She looked over at me and smiled. “I want to keep it a surprise. I like the mystery.”
Tattoo Dude laughed. “I can’t say this has ever happened before.”
I chuckled. “Only her.”
The man placed a clear bandage over the area before Frankie hopped off the table.
“What about you, Mack? Are you gonna let me pick one for you, too?”
“I’ll take a rain check on that. You’re a little too tipsy right now to be making smart decisions. I don’t want to end up with a hairy bush on me.”
She turned to the artist. “He wouldn’t get one anyway. He doesn’t want to ruin his gorgeous body and that flawless skin.”
Frankie was totally buzzed and loose with her words. I knew she was attracted to me, but she never really said stuff like that. Her talking about my body wasn’t exactly helping my predicament.
The two of us left the tattoo place a tad drunker than when we’d walked in. After wandering the streets of Copley Square for a while, we’d made our way toward the clubs on Lansdowne Street by nightfall.
We decided on Club Punk, and it was there that the mood of the night took a turn into territory I’d never ventured into with her before. That was due mainly to the fact that we continued to get inebriated. While Frankie and I would occasionally drink together, we had never gotten drunk until that night. I should’ve limited her alcohol, but honestly, we were having a damn good time. It seemed like a fitting end to a hectic semester. And more than that, it kept me from stressing over leaving the next day.
Even though Frankie stood out with her purple glasses, she looked sexier than I’d ever seen her. She had on a black halter-top and no bra, which easily displayed the exact silhouette of her pear-shaped breasts. Her nipples were peeking through the fabric. That also meant my eyes were wandering in their direction all night.
On our way to the club, she’d stopped in the drug store and bought some body glitter that she’d rubbed all over her chest and arms. Under the lights, you could really see it shine.
“You’re sparkling.”
“That was the point. I’m trying to stand out.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re the only chick here with purple glasses. Believe me, Frankie. You stand out.”
She closed her eyes momentarily then said, “I need to get laid.”
Her comment had come out of left field. But she was drunk, so it shouldn’t have surprised me. Still, hearing her say that physically hurt. Maybe she’d done it intentionally to test my reaction because she knew I was confused, but in any case, it fucking stung. I guess that was a normal thing for a chick to admit to her “friend.” The problem was, I didn’t see myself as only that anymore. But she had every right to want something more. She also had no clue just how much things had changed for me when it came to her, because I hadn’t told her.
I took a sip of my beer and changed the subject, opting not to want to delve further into Frankie’s quest to be fucked by someone other than me.
“When are you gonna look at your tattoo?”
She shouted through the music, “I don’t know. I’m still liking the excitement of not knowing what it is.”
“You’re nuts. That curiosity would be killing me.”
“Good call on not letting me tattoo you, by the way.”
“Why’s that?”
“I was gonna choose one that said Porn Star.”
“I’d own that,” I joked.
Poking my finger into her rib playfully, I tickled her in response. Then, I took her by the hand and dragged her over to the dance floor.
After a couple more drinks, you could pretty much say my inhibitions were gone. Even though I knew I couldn’t take things past a certain point, I was enjoying the close contact way too much. My dick was straining through my jeans as we danced close. I had no clue if she could feel it against her. The hint of alcohol on her breath mixed with the sweet smell of her body was driving me absolutely insane. My conscience remained the one roadblock. But Lord knows, I wanted to suck every drop of alcohol off her tongue.
I didn’t want to leave her alone, but I was going to piss my pants. I spoke in her ear, “Are you gonna be okay if I go the bathroom?”
She nodded, and I left her on the dance floor despite my reservations. Weaving through the crowd, I headed toward the bathroom. After taking an extremely long leak, I checked my phone and saw that there were a few missed calls from Torrie.
The thought of talking to her right now while I was sporting a hard-on because of another woman made me ill. Guilt was consuming me, because what I needed to do when I got back to D.C. was becoming clearer by the minute.
My constant pining over the girl who’d become my best friend wasn’t fair to my actual girlfriend. Torrie and I had a long history, and I cared about her very much—enough to not want to cheat on her despite these intense urges. Not to mention, Frankie deserved way better than to be caught in this limbo. I knew I had to end things with Torrie before taking things any further with Frankie. Making it through tonight without fucking up was going to be the challenge. But I had never cheated on anyone before and didn’t want to start now.
Any remaining trace of normalcy to the evening ended the minute I made my way back to the dance floor.
A guy with sweat seeping through his white dress shirt was behind Frankie, grinding against her ass. She was wasted. I shouldn’t have let her drink that much, and I most definitely shouldn’t have left her alone for even a second.
The worst part? Her fucking glasses were gone. Given that she couldn’t see shit without them, this was obviously a huge problem.
I wanted to kill the guy for taking advantage of her. “Get the fuck off of her,” I said, pulling Frankie away from him.
“What happened to your glasses?”
“They fell. I can’t find them.”
A few seconds later, I felt pieces of plastic under my shoe. Her signature purple glasses had been crushed to smithereens.
Great.
Even though I knew she had a few spare pairs at home, those had to have cost a fortune, not to mention I would have to somehow lead her home blind.
“We’d better go,” I said, guiding her off the dance floor.
She could hardly walk. I had no clue that she really couldn’t handle her alcohol. We’d each drank about the same, but clearly my threshold was a lot higher. I felt guilty for not taking better care of her.
“Why were you letting that guy rub himself on you like that?”
“My back was turned. I thought he was you.”
Well, shit. I didn’t know if that made me happy or sick.
Frankie was practically tripping over her own feet. We didn’t live far from the club, so I opted to just walk back to the apartment. We’d be able to get home faster than a cab would arrive anyway.
Since her legs were so wobbly, I decided to carry her home. Her arms were wrapped around my neck and as we made our way toward Kenmore Square. It must have rained while we were in the club because cars that were driving into puddles splashed us from time to time.
Frankie was quiet for a while during our walk until she suddenly spoke. “Don’t come back.”
“What?”
“I can’t live with you anymore.”
“Why are you saying that?”
Trashed or not, her bluntness shocked me.
“It hurts,” she said.
“What hurts?”
“Knowing that I can’t ever have you. You’ll never break up with her. You’re just biding your time here.”
She may have been drunk as a fucking skunk, but I knew that the words pouring out of her were the absolute truth.
She looked up at me. Her eyelids were heavy. “God, if you didn’t have a girlfriend right now, I’d…” She hesitated.
I needed to know what she was going to say. I needed more from inebriated Frankie.
“You’d what?” I prodded.
“Never mind.”
The rest of the walk was qui
et. My arms were killing me by the time we got back to the apartment.
When I put her down, she lost her balance, so I led her over to the couch.
We sat down, and Frankie ended up laying her head in my lap. The room was spinning a bit, but I was nowhere near as drunk as she was.
Carelessly running my fingers through her hair repeatedly, I bent my head back and stared at the ceiling. A part of me wished she’d just fall asleep while a bigger part of me wanted her to talk to me, to finish her sentence from earlier, to tell me what she would do if I didn’t have a girlfriend. I looked down and could see her eyes were wide open.
“Are you okay, Frankie Jane?”
It was barely a whisper. “No.”
She looked like she was about to cry. I nudged her up, mainly to get her face away from my dick. Moving her was a mistake because somehow she ended up straddling me. I looked up into her beautiful blue eyes and wondered what the fuck I was doing trying to deny my feelings. Her black mascara was smudged. Her hair was disheveled and yet, she was still the most beautiful girl in the world. I really wanted to know what she was thinking.
“Tell me everything that’s on your mind,” I said.
“I’m drunk. I can’t be trusted.”
“That makes two of us. We won’t remember anything tomorrow. Tell me what you’re thinking, and I’ll tell you what I’m thinking. No one will ever know.”
She leaned her forehead against mine, and it felt so good to feel her breath over my mouth as she panted. I wanted to kiss her more than I’d ever wanted to kiss anyone, but I still managed to hold back. My cock swelled beneath her. She might have been too drunk to notice.
“I want you, and it hurts so bad,” she finally whispered.
This was killing me. Hearing her say that she wanted me caused my control to break.
“I want to fucking devour you right now, Frankie.”
Her breathing became labored. “Do it.” She laughed a little then said, “No, don’t. I’m so drunk. I don’t even know what I’m saying.”
I groaned through my teeth. “I want to. Believe me.”
I knew I wasn’t going to let things go beyond this talking, but I wanted to hear her say it. The dirty, fucking bastard in me just couldn’t help myself.
“If there were no consequences, tell me what you wish I could do to you,” I asked.
She rested her face on the base of my neck and said nothing. I was expecting her to fall asleep until she said, “I wish that you could fuck me so hard that I’d feel you for days afterward.”
Holy shit.
My cock was throbbing now. Aching.
Fisting her hair, I pulled her head back to look at her. “I would love to fuck you right now.”
Even though I’d been encouraging her to tell me what she wanted, hearing those words come out of my own mouth was a reality check in the midst of a drunken fog. I wanted her, but it wasn’t going to happen like this.
Needing relief like a motherfucker, I suddenly moved myself from under her, repositioning her to the corner of the couch.
Placing something beneath her head, I said, “I’ll be right back.”
Frankie curled into the pillow without saying anything further.
I went straight to the bathroom and shut the door before unzipping my pants. My boxers were wet from the precum that had seeped out of my cock. My dick was excruciatingly hard as I jerked it fast in a desperate attempt for relief. This was a hell of a lot safer than giving in to a drunk Frankie. Replaying her words, I pretended I was fucking her and not my hand.
“I wish that you could fuck me so hard that I’d feel you for days afterward.”
After less than a minute, I banged my head against the back of the door as I came hard into my other hand. My palm was barely able to contain the load. Panting, I stayed at the door and closed my eyes, vowing never to drink like this again.
But coming didn’t do shit to take away the longing. I knew it was still going to be a long night and no matter what happened at this point—an awkward morning.
After I cleaned up and returned to the living room, Frankie was passed out on the couch. I decided to carry her to bed. I was hoping she wouldn’t wake up, but when I lifted her off the couch, she looked up at me in a haze.
“I don’t feel so good.”
“You gonna throw up?”
“I think I might.”
Just as we’d made it past the threshold of the bathroom, she gagged and warm projectile vomit spewed everywhere.
I looked down at us. “Shit!”
It was all over her hair, my chest, her shirt. She was way too drunk to clean herself up. Covered in puke, I froze, not knowing how to handle it.
Placing her carefully down on her feet, I said the last thing I expected to actually be suggesting tonight. “We need to get you out of these clothes.”
She simply nodded.
Running the shower to let the water warm, I could feel my heart beating out of my chest. I’d turned back around to find that she’d fully removed her pants and underwear, but still had her shirt on.
This was not good.
Frankie stepped into the tub and lost her balance. I ended up getting in with her to hold her up.
I tried like hell not to stare down at her pussy; I really did. Allowing myself one quick glance, I discovered that it was completely shaved.
Fuck. Me. This seemed like cruel and unusual punishment.
As the water poured down over us, I said, “I have to take your shirt off, okay?”
She closed her eyes and nodded.
This was not the time for me to be sobering up, but I was. After slipping the soaked shirt up in an attempt to get it over her head, I pretended not to notice the way her breasts bounced when they sprung free from the fabric. I tried not to look down, but I just couldn’t help it. She had the most amazing tits. They weren’t huge, but not small—way more than a handful each, like beautiful teardrops. Light pink areolas the size of half-dollars were perfectly centered on her creamy skin. Her nipples were extremely erect, as was my cock, which was bursting through my soaking wet jeans. I was still fully clothed under the water while she stood there buck-naked.
Turning her around so I wasn’t tempted to ogle her bare mound, I poured some soap onto a loofah and handed it to her.
“Wash yourself, Frankie.”
She took it from me and did a half-assed job rubbing it over her body.
I’d almost completely forgotten about the tattoo until it was staring me in the face through the clear bandage.
Fuck. Her ass.
Her ass was almost as amazing as her tits and pussy. It was so round, yet tight and blemish-free. I was seriously going to drop dead from blue balls on the shower floor.
Lathering some shampoo, I washed the vomit out of her hair, noticing how freaking long it was compared to when we’d first met. It was the most beautiful shade of ginger, shiny and straight like silk. I might have washed it a little longer than necessary.
She was clean, but I was still a mess. Frankie’s back was still toward me when I slipped my wet Polo shirt over my head, letting it fall to the floor of the tub. I rubbed the loofah along my chest and neck and gave my hair a quick washing.
Frankie suddenly turned around and fell toward me, pressed her body against mine. That caused me to nearly fall back against the tile wall. With her tits plastered against my chest, she closed her eyes as I held her. I was pretty sure she was falling asleep on me.
The water continued to rain down on us. I stood there, holding her, unable to believe what was happening to me tonight. But being under that water with her, in that most intimate place—Frankie completely bare against me—made me realize more clearly than ever, that there was just no way to deny it.
She was the one.
Our time together seemed to flash before my eyes, all of our many conversations, ranging from our deepest thoughts and hang-ups to the strange and funny.
It was her.
It had always b
een her.
PAST
The room was spinning when I opened my eyes the next morning and reached for one of the pairs of glasses stashed away in my nightstand.
All I remembered was that I’d gotten a tattoo and that I’d had way too much to drink at the club on Lansdowne Street. Everything else was a blur.
My heart nearly skipped a beat when I noticed Mack lying next to me in bed. He had no shirt on, although he never usually slept in a shirt. He’d also never slept in my bed.
Holy shit. Mack was in my bed. Next to me.
He had one arm over his head, showcasing his armpit. I’d never realized that I could find a man’s underarm hair so sexy until this up-close look at Mack’s. It was just another example of my unwavering attraction to his virile beauty.
I looked down at myself to find I was dressed in an oversized T-shirt I rarely wore. Where did he even find it? At least, it covered the tops of my thighs, seeing as though I wasn’t wearing pants.
Where were my pants?
I was relieved to see I had underwear on, but it wasn’t the pair I’d worn yesterday.
What happened last night?
I nudged his shoulder. “Mack?”
“Mmm,” he moaned before turning around. His voice was groggy. “How are you feeling?”
My stomach ached, and my mouth was devoid of all moisture. “Like crap.”
“I figured that.”
“What are you doing in my bed?”
“You don’t remember?”
“No.”
“What’s the last thing you remember from last night?”
“Being with you at the club.”
Mack sat up and leaned back against the headboard. “I’m in bed because after the shower, you begged me to lie next to you. You said you were scared to be alone.”
My stomach dropped. “The shower?”
He rubbed his eyes and laughed a little. “Nothing happened, Frankie. We both got pretty drunk last night. We danced a lot. I carried you home from the club, we talked candidly a little when we got home, and then you puked on both of us. So, I had to wash you off in the shower.”
“What does ‘talked candidly’ mean exactly?”
“It doesn’t matter. You were drunk. Anything you said…anything we both said…can be chalked up to that.”
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