I hold up a hand. “Fine. I’ll be your alibi. But I get to pick the restaurant, and you’re buying. Oh, and you have to put the toilet seat down every day for an entire week.”
He raises his hand as though wanting to say something in class. “I’d like to add a house rule: Parker isn’t allowed to tell Ben how to pee.”
“You don’t make the house rules. I do. And I didn’t tell you how to pee,” I say exasperatedly as he wrenches open a dresser drawer and pulls out a pair of boxers. “I’m trying to do your future wife a favor by teaching you how not to be a pig.”
He inches by me into the hallway. “Another house rule: Parker shalt not say profanities as future wife to a dedicated bachelor.”
“You’re not a dedicated bachelor. You’re just a typical horny twenty-four-year-old dude, and, again, you don’t make the house rules—hey!”
He shuts the door to our shared bathroom in my face, and too late I realize that I’d missed all the classic signs of a skilled Ben Olsen diversion. He’d just wanted to beat me into the bathroom.
“Don’t use all the hot water!” I shout, pounding my palm on the door.
The door opens just enough for me to see one blue eye blinking back at me. “Didn’t you say Polly had a tangle? You better go get on that.”
The door shuts again, and I pound a second time. “Remember, the green towel is mine. The white one is yours.”
I wait for confirmation, but there’s only silence.
“Ben, I know you can hear me! Don’t ‘accidentally’ use mine just because yours smells funny.”
More silence.
Damn it. He is so planning to use my towel.
So, yeah, my best friend is a guy. Doesn’t mean I have to like it all the time.