My Client's Former Best Friend | MEANIE/MINWON

Chapter Eighteen.

A moment later: “And who the hell’s pants are these? Do you have company?”

  There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and Seungcheol walked into his bedroom before they could even start breathing again. He stopped in the doorway and took in the scene before him. Wonwoo pictured it through Seungcheol's eyes as he stood there in his skinny jeans and black leather jacket, still wearing his aviator sunglasses. His ugly room with its gilded landscape paintings and hardwood furniture, the four-poster bed taking up most of the floor space. And in the middle of it, Wonwoo, wearing jeans but no shirt, with sex hair and no makeup; Mingyu standing in front of Wonwoo in only his boxers, his hair no neater than Wonwoo's; both of them startled and looking more than a little bit guilty.

  Seungcheol pulled off his glasses slowly and raised an eyebrow at them. “Huh,” he said after a long silence.

  “What?” Wonwoo hid his embarrassment behind a scowl. It wasn’t hard, considering how much he’d been scowling at Mingyu. It was starting to feel natural to his muscles now. “Whatever you’re thinking, just say it and get it over with.”

  “I did not see that coming.”

  Mingyu was also scowling, his arms awkwardly folded across his chest. “What didn’t you see coming? That your darling nephew would have an affair with someone like me?”

  “God, no. Wonu’s banged way worse.”

  Wonwoo snorted. “You’re one to talk.”

  “Face it, my dear, we’re a family of sluts.”

  “Truer words were never spoken.” He stopped scowling. He wasn’t mad at Seungcheol, not really. A little bit for abandoning him for eight years and for the stuff earlier on the plane, but not about this. He needed to keep his annoyance focused on where it belonged: the mostly naked guy standing next to him who he still wanted to fuck and punch at the same time. That would make an interesting sport. Or reality TV show—Fuck Punch.

  Mingyu was still caught up on the semantics. “Then what do you mean by what you said?”

  Seungcheol shrugged. “I’d thought you were straight.”

  Mingyu’s face turned red. “I’m not straight.”

  Wonwoo could have told him that. Seungcheol, not Mingyu. Mingyu already knew he wasn’t straight. He tried not to smile, knowing it would make Mingyu madder. But then he remembered he wanted to make Mingyu mad. He smiled.

  “Bi?”

  “No.”

  “Then do you have a crush on Jun?”

  “No.”

  Seungcheol shrugged. “Oh well. I just assumed, given the strop you were in about him never being around and what not, and how willing you were to put yourself in harm’s way for him, that there was at least a little something going on.”

  “I am not willing to put myself in harm’s way for him.”

  “Then how do you explain the arm? And the bomb?”

  Mingyu’s face was bright red, borderline purple. “I didn’t want to get my shoulder dislocated! I wasn’t the one who screwed up and got the wrong guy! And you’re the one who set off the bomb!”

“Details,” Seungcheol said with a wave of his hand.

  “Look. Wonwoo and I were in the middle of something. Leave,” Mingyu said through his teeth.

  Wonwoo spoke up then. This was an out, and he wasn’t going to let it go by. “We were finished. Stay.”

  Mingyu looked at Wonwoo. All the indignation and anger had drained from his face, leaving behind a dull, unreadable look. “I thought we were still discussing—”