When the guys started pestering Franklin and Tuck about their relationship at Franklin’s bachelor party, the two denied, insisting on its platonic nature. They would never, ever as much as steal a kiss between them. Or would they?
“It never happened.”
“He’s right. Nonexistent. What—uh—whatever you guys think we—might—“ Franklin paused, slamming his drink on the table. Christ, thought Tuck, he was good—he was unbelievably fantastic in the squeezing the truth out of some Russian mafia but so goddamn useless in protecting his own. He’d have thought he was a better actor.