’s been really good,” Christy said. “Besides, she doesn’t like teasing.”
Wren shook her head with comical intensity. We’d all had a couple of glasses of wine with lunch, but none of us were tipsy. Instead, Wren was relaxed and enjoying herself.
“Yeah, you’re right,” I said. “But what about Trip?”
He spoke up, “I’m fine. Y’all have fun. I’ll watch.”
“Uh-uh,” Wren said. “You come here too. That’s an order.”
“Now she’s givin’ me orders?” he joked. “Shouldn’t this be the other way around? I’m still the man, right?”
“I dunno, are you?” she taunted.
He glanced at me. “Should we do what she wants?”
“Yeah, probably. She sort of asked nicely.”
“She asked you!” he laughed. “She gave me an order.”
“But… are you really going to complain? I mean, she ‘ordered’ you to give her your dick.”
“That’s true.”
Christy rolled her eyes and crawled toward Wren. She lay beside her and propped her chin on her hand.
“Now d’you see?” Wren said to her. “I don’t get anything unless I’m demanding.”
“You got me? Does that count?”
“It does, my love. Who needs men anyway?”
“Unh, I do!”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Wren said. She arched her neck and looked at us. “Last chance, guys.”
“You heard the lady,” Trip said to me.
“She-who-must-be-obeyed?”
He frowned, nonplussed.
“The fearsome white queen? Ayesha? She? Okay, maybe that’s a bit obscure. But still, you don’t read much, do you?”
“No,” he laughed. “Not like you. I’m too busy working or getting laid.”
“Fair enough.”
We moved toward the girls and knelt to either side of Wren’s head. She reached for us and began stroking our dicks.
“My two favorite men,” she said. Christy pinched her nipple, and she gasped. “All my favorites.”
“Why would you want to read when you could be doing this?” Trip asked me.
“Seriously,” Wren agreed.
“And I thought Paul talked too much,” Christy said under her breath.
“It’s called banter,” Wren laughed. “It’s foreplay. But you’re ready to play for real, aren’t you, my love?”
Christy looked at me.
Go for it, I told her silently.
She grinned and rose to her hands and knees. Wren offered her Trip’s semi-hard cock, and she kissed the tip. Then she began sucking. After a moment she closed her eyes to enjoy the feeling of a new man in her mouth. I had to hold back a laugh when I thought she might swoon for real. She felt me watching and flushed slightly, from excitement more than embarrassment.