On the plus side, I didn’t cross the line when I texted her. That was all friendly flirting. That’s a thing, right? Friendly flirting? If not, it should be, and I’m going to update Urban Dictionary. I even have the definition:

Friendly flirting

When two friends exchange playful, teasing, slightly naughty, perhaps racy words, texts, or whispers to each other that will never lead to anything more, so of course they’re safe to say and send, especially when one of the recipients is the sibling of your buddy.

See? It’s all good. No harm ever comes from friendly flirting.

On the minus side, I did unholy things to Roxy in my fantasies. More than once. Fine, maybe it was three times. Fuck, that’s a lie. It was . . .

Hell if I know. I lost track.

Yep, that’s how it’s been going with my handiwork since the reunion.

But I have to put all that manual labor out of my mind as I play basketball with William a few days later. Best not to think about Roxy’s tits while I’m with her brother, so I focus my energies on sinking this next basket.

I send the ball soaring into the net with a whoosh, and Ben rushes from the sidelines to high-five me. Miller’s here too, working on paper airplanes with Ben on the edge of the court.

“Dad, you can try out for the NBA now.”

I smack his little palm. “Next week. Open tryouts for the Knicks. You coming with me, little man?”

He nods. “Yes. Can I get a hot dog when we’re there?”

I scoff, shaking my head. “Hot dogs are gross.”

Miller pipes in as he folds an elegant wing. “Do you even want to know what they’re made of?”

Ben swivels around, meeting Miller’s gaze. “I don’t know, Uncle Miller. Do I want to know what hot dogs are made of?”

Miller shakes his head. “It will scar you for life, little dude.”

Ben’s eyes widen. “I don’t like scars.”

“Scars are cool,” William says, chiming in. “But the having of them, not the getting of them.”

Ben furrows his brow. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

William shakes his head. “Never mind. Better to just not get wounded. And also, don’t get hot dogs. Get nachos. The nachos at Madison Square Garden are way better.”

“I love nachos.” Ben looks to me with eager blue eyes. “Can we get some after you kick William’s butt?” Then he turns to my one-on-one opponent. “Daddy said he would kick your butt today.”

My friend parks his hands on his hips and shoots me a dirty look. “You told your kid you were going to kick my butt this morning?”

I sigh dramatically. “You don’t want me to lie to him, do you?”

“Oh, no, of course not.” William dribbles with gusto, punctuating each word. “You do know I’m going to have to destroy you now.”

“Miracles can happen.”

“I’m praying for a miracle. William, you can do it,” Miller calls out, dropping down to his knees and clasping his hands in prayer. “Please destroy my little brother.”

William grabs the ball and rushes down the court, as Ben and Miller return to the paper airplane project. My buddy is determined, shooting and aiming to school me in the sport. He’s this close to beating me, and for a fraction of a second, I consider letting him. Maybe because of this seed of guilt that’s threatening to sprout up. The seed that reminds me I haven’t been the best of friends lately.

After all, I kissed his sister. And I groped his sister’s fabulous ass.

And then I fantasized about his sister.

And if she marched up to me right now and launched a second kiss attack, I know I’d surrender to her lips because they taste so fucking good.

But I haven’t crossed the line again. Surely friendly flirting doesn’t count.

I power to the basket, execute a perfect jump shot, and win the game.

Thrusting my arms in the air, I declare victory. “Told you I would kick your butt.”

Panting, William clasps his hands on his thighs, bending at the waist. “I hate you.”

I laugh and clap his back. “I hate you too.”

“Seriously. You’re rich, talented, you play a mean guitar, and you shoot hoops.”

“He’s handsome too,” Ben calls out as he launches what looks to be a four-winged airplane. “Like me!”

Miller squeezes Ben’s shoulder. “Like all the Hart men. We can’t help it. We were born afflicted by extraordinary good looks, and there’s no cure for it.”

William glances at me, shaking his head in amusement. “At least I’ll take solace in the fact that you haven’t yet nabbed some gorgeous, brilliant woman to make you the complete envy of every other guy, like I have with my lovely wife.”

A dart of tension shoots through me, then I let it go. “You’re right. I haven’t nabbed someone like her.”

And the one I want is your sister.

Like the bastard can read my mind, he grabs a towel, wipes his neck, and says, “The reunion went well, I hear?”

I straighten my shoulders, answering in a professional voice. “Roxy had fun.”

He laughs. “I meant your set. But glad to know you had a good time with my sister too.”

“The set rocked,” I say, trying to cover up my snafu. “Everyone loved us. So, uh, how’s business?” I ask, segueing as far away from his sister as I can.

“Fantastic. I’m this close to landing a few new clients. You know I give you a hard time, but I appreciate you taking a chance on me when I started out.”

“Glad I did,” I say, and it’s another warning. We have a friendship and a business relationship. I don’t want to cross the line and put him in a difficult position.

Cross it further.

“Hey,” Miller calls out, patting his stomach. “Ben and I are starving. We need nachos and ice cream sundaes, stat.”

Ben’s smile turns gleeful. “Please, Daddy?”

“You need to eat some lunch first. Like a kale salad.”

“Are you punishing him?” Miller asks, indignant.

“Just kidding. Let’s go get some food.”

“I need to take off for the office,” William says. “You cats have fun living the life.”

And we do, heading off to grab some midday grub, and when the turkey sandwich with a pickle on the side arrives, it gives me an idea.

A friendly idea, of course.