“Sometimes you are as slow as molasses. We all saw the way the two of you were looking at each other today. I mean seriously, the sexual tension is so high and so hot I about expected the place to burn down.”
“You’re crazy,” I tell her, feeling slightly defensive. Taylor moves to stand next to her and nods in agreement. She hasn’t mentioned this morning and I don’t think she will, but the two of them are ganging up on me, and I don’t like it.
I mean . . . maybe there were a few heated looks between us, I can’t deny that, but after that kiss this morning, how could there not be? His lips are definitely something I’m not going to be forgetting for a long time, nor do I want to, but we’ll move past it soon enough. We have to.
Or do we? After all, the expression friends with benefits was coined for a reason.
“You do realize the man has it bad for you, and I’m pretty sure he has for a while, right?” Taylor says, and my benefits thought comes to a screeching halt. She turns to Shelby. “Did you know he comes here every day to eat lunch and spend time with her? As if they don’t see each other enough the rest of the day when she’s not here. Then when she’s ready to go, he drives her home.”
“No, I did not know that.” Shelby turns accusatory eyes my way. “Keep this up and you’re going to hurt him. Do you want that?” she asks, making me feel like I’m somehow doing something wrong.
Anger rises a little as I stare at my friends. “How would I be hurting him? He knows I don’t want to date—anyone—and it’s not like he’s staying here forever. This is temporary. He knows it, and I know it too,” I say defensively.
“He may know you don’t want to date anyone, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re allowing him to fall for you, and you won’t commit. You don’t commit. You’ve never committed to anyone.”
I pause and think about what she’s just said. She makes it sound—makes me sound like my promises to myself are a bad thing. She knows better than anyone why I am the way I am, and my anger now mixes with hurt.
“I’m not letting him fall for me. I’m not responsible for anything he does. Besides, I like my life the way it is, and you know this.” I do. Things are simple, easy, and predictable. There’s no drama, and not only do I like the peace that brings, I need it.
“Yes, but we’re not just talking about your life—we’re talking about his, too. He’s a nice guy, Meg, and it’s not fair to him.” She shakes her head and frowns.
Am I not being fair to him? I don’t think that’s the case. I hear what they are saying, and I know how it looks from the outside, but we aren’t like that. We never have been. Other than that kiss, we’ve always been just friends. I want us to just be friends.
Come to think of it, from everything he’s ever told me, he’s never really done the relationship thing either, and he’s also not a monk. I’m sure he’s had plenty of friends with whom he had benefits with over the years, and if it wasn’t a problem for him then, why would it be now? If anything, this conversation with them is giving me a little perspective about how things might be with him if I wanted them to be. He understands me, and I understand him: Charleston, Tampa, football, OBA, distance, different lives, friends, best friends. It’s the perfect situation for both of us.
Taking a step away from them and toward the office, I need this conversation to end, and I need them to know I’m ending it. “You are both overthinking this. We’re just friends. He knows we’re just friends. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Are you sure about that?” Shelby asks as she pins me with one last disapproving look.
Butterscotch and Pecan Sticky Bun
ABOUT AN HOUR after Taylor and Shelby ambush me about Jack, he and Zach stroll back into OBA as we are finishing up on the final details before going home for the day. I can’t help but look at him differently, and I like what I see. I also like how I feel when I look at him.
Maybe they’re right. I’m not a dense person—I know he’s attracted to me, know he has been since the party last summer—and I am attracted to him too. How could I not be? He’s quite possibly the nicest guy I’ve ever known, and he’s genuinely beautiful on the inside and out. That said, he knows where I stand on things, so if he gets hurt, it isn’t going to be by me; it would be by himself. I’ve never led him to believe I want anything other than friendship from us.
And I stand behind that.
As the five of us head out onto the street to lock the door, Taylor flips her hand up in farewell before sauntering down the sidewalk toward her apartment, Zach and Shelby hug us one last time with promises to see us both soon, and then it’s Jack and me left staring at each other.
He gives me one of his signature smiles, and my stomach tightens; he can’t see the confusion mixed with today’s adrenaline swirling in my head. He holds out his hand, silently asking for mine. Slowly, I slip it into the warmth of his, and the rightness and easiness between us soothes the war in my heart.
I’m not hurting him. He knows where we stand, and I think he’s always known what we could be, because he’s done this before. Maybe I should have figured this out and considered my options with him sooner.
“You ready?” he asks, a breeze blowing up off the street and ruffling his hair—hair I had my hands in earlier.
I know he’s just asking if I’m ready to go home, but after listening to Taylor and Shelby talk about hot sexual tension, those two words have shaped a different question in my head: Am I ready for more? What that more includes, I don’t know, but when it’s just me and him, things do feel right. Things feel easy.
“I am,” I say, almost shyly. His smile grows even more, showing his dimples, which I love so much.
“All right, then let’s go home.” He takes a step, our fingers lace together, and I fall into place next to him, thinking about the word home.
Home has always been a place, but right this second, it sure feels like him. I feel at home with him, and I like it.
Once we get there, we move to our sections of the house as if on autopilot and proceed to wash off the day. There’s no question as to our routine; it’s the same one we’ve been going through for weeks. Home, shower, change into something comfortable, cook dinner together, eat either outside, in the dining room, or on the couch, and then we curl up together in front of the television with a dessert, usually cookies since they seem to be his favorites. Although, after that kiss this morning and how I’m feeling now, I can’t help but wonder if maybe tonight will be different. Do I want it to be different? Does he?
That question is answered as I round the corner to head into the kitchen at the same moment the door to the bathroom in his hallway swings open and steam floats through the air. Jack steps out and goes to turn toward his room, but he comes to a stop when he sees I’m standing there frozen. Sure, I’ve seen him in a towel before, but after everything that’s happened today, it just feels like so much more, and a blush burns up my neck and into my cheeks.
“Meg,” he says, his voice a little lower and deeper than usual. I know I should move, but I can’t.
Silence falls over us for a few breaths, and the light in the hallway brightens as the steam clears. Dragging my eyes up from the shadowed dips over his hip bones to his face, I find his dark eyes even darker than usual, the lids lowered halfway. With his wet hair falling over his forehead, his straight nose, and his smooth jawline, I realize everything, just everything about him is perfect.
“Can’t you be flawed somewhere?” I ask him, my eyes falling to his chest to peruse each and every muscle on display.
“I have flaws . . . you know I do,” he answers lowly, watching me.
I want there to be a hint of a smile in his words, but there isn’t. They are heated and a tiny bit vulnerable.
“You know, this isn’t the first time you’ve looked at me like this, and I gotta say, I like it. I like it a lot, Meg.” He takes a step closer to me and my eyes return to his. His vulnerability seems to have dissipated with the steam; these
words are bold—bolder than I am.
“How? How am I looking at you?” I ask, tilting my head up to get a better look at him.
Color blooms high on his cheeks and he runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “Hmm,” he murmurs, dragging his weighted gaze over the entire length of me. “Like I’m the last bit of batter in the bowl and you can’t wait to swipe your finger through it then lick it clean.”
Oh my.
“That’s descriptive,” I whisper, my heart rate and my breathing picking up.
“Isn’t it, though? And accurate,” he says assuredly, taking another step closer.
“It’s just”—I wave my hand toward his shoulders, chest—“and the . . .”—his stomach, hips, the soft dusting of dark hair that leads down to the bulge slowly, which is getting larger under the towel. “You’re perfect,” I mumble in a low groan.
As if in a trance, I watch as he slowly lifts his right hand and undoes the knot of the towel around his waist. It drops to the floor, puddling at his feet. I stop breathing as I take in all of him, from feet to waist, and oh my God, Jack is naked in front of me. Naked.
A tiny noise escapes me as I’m rewarded with miles and miles of muscles on muscles and his smooth olive-colored skin. I want to look away, but I can’t. Who would? From the dip just above his collarbone down to the space where his hip meets his leg, I can see the allure of being a sculptor, because he is the perfect male specimen. I know with a clarity that’s almost disheartening he has ruined me for all other men.
Looking up, I find his eyes and see that he’s watching me take him in. That smoldering look of his has intensified, and my heart squeezes inside my chest. He blinks, long and slow, his dark eyelashes briefly touching his cheeks, and then his gaze is aimed back at me.
“I showed you mine—you show me yours. It’s only fair,” he teases, the side of his mouth twitching like it wants to smile. There are questions in his eyes, but the longing is winning out.
“I don’t know if I think that’s a good idea,” I tell him honestly, though I’m more than ready to throw caution to the wind.
“Are you kidding? It’s a brilliant idea.” He takes another step closer but doesn’t reach out to touch me. He’s letting me decide. It’s my choice. His cards are on the table, he wants this, and deep down I know I do too, at least once.
I reach for the hem of my shirt, his eyes flaring just a fraction as I pull it up and over my head, leaving me in my bra and tiny pajama shorts. Some of my damp hair falls free from the top knot it’s in, and I make no move to push it back. My arms fall to my sides as he looks me over just once and then says, “More.”
Heat pools low in my stomach as I tug on the drawstring to my shorts and they drop to the floor. Somewhere in the back of my head I think this is probably a bad idea, but as he lifts a finger and traces it along the top edge of my bra, a shiver runs through me and I forget everything around us. I unhook the back and together we watch as it slips to the floor.
“Damn.” He lets out an audible breath as his eyes fall to my chest, and that’s when I see exactly what me undressing in front of him has done to him. He is hard, insanely hard and long, and I can’t look away. I did this to him—me—and the part of me that wants to be a wild seductress cheers on the inside.
Feeling my insecurities slip away, I push down my underwear and step toward him as I step out of them. Lacking any self-control, I run my hands over his stomach and up his chest. He lets out a moan and tips his head back just a little but keeps his eyes on me. I know I should blink and breathe and do all those other things that are required for me to live, but I feel invincible and courageous as I run my hands back down his sides, over his hips. I push my thumbs into the space just between that delicious V and his hip bone.
“You sure about this?” his gravelly voice asks, giving me what feels like one last out. His hands clench at his sides; he wants to put them on me, and I need to feel them too.
“Seems pointless to stop now, don’t you think?” I look up into his chocolate eyes and get lost.
“Just checking, because once I put my mouth on you, it’s game over.” He issues his warning, and I can’t help but smirk in return.
“I’m pretty sure I’ll be the one winning this game,” I tell him, and he groans.
Leaning toward me, his hand slips behind my head, and with the self-assurance only someone like Jack can possess, he lowers his lips to mine as if it’s something we’ve done every day for years.
One of my hands falls to his chest, landing over his heart, and the other grips his waist as he takes the final step, closing the distance between us. He’s so much taller than I am, and that impressive hard length of his flattens against my stomach.
Unlike this morning, he slowly takes his time exploring, learning, and then coaxing my lips open. I freely allow him to take control as his tongue again tangles with mine, and the restraint he’s been exercising slips away, now bordering on desperation.
Delicious. It’s the only word that comes to mind. Well, that’s not true—mine floats at the peripheral, too, but I don’t allow myself to go there because he’s not mine and never will be. At least not like that.
Time passes; I don’t even know how much. I’m locked under his spell as he kisses me over and over again like a possessed man, and then I’m being hoisted in the air and pressed against the hallway wall. My legs wrap around his waist so we’re now eye to eye, and I’m seeing a different side of Jack from what I saw this morning, one I never thought I would. Sexy.
“You are so tiny,” he mumbles against my lips, never separating us.
To which I reply, “And you are so . . . large.”
He catches the innuendo and chuckles as his tongue dips in, wrapping around mine, and his hands squeeze my butt then stroke up the backs of my thighs.
“Just once,” I say to him, pulling back and looking him in the eye. “Friends.” I nod my head, needing him to know this isn’t going to change things.
“Whatever suits your fancy,” he says—a little too easily—and then he brings his hands to my face, silencing me again with his lips. He’s intense, just the way I imagined he would be, only I never really thought it would happen with me.
I feel him reach underneath me and stroke himself, and then he rubs the tip over me. My eyes roll back in my head at how much I want this, how he can feel how much I want this, and we’re going to do this, right here, right now. Every muscle in my lower half tightens in anticipation.
“Can’t wait,” he says, moving his mouth to my neck, his fingers touching me while I hold on to him.
My head tilts to give him access as he licks up the column of my neck, his hot breath and his hot skin branding me.
“Your leg?” I question. I can’t have him hurting himself.
He shakes his head as if that is the furthest thing from his mind, to which I reply, “Don’t wait then,” and lock my ankles together.
“Pill?” he asks against my lips, both his and mine now swollen and damp. I nod, because this is a conversation I’m not ready to have with him, and also because I’m unable to articulate anything else. The next thing I know, he’s sliding in deep.
“So tight . . . so soft,” he mumbles against my cheek as he drives into me and loses himself in the feel of us. I know I should be worried about how this might change us and what this might or might not mean, but I just can’t. After I lose myself the first time and he carries us the few steps down the hall to his bed, all concerns drift away as he wraps his mouth around my breast, finds every erotic zone on my body, and gives me the singular best night of sex of my entire life.
Chocolate Chip Cookies
THE CLANGING OF weights and the lighthearted jabbing from athletes here in the weight room at The Citadel briefly pull me from my thoughts, and I frown. It’s a familiar sound, one I’ve listened to for the last fifteen years and one that used to bring me contentment. The gym, the guys, the sweat—it always brought me solace, but I’ve spent the last four hours pushin
g my body, hoping to clear my head and untangle the knot in my chest, and it isn’t working. Nothing is working.
I should have taken her more seriously and listened when she said just once. Technically, we were together more than once, but it was just one night, one very long perfect night, and here we are seven days later and I’m not sure what to do.
I thought things would be different between us afterward, but according to her, nothing has changed, whereas for me, everything has. I already knew I had been teetering on the fence as far as what my emotions really were for her, and as much as I might have denied it to myself, the truth was glaring right at me, and now I find myself in a place I didn’t expect to be by myself.
The morning after the brunch, the morning after she let me spend the entire night worshipping her body, I woke to the smell of breakfast. The restaurant is closed on Mondays, so I had been hoping to spend most of the day in bed with her, repeating the night before, but as I wandered into the kitchen and tried to kiss her good morning, she squealed, laughed, and dodged me.
I couldn’t help the sinking feeling that settled into my stomach as she looked up at me, smiled shyly, and said, “Friends, remember?”
All I could answer her with was, “Right.”
Of course she was her typical bright and happy self, cracking jokes about the waffles and telling me they’re just pancakes with abs, but I couldn’t find it in me to laugh back. I don’t think I’ve laughed all week.
I’m confused.
No, I’ve never had a real long-term relationship. It wasn’t something I wanted, but I’m trying with her and getting nowhere. I’ve given her time. I’ve tried to be what she needs. I’m certain she knows how good things could be between us, but for whatever reason she has indefinitely friend-zoned me, and I’m not sure what else I can do.
The question is . . . why?
Lessons in Lemonade Page 17