Robby doesn't mean to keep looking at you. That's what he tells himself. But you're in one of those tiny, pink dresses that Jack probably regrets letting you wear around company. Not that---no. Not allow. That's kinda fucked up.
But it's...clinging to your frame, and you're all bare thighs and easy smiles like you have no idea what you can do to a room. Robby keeps catching the curve of your hips when you walk, and the way you pull on the strap of your bra that doesn't seem to fit right.
But, like, it's not that he's noticing that. But it's easy to catch the way Jack's eyes follow you. Robby's sure he's an inch close to dragging somewhere where it's just the two of you.
And that's...okay. He's your husband. He's your obsessive as all hell husband. You and he have made Robby a semi-unwilling witness to his...consumption of you.
Yeah. That's Robby's excuse. It's not that he wants you.
Jack just makes it impossible not to imagine you that way.
"Robby, any reason my wife dancing with my kid in her arms so fascinating to you?"
Jack's already crowding you, broadly posessive. He might as well be licking his lips like you're a steak or something in reference to juicy food. You like it. You know exactly what you're doing. And that's fine! It's just that Robby has seen enough of Jack's whatever for you to almost have a name for it.
And now? Well, he still feels bad that his brain keeps filling in the relationship blanks no decent friend should be filling.
Like, he's...he's pretty sure Jack's bunched up that dress you're wearing to see the panties you're not.
You're not wearing, he means. Probably. There'd be an outline or something, right?
See? That's very gross, Robby feels sick, but Jack makes it too easy to imagine.
"Just...noticing what a good family you've got."
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