WE ARE ONE: Volume Two

by Jewel, Bella

  “Oh no!” she objected, her tiny finger snaking its way between us and nearly poking me in the eye. “No, no, NO!”

  “No what?”

  She pointed to my lips. “No that”

  Just as I was about to lick them again, teasingly, because I knew she both loved and hated it, my mother called my name. Fuck, not now.

  “Elliot, I need your help lifting these logs.”

  Danielle snapped her head toward my mother’s squawking voice before flicking her eyes to me then back to my mother, her enthusiastic eye-tennis a good indication that she was getting ready to confess.

  “Please don’t,” I begged.

  Her mouth opened, and I panicked and did what any normal, longstanding, lovesick friend who hadn’t been in this position before would do.

  I kissed her.

  Hard.

  Unashamedly.

  A wave of heat hit me once again but, unlike before, nothing could compare to the inferno blazing up my legs and exploding into my heads the moment my lips touched hers. And yeah, it was definitely heads, as in plural, because the head of my cock was its own Survivor torch. It was life in a jungle of trousers and boxer briefs, and there was absolutely no extinguishing it while she was in my arms.

  “Ell … ee … ot,” she mumbled around my tongue. “What … are … you—”

  Mum giggled. “Ooooooh! Look at you two no longer hiding in your closets. JEANETTE, are you seeing this?”

  Danielle squirmed like my eleven-month-old nephew did when I picked him up for a hug, but when I softly and meticulously stroked her tongue with mine, her fight waned and she fell limp against me. Victory.

  In that moment, the world faded away. There was no mum, no Jeanette, no fake Chris, and no barking dogs. It was just Danielle and I, like when we were kids, except we’d never been this close, enough that I could feel her breath on my face, thread my fingers through her hair, and clench my hand over her hip … close enough for her nails to dig into my skin like a Velociraptor. Jesus Christ!

  Fighting the pain shooting up my arm for as long as possible, I persisted against her sudden attack. But I was only human — a human that could bleed and probably was.

  “What are you doing?” I groaned, pulling back to assess the damage she’d inflicted to my arm

  “What am I doing?” she growled, quietly. Danielle fired an embarrassed, sweet smile toward our gawking mothers then turned back to me, her sweetness gone. “The question is what are you doing?”

  “I’m kissing you. What does it look like?”

  “Did I say you could kiss me?”

  I rubbed my arm and fake chuckled for the purpose of keeping up our ruse. “No. I didn’t know I needed a written invitation?”

  “Well …” She paused, her chest huffing, her face gorgeously flushed. “You do.”

  We stared at one another for a few moments more before she turned on her heel and stormed off, and, thankfully, it was in the opposite direction of our grinning mothers.

  * * *

  An hour later and she hadn’t returned. I was worried. And not because I thought she’d confessed my excellent lie. I was fairly sure she hadn’t seeing as I was still alive and kicking and that my mother wasn’t in tears nor giving me her silent treatment. So I was confident our secret was still … secret. What I wasn’t confident over was Danielle’s whereabouts or frame of mind, and I honestly felt like a bucket of shit as a result.

  I’d come on strongly because I hadn’t been able to help myself. I hadn’t seen her in so long and it had made me a little needy. There was just something about her, about our connection and our past that fizzled like a firecracker between us. And it couldn’t just be me that felt it — forces and feelings such as those were never singular.

  Plunging my shovel into the ground, I pushed it in further with my foot before levering what felt like my billionth scoop of dirt before dumping it into the wheelbarrow beside me. I couldn’t complain, though; the constant movement was keeping my balls from freezing solid. I adjusted them, for added reassurance, then pushed the wheelbarrow across the garden site toward the skip bin, slowing when I heard distant music that sounded like a ringtone.

  Lowering the handles to place the wheelbarrow down, I pivoted 180 degrees, heading toward the sound, a heavy drumbeat, which I soon recognised as the theme song to Game of Thrones. Humming along to the tune while scouring the ground in front of my feet, the song’s volume increased with every step I took until I spotted a phone.

  I reached into the grass and picked it up, answering it. “Hello?”

  “Who’s this?” Her voice sounded familiar.

  “Who’s this?” I replied, smiling.

  “Lots?”

  “Danielle?”

  “Why do you have my phone?”

  I shrugged like an idiot. “Because I just found it.”

  “Where?”

  “On the ground.”

  “Crap.”

  “It’s fine. Still works.”

  “Clearly,” she grumbled. “Crap. Crap. Crap. I need it.”

  I scratched my head. “Where are you?”

  “At home.”

  My scratching stopped. “Really? You left without saying goodbye?”

  “I was in a hurry.” Bullshit! ‘In a hurry’ my arse.

  I didn’t believe her. She’d bailed because she didn’t want to admit she’d just experienced the best kiss of her life.

  “DAMN IT! I really need my phone.”

  “Then come back and get it.”

  She let out a long, whiney moan. “I can’t be stuffed driving all that way.”

  “All that way? Where do you live?”

  “Essendon.” Fair enough.

  Essendon was roughly an hour’s drive. I wouldn’t want to travel all that way just for my phone, either.

  Glancing at my watch, I decided I’d help her out. “Look, I’m about to finish up here. What’s your address? I’ll drop it off on my way home.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I don’t want you going out of your way.”

  “It isn’t.”

  “Really? Where do you live?”

  “In the city.”

  “In the city city?”

  “Yes, in an apartment.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “Okay, so long as it’s not too much trouble.”

  “It’s not.”

  It was … a little, but I wanted to see where she lived.

  “Okay. Do you have a pen?”

  Again, like an idiot, I patted my chest for a pen and notepad. “No. I have a wheelbarrow and shovel, though.”

  She laughed, which made me feel a little better. “It doesn’t matter. You don’t really need to write it down. It’s easy to remember, especially for you. Are you ready?”

  “Yes, fire away.”

  “23 Court Court, Essendon.”

  “Court Court?”

  “Yep.”

  “Too easy.”

  “I know.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  Silence.

  I waited for her to say something but it was clear she wasn’t going to after several seconds of nothing. “Right. See you soon.”

  “Yes. Bye.”

  Danielle hung up, and I grinned as I pocketed her phone. Right. Let’s see if this Chris really does exist.

  * * *

  Chris existed, because he was the six foot four, tower of lean muscle who answered her door.

  “She’s just out the back with Pugly,” he explained, after I clarified I was at the correct address and we introduced ourselves. And, yeah, I took note that he never mentioned being her boyfriend, instead saying, “I’m Chris. Come in.”

  “Pugly?” I asked with a chuckle, as I followed him into a fairly new, two-storey townhouse.

  “Yeah, Dani’s ugly as fuck pug dog.”

  Another clue to strengthen my case against Chris being her boyfriend was the fact he referred to her as Dani. She’d always hated that abbreviatio
n so I doubted she’d allow it as a term of endearment.

  I smiled to myself. “Pug dog? Riiiight. So, do you live here, too?” I casually added, taking in the polished floorboards, freshly painted walls, and stunning framed scenic photographs lining the hallway we were walking along, one in particular catching my eye and halting my steps.

  Chris smirked and double-backed. “Yeah, I do. Great pic, huh?”

  “Sure is. Is it the top of the Sydney Harbour Bridge?”

  “Yep. My cousin took it.” He gestured up and down the hallway with his hands. “She took all of these shots.”

  “They’re pretty impressive.”

  “They are, but that one’s my favourite because she’s scared as shit of heights.”

  “Fair effort then.”

  “I reckon. I’m shit scared of snakes but would never hug one just because I love to hug.”

  I narrowed my eyes but didn’t look his way. Coming from a tank of a guy, let alone any guy, it was a weird thing to have said, despite making perfect sense.

  “Anyway,” he added, continuing along the hallway. “It’s amazing what you can achieve when you put your mind to it.”

  Again, I narrowed my eyes, confused, and smiled wryly as I followed him into the living room area, a jungle of gym equipment, inspirational quote pictures, and buckets of protein powder helping me find instant clarity. Of course! It all makes sense now. He’s one of those optimistic, bodybuilder life-is-what-you-get-out-of-it dicks.

  Swallowing my laugh, because I’d be willing to bet my left testicle that he was Danielle’s gay friend as opposed to her boyfriend, I pointed to the Essendon Bombers football team photo on the wall above the weight bench.

  “Bombers supporter, huh?”

  He smirked. “You could say that.”

  Something in his smirk stirred an uncomfortable niggle in my gut, as if he was secretly laughing at me and not the other way around. I didn’t like it. Just like I didn’t like it when I was in the courtroom and my counterpart had the upper hand. Plus, there was an uncanny familiarity about Chris.

  I stepped closer to the picture. “Bulldogs supporter, myself.”

  He punched the boxing bag. Twice. “You’d be happy with their efforts last year then.”

  “One of the happiest years of my life,” I said, ignoring his showponying. “Seeing them hold up that premiership cup was pretty special.”

  He sighed. “Yeah, I reckon it would be.”

  My eyes zeroed in on the picture and I blinked then blinked again, finding him standing there, beside his teammates. “Shit! I knew you looked familiar. You’re Chris Mitchell.”

  “The one and only,” he said with a cheesy grin, adding in a few extra punches to the boxing bag.

  “Well, technically, there’s probably millions of Chris Mitchell’s in the world.”

  His grin dropped, as did his arms. “So, how do you know Dani?” he deadpanned.

  Before I could answer, a skittering, scratching sound grew louder and louder until a four-legged, ball of ugly canine barrelled into my leg.

  “DUDLEY! Get back here. I haven’t dried your feet.” Danielle rounded the corner and pulled to a stop, towel in hands, her nose as red as Rudolph’s.

  Lowering my hand to her overexcited pug’s head, I inconspicuously held him and his wet paws away from my pants.

  “Sorry. His feet are wet.”

  “Paws,” I clarified.

  “What?”

  “Paws, not feet. Dogs have paws.”

  She glared at me. “You’re early.”

  “Traffic was light.” I picked up Pugly and held him out to her.

  “Thanks,” she said, collecting him within her towel. He licked her face, and she spat. “Damn it, Dudley. Why can’t you eat roses?”

  Chris opened his bar fridge, pulled out a beer, cracked it open, and offered it to me. I declined, so he swigged it himself and flopped into an enormous beanbag. “So, how do you two know each other?”

  “We were neighbours when we were kids,” Danielle answered, quickly, as if I would offer an alternative explanation.

  She knew me well.

  Chris looked between us both and nodded, a shit-eating grin on his face. Yeah, he’s definitely not her boyfriend.

  “So, how do you two know each other?” I asked, my grin just as shit-eating as his.

  “We’ve been dating for years, if you must know,” Danielle blurted.

  Chris spat his beer but had no time to recover when Danielle dropped Pugly into his lap. “Babe, can you dry Dudley’s paws while I thank Elliot and show him out? Thanks.”

  Her fingers wrapped around my arm and she steered me toward the door just as Pugly licked Chris’ face followed by his beer bottle.

  “Jesus, Pugly. Fuck!”

  Danielle laughed dismissively and kept ushering me out. “Chris doesn’t mean to call Dudley that. He loves our fur baby just as much as I do.”

  “I do not,” he murmured.

  I bit back my laugh. The entire situation was hilarious. Danielle was hilarious.

  Stopping at the door, she held out her hand. “I take it you have my phone?”

  “I do.” I reached into my pocked, pulled it out and placed it in her hand, my fingers lingering long enough to lightly caress hers.

  “Th … thank you,” she stuttered, raising her hand and phone to her chest. “I really do appreciate you bringing it to me.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  We both reached for the doorhandle simultaneously, our faces brushing one another’s, our eyes locking. She sucked in a short, sharp breath, and I licked my lips.

  “Oh no you don’t. Not again.”

  The cold of the night air slapped my face as she shoved me through the open door and onto the front landing, and I had just enough time to right my feet and turn around to laugh at her and say goodbye before she closed the door.

  Yep. He’s definitely not her boyfriend.

  Chapter Five

  He smells so damn good. And his eyes, those lips … his hands … ARGH! Elliot was so bloody infuriating. I couldn’t remember him ever being that infuriating. Why is he so infuriating?

  Sighing, I slumped against the front door and closed my eyes.

  “That was interesting.”

  My eyes shot open again, and I grasped my chest. “Shit, Chris! You scared me.”

  “You blindsiding me with the fact we are dating, scared me.”

  “Sorrrrrrrry,” I groaned, rubbing the palms of my hands over my face. “If it’s any consolation, I blindsided myself as well.”

  Chris pried my hands from my face and fired me a condemnatory smirk. “Are you gonna tell me what’s going on with Mr Know It All?”

  I furrowed my brow. “Mr Know It All?”

  “Yeah. Mr ‘Feet not Paws’, and ‘There’s millions of Chris Mitchells in the world’.”

  I laughed, my head falling back against the door. “He said that to you?”

  “Yeah. The fucking flog.”

  Giggling, I followed as Chris led me down the hallway to the living room where I flopped onto our beanbag. “Technically, he’s right, you know.” Technically? God damn it, I’m even sounding like him now.

  “Technically, he’s a flog.” Landing with a thud beside me, Chris almost launched me off the beanbag and onto the floor. “So, you and pretty boy geek are fucking, yeah?”

  “He’s not a geek, and no, we’re not.”

  “He is a geek, and you do want to fuck him.”

  “No, and no.”

  He pointed the remote control at the TV. “So what’s the deal then?”

  “There is no deal.” I squirmed to get comfortable, and to piss him off.

  “You’re such a fidget arse.”

  “And you’re such a huge arse. Get off! I was here first.”

  “No. It’s my beanbag.”

  We both growled and wriggled for a few seconds before settling, somewhat uncomfortably, which was when Dudley jumped onto my lap. I patted his ears
and made kissy noises at him.

  “So, where’d geek boy come from?” Chris asked again.

  “His mother’s womb,” I deadpanned

  His head slowly rotated in my direction, exorcism style.

  I rolled my eyes at him. “Ugh! Fine. I’ll tell you. But first you have to make me a Milo with the frothy milk, like you did last time.”

  He looked at Dudley then to me and shook his head, smiling. “Deal.” Chris jumped up, causing the beanbag to slump and Dudley and I to roll onto the floor. “You’ve never mentioned geek boy before.”

  “Actually, I have.”

  “When?”

  “Well …” I scrambled to my feet, followed Chris into our kitchen, and took a seat at the breakfast bar while he opened cupboards and proceeded to make the World’s best Milos. “Remember when I told you about nearly drowning in a storm drain as a kid with my best friend?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Elliot was that best friend.”

  “No shit?” Chris levered open the lid of the Milo tin and dipped in his spoon. “I just assumed your best friend was a chick.”

  “Nope. It was Elliot.”

  “Wait a minute,” he said, pulling out the spoon and pointing it at me. “Was he also the best friend that ended up moving, the one you never saw again and missed like crazy?”

  I covered my eyes with my hands and peeked through my barely spread fingers. “Maybe.”

  “Ha! This is all making perfect sense now.”

  “What is?” I dropped my hands from my face and reached for the tin.

  He yanked it away. “Why you missed your best friend so much.”

  Looking to the ceiling, I searched for clarification, as if it was just dangling there above me like a monkey on a tree branch. “I don’t get it. Why does it all make sense now?”

  “He’s a dude.”

  “Yeah … so?”

  “Dudes and chicks that are best friends can’t really be best friends until after they’ve fucked.”

  I facepalmed. “Oh my god, Chris. Not everyone needs to fuck.”

  “We did.”

  “Annnnnnnd we don’t ever talk about that, remember?”

  “Yeah, because we don’t need to. We fucked. We got it over and done with. And now we’re best friends.”