The Friend Zone

by Kristen Callihan

  “You’re here.” My hand stops over my heart and I spread my fingers wide, pressing down as if it can ease the ache inside. “Now, I mean. This counts too.”

  “Gray?”

  “Yeah?” I whisper.

  “Are we good? I mean, what I said—”

  “I told you, Mac. We’re good. Can we just move past it?” Fuck if I want this tension between us anymore. It’s killing me.

  “Okay, okay.” More scuffling noise comes from her side of the phone. “Grumpy Gus.”

  “That’s Sir Grumpy Gus to you.” I smile a little. “What are you doing? I hear noises.”

  “What noises?” Mac says in a stage voice that makes me smile full-out. “I’m not hiding a body, I swears!”

  “Har.”

  “I’m getting into bed, if you must know.”

  Instantly, my body goes tight. It doesn’t help that I’m naked and spread out on a bed. It’s a strain to sound unaffected. “You want me to let you go?”

  “Nope.”

  Somehow I can hear her slide under the covers. The little hairs on my skin stand on end. My hand edges down to my abdomen, the muscles hard and tense there. I imagine Ivy’s hand running along my skin and suppress a groan.

  As it is, a small grunt escapes me, and I hurry to speak. “I’m getting into bed too.”

  “Jesus, you really are acting like an old man. Are you sure you’re all right?” The affection in her tone comes through loud and clear. “I feel like I ought to be pressing a hand to your fevered brow.”

  “I’m tired, Mac,” I tell her lightly. “And if you don’t cut it out, I’m going to hang up. Would serve you right if I am sick and end up wasting away from some sort of Victorian disease. And then how will you feel? Knowing you let me go.”

  “What kind of disease are we talking about? Like consumption? Or cholera?” Mac snickers into the phone. “If it’s cholera, you’re on your own, Cupcake.”

  “Cute.” I rest my hand behind my head, getting more comfortable. “Mac?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You said it was bad. The sex, I mean, and—”

  “Gray!” Her exasperation is sharp. “Didn’t we just agree not to talk about that anymore?”

  I wince, feeling like an ass and cursing my big mouth. “Shit, yes. I know. It’s… Okay, fine, it’s bugging me. Not,” I interject before she can speak, because I can hear her taking an indignant breath, “because you aren’t having sex. But you said it was bad. And I want to know why.” My heart pounds against my ribs. “Did he… Did he hurt you, honey?”

  It’s inexcusable that I haven’t made certain until now. And I will burn the fucking earth down if he did.

  Mac’s soft voice comes at me through the buzzing in my head. “No, Gray. No, not that.” She goes silent, and I take the moment to draw in a deep, not-so-steady breath, nodding even though she can’t see me. Relief makes me sag further into the pillows.

  When she speaks again, her voice is low and tense. “It was just…Gah! The foreplay was awesome. I wanted it, Gray. Badly, you know?”

  Again, I nod. My voice seems to have left the building. I don’t really want to think about some fuckwit giving Ivy “awesome” foreplay. Why did I have to ask?

  “I mean, I planned for it, went to the doctors and got on the pill and—”

  “That’s some dedicated planning for your first time.”

  She makes an annoyed noise. “I know. But that’s how I am. I plan. I commit. And I don’t trust condoms to—”

  “You don’t?”

  “To protect against diseases, yeah, but you do realize they have about an eighteen percent failure rate for birth control?”

  I don’t want to even think about failure rates. The idea that little Grays could be out there gives me the willies. But I chuckle instead, wanting to change the subject. “Okay, okay, lesson learned, Doctor Sex Ed.”

  She snorts. “I was sixteen. I did not want to get pregnant, and I figured if I worried about that, I wouldn’t have any fun.”

  And that strange dichotomy is my Ivy. Insane planner mixed with a free spirit who goes with the flow. A surge of affection hits me, and I sink further into the pillows.

  “Anyway,” she drawls as if to say I’d taken her off track and not to do it again, “I was all in. But then we got down to it, and he basically…er…”

  I can almost hear her embarrassment.

  “He didn’t get the job done?” I offer wryly.

  She huffs out a laugh. “It was just so fast. Jab, jab, jab, strangled cry, done!”

  Despite myself, I laugh too. “Pretty sure that’s how most high school guys do it, Mac.”

  “Yeah, well, from what I’ve heard, most college guys do it that way too. Once they get the green light, it’s so long, foreplay, hello, fast fuck. Thanks, but no thanks.”

  And what can I say to that? We can be selfish bastards. I wince inwardly, thinking of the times I took my own pleasure, accepting it as truth when the girl beneath me acted as if I was a god simply because I chose to stick my dick into her. My face burns. Fuck, I’m an asshole.

  Closing my eyes, I pinch the bridge of my nose, as I talk. “How would you want it to go, Mac? If you could have it your way?”

  “What?” There’s a protracted half-laugh from her. “Sex?”

  “Yeah.” My voice is weak, barely audible, but I have to ask her.

  The silence on the other end has a weight that I feel in my chest. “Come on, Mac,” I say. “It’s just me.”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Maybe because most of us guys need a wakeup call.”

  Maybe because I want to know how to please you. Or I’m a dirty bastard who needs to hear your honey-smooth voice talk about sex. Take your pick.

  Anxious yet filled with anticipation, I rub the flat of my belly again. “Tell me,” I murmur. “Tell me how it would be good for you.”

  Her breath hitches and for a moment I think I’ve gone too far. But when she speaks, it’s in a whisper that has an edge to it, one that sends heat straight to my cock. Because she sounds excited, tempted. “Just between us?”

  My breathing picks up, lighter, faster. God, this is stupid. So fucking stupid, like opening Pandora’s box. I’ll regret it, I know. And yet… “Just between us.”

  She makes a little, strangled noise. “I can’t… Okay, okay. Screw it.” Another soft breath that has me clenching, and then, “It would start out slow. Just kissing. That lazy sort of kissing that goes on and on, all soft and melting, until you’re drugged with it and your lips are all swollen and sensitive. And you’re just kind of breathing each other in, you know?”

  I swallow reflexively, my voice totally gone. No, I don’t know that kind of kissing. I’ve never had the desire to go there with any girl. But fuck, I can imagine kissing Mac that way. Learning her mouth, shaping her lips with mine. My lips thrum with the need to feel hers. To sink into her taste.

  Her soft voice glides over my skin. “And then he’d touch me.”

  “Are you standing up or lying down when he touches you?” My voice is a rasp, but it’s a miracle I got the words out, I’m wound so tight.

  She pauses. “I don’t know.”

  “Are you… Are you lying down now?”

  “Yeah.” It’s a gentle whisper.

  My breath hitches, and I actually shiver. “Then you’re lying down. On your back.” I squeeze my eyes shut, images flooding my head. “Your hair spread out on the pillow. Your eyes on him, watching what he does to you.”

  Her soft breath is in my ear. “He runs his fingers along my neck, his touch barely there. But I feel it. Burning a trail over my skin, down to my collarbone. And it gets me so hot, waiting for him to unbutton my shirt.”

  “You want him to see you, don’t you, honey?” And, oh, fuck, I can imagine it, spreading open Ivy’s shirt, exposing her smooth skin.

  “Yeah,” she says. “My…” A huff of breath. “My nipples are so hard. Aching.”

  Jesus.
“And he slides that shirt apart. Exposes your sweet tits to his gaze.”

  Mac makes a sound. A moan. My lower gut clenches like a fist. I can’t breathe. Can’t fucking think. Slowly my hand eases down over my stomach, shivers breaking out in its wake. I shouldn’t do this. I can’t stop.

  I’m so hard that my dick has a heft to it, like it’s a separate entity, pulsing with the need to fuck, fuck, fuck. I give it a squeeze to alleviate the pressure, and it throbs against my palm. My teeth dig into my lower lip as I hold in a groan. I’m so fucking hot and thick I’m surprised I haven’t come already.

  “What does he do to you next?” I practically beg as I give myself a small tug.

  “He sucks me.” Her voice is a stroke along my balls. “Gently, so all I can feel is his warm, wet mouth. And it drives me crazy. I want it harder.”

  As if obeying her command, I fist myself tighter. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I arch up into his mouth, seeking it. But he doesn’t give it to me. Not yet.” Her breath is coming on faster now, her voice light and agitated. “He flicks my nipple with his tongue, plays with it. Giving it little sucks, long, lazy licks.”

  I shudder, and I swear she does too. My tongue hits the roof of my mouth. If I close my eyes, I can feel the tight bud of her nipple there.

  “They throb, Gray.”

  Oh, Jesus. I squeeze my eyes shut against the sound of her plea, so thick with need that it makes me ache. “Pinch them,” I grit out. “Give them a tweak.”

  And she does. Holy hell, she does. A small, muffled whimper comes through the speakers, and my dick jumps in response. I’m full-out jacking myself now. Every inch of me vibrates.

  Ivy. Her soft breaths are driving me crazy. And I know, I fucking know she’s touching herself too.

  “Are you wet, honey? Has he made you wet?”

  “So wet. Wet and swollen. It’s trickling between my thighs. I hurt. I need…” She makes a little hiccup of sound. “I need…”

  “You need him to touch you, baby. Ease that ache. Rub your clit, spread all that slick sweetness around.”

  “God.”

  “Would he finger you? Would he fuck you with his fingers? Push them in and out, nice and slow?”

  “Yes.”

  I lick my lips. “I think he’d have to taste you, honey. I think he’d need that so badly. To know how sweet you truly are.”

  “I want him to. I want his mouth there.”

  “It is. He’s lapping you up. Making you scream his name.”

  “Gray.”

  “I know. I know.” I’m barely aware of what I’m saying anymore, only that I need more. The bed squeaks beneath me as I pound myself.

  Ivy’s breathless voice is disjointed, hitching over the words. “I… You… He needs to fuck me. I can’t take it any longer.”

  “You want him to sink his cock into you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Pump into your tight heat like he’d die if he stopped?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, fuck, he wants that too. He wants it so much he can’t think of anything else.” I’m so hot, I’m leaking come. It weeps over the swollen head, coats my shaft as my fist moves faster, harder.

  “I want him to fuck… Fuck me. Gray…”

  And then I hear it. The sweetest fucking sound ever. A low, keening wail, almost pained but so full of pleasure that the hairs on the back of my neck lift.

  Everything is muffled, like she’s trying to stifle the sounds but she can’t. And I’m so attuned to her right now I hear every one of them. I bite my lip and taste blood. Ivy coming.

  My chest heaves. Heat licks over my balls, down between my thighs. My ass clenches on the next thrust. “Oh shit. Honey, I’m gonna—”

  The orgasm hits at full velocity. I arch up, my hips leaving the bed, my body locked in pleasure. A strangled, broken shout leaves my lips as come lands in hot strips across my abs and chest. My vision goes dark, my hand jerking every last drop of lust and need from my abused cock. And then I fall limp upon the bed, my heart slamming against my ribs.

  Jesus.

  For a moment I lie there, shaking and damp, fucking weak as a kitten. Licking my dry lips, I try to get my bearings, the room rocking drunkenly around me. And then I remember. Oh, shit. Ivy. I came harder than I ever have in my life on the phone with Ivy.

  Panic punches into my chest, and I lurch up, scrambling for the phone lost amidst the rumpled covers. My ears burn hot, my heart racing. What to say? What will she say?

  Hands shaking, I yank free the headphones and lift the phone to my ear. “Iv—” My voice cracks, and I clear my throat. “Ivy? You… Are you—”

  My mouth snaps shut. Because she’s not there. The line is dead.

  Thirteen

  Gray

  I’m home. Which is to say, I’m standing in front of Ivy’s door. I’ve been standing here too long. The neighbors are going to start to wonder what the hell I’m doing. Fuck if I know. My balls are in danger of freezing, and I can’t make myself knock.

  We’d had phone sex. I’m almost positive of it. And how messed up is it that I’m not sure? Had she realized I’d jacked off to her breathless voice? Had she hung up before or after I came? I’m not certain. And it’s doing a number on me.

  I’m all twitchy and tense. It’s like a false start. Am I going to get called for stepping over the line before the snap? Or is the fact that she enjoyed it permission enough to let this transgression slide?

  Because there is one thing I do know. She got off on our conversation too. I heard those little strangled whimpers she’d made. As if she’d tried so hard not to be heard but the orgasm was too strong to fully contain. And oh, sweet hell, just thinking about it has my cold dick heating up.

  I know when she opens the door and I see her face, I won’t be able to stop myself from touching her. I don’t want to resist anymore. I want to sink myself into Ivy, surround myself in her warmth and freshness. I want to hear that sound again and discover new sounds, make her lose control, shout my name.

  My hand shakes as I lift it to knock. Knuckles rapping against the door, my heart pounds out a rhythm that sounds like Ivy, Ivy, Ivy in my head.

  I hear her approaching. Mouth dry, I wait. My dick is so hard now, it’s pushing against my jeans with an eagerness that’s staggering. I have never wanted this badly. Never waited this long.

  I almost whimper when the door swings open. But then I see her and promptly wilt.

  “Mac,” I get out. “Honey, you look…”

  “Awful,” she finishes for me with a voice that sounds like a dying frog’s. Pale and pasty, her eyes are swollen and red, her nose running. She makes a pitiful face and then sobs. “I feel like ass.”

  I hate sickness. Being around ill people freaks me out now. But I don’t hesitate. I step into the house and pull her close.

  * * *

  Ivy

  My face hurts, literally hurts, like someone has used it as a punching bag and stomped on it for good measure. Add the fact that my head felt like a bowling ball teetering on the top of my neck, and I’d wanted to weep when I’d trudged toward my door. I’d known who was banging on it, and I hadn’t felt like facing him when I looked like the walking dead. To be honest, I hadn’t felt like facing him at all. Not after the things we’d last said to each other.

  Gray’s affable expression had faded the moment he’d seen me. But he hadn’t turned and run off to get an axe, so there was that to be thankful for.

  And now that he is here, his big, strong body offering me support—literally, because I can only lean against him and pray that the pounding in my head will soon end—I sigh with relief. He is here. I don’t care about the phone sex. Or anything other than his presence making me feel better.

  His chest rumbles when he speaks. “You really do look awful.”

  “Thanks,” I mutter, too achy to put any emphasis behind it. “I feel bad.” Now that came out like a pitiful pout.

  Gray utters a short laugh. “Yea
h, I’d say that you do.” Looking fresh and hot and way too healthy for my taste, he rests his cool hand on my forehead. “Jesus, baby, you’re burning up.”

  “That’s because I have a fever. And I’ll try to ignore that you called me baby. Do I look like I need diapers?”

  “And I see we’re a grumpy patient as well.”

  At the very least, sickness is an excellent defense against any post-phone-sex awkwardness.

  Gray tries to take my hand and lead me toward my room when the haze fully lifts from my brain. Instantly, I lurch back so he can’t touch me.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I say and wince at my aching head.

  He frowns. “What the hell does it look like I’m doing? I’m getting you into bed.”

  “Oh no, you aren’t.” My hands cover my mouth, which is probably ineffectual, but I don’t know what else to do. This also muffles my words when I continue to yell at him. “Get out, Gray. You cannot be here.”

  He actually looks hurt, his open expression twisting into a wince, and I solider on, because he’s obviously being thick. “Gray, you cannot get sick! You need to stay healthy to play, you big oaf. Now, go!” I wave one hand in the direction of the door, while still covering my mouth. “Out with you.”

  Does he listen? No. He laughs as though I’m the oaf. “Oh, please, I never get sick. I’ve had my flu shot.”

  I roll my eyes and snort, which really isn’t advisable with a stuffed nose.

  “And have the immune system of a god,” he adds.

  “Fuck! Don’t say that! Quick, knock on wood.” I flail my arms. “Knock on your big, block head.” In my outrage, I start to cough and almost lose a lung.

  His brows draw together in a frown. “Let it go, Mac. There is no way in hell I’m leaving you like this.”

  “I’ll be fine. Really.”

  A world of skepticism lives in his eyes. “Yeah, not buying that. Now, quit arguing. I’ll be careful with your germ-ridden ass, okay?”

  “I so want to blow a raspberry at you right now. You’re just lucky I care about your football career too much to risk spraying germs.”