by Emma Hart
Every day, every time I looked at Luke, it seemed like I had a reason to look at him in a new light, and looking at him as anything other than my best friend felt weird.
Not wrong, but weird.
I didn’t want to blush at the sight of water droplets trickling between his abs. I didn’t want to find the veins on his forearms sexy. I didn’t want to flick his hair back from his forehead and lick the water from his lips.
But I did.
And I was highly uncomfortable with this new turn of events.
You weren’t supposed to lust after your best friend.
You weren’t supposed to imagine licking water drops off him or hugging him just so you could whip off his towel. You weren’t supposed to blush at the sight of him wet and in a towel.
Nope.
None of this was supposed to be happening.
And here I’d thought that our drunken night hadn’t changed anything.
In reality, it’d changed just about fucking everything.
And I hadn’t signed up for all these changes.
Not a single damn one.
CHAPTER EIGHT – ASPEN
Stop The World, I Want To Get Off
“So, you slept together right after you had a dirty dream about it?” Blaire leaned over the bar, resting on her forearms. “Dude, what’s wrong with you?”
“We didn’t sleep together,” I hissed, glancing around the bar to see if I was needed. I wasn’t. Phew. “I had a dirty dream, went to get water, and I woke him up, so he slept in my bed instead.”
“So you slept together. Technically.” Her eyes glittered.
“Fine. Technically.” I pressed my hands against my cheeks. “What do I do, Blaire? What am I supposed to do now?”
She held up her hands briefly before cradling her wine glass. “I’ve told you what I think you should do, but you won’t listen to me.”
I sighed. “I can’t tell him. It’s not even awkward. Like, aside from these stupid thoughts I’m having, nothing has changed. We’re still the same as we’ve always been.”
“You’re having dirty dreams about your best friend eating your pussy. How is that the same?”
“I said aside from those stupid thoughts,” I said through gritted teeth. “And say it a little louder, I don’t think those college frat boys in the corner heard you.”
Blaire looked over her shoulder. All four of them were looking over at us, and they looked a little too interested in what we were saying.
“Sorry,” she said quieter. “I just—I don’t get you two.”
“Neither do I,” I muttered, sliding down the bar to take an empty glass that had just been put on it. “Maybe it’s just something I need to work through. You know, get it out of my system with a few more dreams.”
“And a handy vibrating friend?”
“If all else fails, yes.” I nodded resolutely. “If that’s my only option, that’s what I’ll have to do.”
“You say that like you’re making a great sacrifice for all of womankind.”
“I’m sacrificing my morals.”
“Your morals? What? To never masturbate over your best friend?”
I paused. Actually, yes. Then again, I’d never been in a situation where I’d been forced to consider masturbating over Luke Taylor.
“Can I get a beer?” One of the frat boys asked, standing a few feet away from Blaire.
Thank heavens for small mercies.
“Sure. Can I see your ID?” I held my hand out for it.
“I already showed it.”
“To the girl who was here before. Not to me.” I wiggled my fingers in a ‘gimme’ motion.
He grumbled something under his breath but handed me his license. I took it, glanced at the date, and handed it back with a smile, then grabbed a bottle of what he’d been drinking before from the fridge.
“So, I heard what your friend was saying…”
“Finishing that sentence is the fastest way to get your ass kicked out of my bar,” I replied, popping the cap on the beer and handing it to him.
“Right.” He smiled sheepishly and handed me a five.
I took it and returned his change to him, watching as he went over to his little buddies and leaned in to speak to them.
“I love it when you shoot assholes down,” Blaire said, finishing her wine. “It’s almost as fun as tearing Justin a new asshole.”
“No. Nothing is as fun as tearing Justin a new asshole.” I shook my head and grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge. I emptied it into her glass and added it to her tab.
“So, back to Luke.” She grinned.
“Let’s not get back to Luke.” I tossed the bottle in the tub by my feet and leaned on the bar. “What the hell do I do?”
“I don’t know. I’ve told you, you won’t listen to me, and now I’m tired of your crap.”
“I love you, too.”
“I know. I’m just keeping it real. You need someone to keep you grounded.” She sipped her wine again, smiling behind the glass. “I think you need to go on a date. Or pull someone on your birthday. A one-night stand is what you need to get him out of your system. Maybe you don’t need to fuck Luke—maybe you just need to fuck somebody.”
Laughter came from the college guys in the corner.
Maybe this wasn’t the perfect place to have this conversation after all.
Whatever.
“I don’t think so,” I said slowly. “You know how I feel about one-night stands.”
“And you’re wrong. They’re delightful,” Blaire replied.
“You have a boyfriend.”
“How do you think I met Tom?”
I laughed, burying my face in my hands. “Okay, fine, but that’s not me. I’m not a hump and dump girl.”
“Asp, you just fucked your best friend. In real life and in your dreams. Not many people get to say that.”
“Many people are lucky they don’t get to say that.” I slammed a glass on the bar and filled it with Pepsi. “I’d like to be one of those lucky little fuckers.”
“Then you should have kept it in your pants.”
“You’re right. I should have.” There was no denying that. This whole situation wouldn’t exist if I’d kept it in my pants.
Although, Luke had fifty percent of the blame here. He should have kept it in his pants, too.
I sipped my Pepsi and sighed. “I’m not going out for my birthday. After last weekend, I think I need to stay locked in my apartment, a million miles away from tequila or any other form of alcohol.”
“We’re going out,” Blaire said, shaking her head. “There’s no way you can stay in. It’s your birthday.”
“I know, but I don’t want to. I cannot think of anything worse than going out and doing a repeat of last week.”
“It’s really quite simple not to.”
“Yeah, yeah, keep my pants on. Whatever.” I rolled my eyes and put a slice of lemon in my Pepsi. “Look, I’m not going out. I know exactly what will happen. I’ll get talked into tequila—who, at this point, is right on my shit list—and then I’ll end up telling Luke what happened, and there’ll be no more ignoring it.”
“Okay, but,” Blaire said, holding up one finger with a Barbie-pink nail. “You’re not really ignoring it. We keep talking about it. You’re dreaming about it. You’re even starting to be weird around Luke now. Getting drunk and telling him might not be the worst idea.”
“Really? You don’t think that it’s the worst thing I could do? Jesus, do you want to watch me crash and burn?” I waved goodbye to a customer and took the tip they’d left on the bar, then turned to put it in the jar.
“As fun as that might be, no.” She grinned. “But if it happens, it happens.”
“It won’t happen. I’m not drinking.”
“What won’t happen?” Luke’s deep tones cut into the conversation.
I jumped, turning around and almost slipping on a lime wedge on the floor. Ignoring his chuckle that was punctuated by Blai
re’s snort, I picked it up and tossed it into the little trash can.
“You scared the hell out of me,” I said, finally giving him some attention.
He grinned, his damp hair a hot mess on top of his head. “Sorry. I thought you saw me come in.”
“Nah, she’s not with it.” Blaire sipped her wine. “As evidenced by her claim that she’s not going out for her birthday.”
Luke nodded as I grabbed his favorite beer from the fridge. “I heard that, too. What excuse is she giving you?”
“She wants to remember a Saturday night for once,” Blaire said without missing a beat. “Since she’s still a little fuzzy on a few things last weekend.”
“Not a bad plan,” he replied, taking the beer with a smile. “I can’t remember much either.”
“You could just drink in moderation.” Blaire turned to me.
I snorted. “With you around? Yeah, whatever. Like that’ll happen.”
“Are you calling me an enabler?”
“Yes,” Luke and I both answered at the same time.
She pressed her hand to her chest, the bright pink of her nails a stark contrast against her black blouse. “I cannot believe you would say that. When have I ever enabled you?”
“Last weekend,” Luke answered.
“Your birthday,” I added.
“New Years was rough,” Luke continued.
I nodded. “I still don’t think I can do Halloween this year after last year.”
He grimaced. “And that doesn’t even count your birthday from last year.”
“All right, all right.” Blaire held up her hands. “But you two are entirely responsible for your actions. You don’t need to give in when I push shots on you.”
“Or you could not push the shots,” Luke replied.
“Or you could just be responsible for your actions,” she repeated, this time a lot slower. The bitch even made sure to look me right in the eye.
I resisted the urge to flip her off—but only just, and that was because a customer needed me. If we’d been anywhere else, I’d have done it. Or punched her.
Probably punched her.
When I was done serving, I rejoined my best friends at their end of the bar and interrupted their hushed conversation.
“What are you talking about?” I grabbed my Pepsi from the shelf under the bar and finished it.
“How you’ll get drunk on your birthday,” Blaire replied. “You know you will. Put a tray of tequila in front of you, and you can’t help but drink it.”
“I swear to God, I’m not going to.”
The familiar deep chuckle of my boss, Declan, filled the air. His large hand brushed across my shoulder as he stepped out from the back and joined me behind the bar. “Sure you won’t, Aspen. We all believe you.”
I rolled my eyes, ignoring my Greek-god-looking boss… If you ignored the slightly round belly. “I swear to God. No. It’s not happening.”
“You said that on Saturday, and I had to pile all three of your asses into my brother’s cab to get y’all home.” Declan filled a glass with lemonade for him and scanned all three of us. “This is why y’all are forbidden from drinkin’ anywhere but here.”
Blaire batted her eyelashes. “And here I was thinkin’ it’s ‘cause you liked us.”
“It helps that I get your money, too.” He winked and picked up his glass. “Y’all will come in here on Friday night for Aspen’s birthday, drink all my tequila, and I’ll pile your butts into that same cab to take y’all home.”
Seriously. All he needed was cowboy boots and plant or something in his mouth to chew like a regular farmer with all the accent he put on when he was trying to talk to us like he was our dad.
“And don’t bat your lashes at me like that, Blaire Carpenter. I remember you flashin’ your boobs like they were an S.O.S signal on your twenty-first birthday.”
I dipped my head, trying to hide my laugh.
The more our respective birthdays and drunken antics were brought up, the more I realized we really had to grow up a little.
Maybe.
I mean, growing up was overrated. I already had to pay rent and bills and taxes—I needed to get my kicks where I could get them.
Sometimes, that was lying on the sofa, half-naked, holding my boobs like they were a comfort blanket.
Other times, it was getting dressed up, drinking my body weight in tequila, and making bad decisions.
Look. I couldn’t be responsible all the time.
I wasn’t my mother.
I was an almost twenty-five-year-old borderline hot mess with an attraction to tequila and a habit of making terribly bad choices.
I was, shock horror, human.
And apparently, given my questionable choice of best friend, that wasn’t changing any time soon.
“So. Should I book y’all out the back room for your birthday?” Declan said, ringing up an order from a customer.
“Yes,” Blaire said before I could say anything. “And put a sofa and blanket in it in case Grandma here needs to take a nap.”
“I’m younger than you, you little shit,” I replied, pointing at her before I turned to Declan. “Yes, book it. Whatever. Control the amount of tequila put into me, okay?”
He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Aspen, honey, you’re an adult.”
“And I pay my rent on time every month and haven’t had my cable cut in two years,” I shot back. “Help me out a little here.”
He held his hands up. “If that’s your greatest achievement, I can’t help you.”
I rolled my eyes and took Luke’s empty beer bottle. “You having another?”
“Better not. I have to see old Eddie tomorrow, and if he thinks I’m unfit to do the job, Vicky might just kill me.”
Blaire snorted. “Your boss would kill a worm if it was in her path.”
“Yeah, and I wonder what traits she passed to her niece,” I drawled, giving her a hard, long look.
“The women in my family are bitches. So sue me. We’re only bitches because we say it as it is.” She returned my pointed look with one of her own and finished the rest of her wine. Slapping a twenty down on the bar, she said, “Keep the change, Grandma. I’m off to see a man about some penis.”
Luke dropped his chin to his chest, doing his best to hide his laughter, but Declan stared at her like she’d just dropped the ‘C’ word in front of a group of tweens.
“I didn’t need to hear that,” he said sternly. “And neither did anyone else.”
Blaire winked, grinned, and left the bar.
“That girl,” Declan muttered, shaking his head and heading for the back room.
“Is insane,” Luke continued, grinning at me. “You okay to get home tonight?”
“I think I know my way from here to my apartment block.” My lips twitched to the side. “But thank you for checking.”
He stood, saluting me with two fingers and a lopsided grin. “You’ve gotten lost before.”
“I’m not ten tequila shots in tonight,” I reminded him, catching the eye of a customer at the end of the bar. “I can remember.”
He muttered something under his breath that I couldn’t quite catch, but I didn’t have time to question it thanks to the customer.
Luke met my eyes one more time, throwing up a hand in goodbye, and left.
And I got back to work, definitely not thinking that his lopsided smile was kind of cute.
CHAPTER NINE – LUKE
Boners Galore
At least she remembered something.
Not that I wanted her to remember. No. The more I thought about it, the happier I was that she didn’t remember what we’d done.
Our friendship hadn’t changed. It was a little awkward, but I was ninety-nine percent sure that was me being a little more reserved and just Aspen being… Aspen.
She had a propensity for putting her foot in her mouth, and while she’d been well-behaved the last few days, that never lasted long once Blaire put tequila in f
ront of her.
That said, I gave it until approximately ten-thirty on Saturday night before she said something to someone.
With any luck, Saturday night would reset the whole situation I found myself in. We’d all drink, someone would do something stupid—but not two-people kinda stupid—and then the Fourth could all be forgotten.
That was what I wanted.
Judging by the state of my cock when I’d woken up this morning, it wasn’t listening to me.
No. Apparently, having bad sex with Aspen had just made me want to have good sex with her. Which meant early-morning boners that were especially inconvenient when I’d been sleeping next to her.
I’d never been so fucking glad to get in the shower before she’d woken up.
It’d taken five minutes of uncomfortably cold water to get rid of that stupid-ass boner that’d plagued me.
And I was fucking dreading going to sleep tonight.
Waking up with a boner was part of being male. I accepted that. Hell, I’d accepted it ever since I was thirteen and got one in the middle of math class. If I thought algebra would help get rid of it in this situation, I’d haul ass to the local high school to sit through a class.
Waking up with a boner over my best friend was a new one. Every time I looked at her, I saw her in a different light. I saw her hair disheveled and her eyes sparkling. I saw her lips swollen and her chin a little red from the stubble on my jaw.
Then, I saw her fake-it face, and I had to wonder how close it was to her real sex face.
I’d put money on it being pretty close.
Because let’s face it. Women were master orgasm fakers. If we’d had sex that had lasted longer than two minutes, I probably wouldn’t have even been able to tell.
No woman could orgasm in two minutes.
No matter what porn told you.
Really, porn just gave men everywhere an unrealistic expectation of how easy it was to make a woman orgasm.
And female bodies, but that was a point for another day.
I was in hell. Or I was as close to it as I fucking could be.
I was ready to ship to Bermuda and never see her face again. That was the easiest situation here.