by Inez Kelley
“What’s your favorite sexual position, Bastian?”
Too soon. “Where in the hell do you come up with these questions?” Even after six years, she never failed to surprise him.
“Uh, tomorrow’s show, ‘Assuming the Position,’ remember? I just thought it’d be a good idea to go over some of our answers since the topic is bound to get a bit touchy.”
She did have a point. They often semi-rehearsed their supposed off-the-cuff answers. It added more strength to her professional demeanor. His, too, he supposed, but still, never ask a man with a hard-on what position he likes best. It was cruel and malicious torture.
“You first,” he hedged, earning a sly grin. She liked to think he was shy at times, and he had no problem allowing that.
“I like them all. But I guess, if I had to pick, I’d go with cowgirl.”
Charlie, bare-breasted above him, hips rising and falling. Great, another image to flush out of my head. Think abscessed diabetic ulcers. “Why?”
Her shoulders shrugged and she burrowed deeper into his shirt. “I like control, no secret there. I bet I can guess yours.”
The tease lifted his eyebrows. “Okay, go for it.”
“You’re the old-fashioned type, so I’ll guess…missionary.”
She knew him too damn well. “Guilty as charged. I like to see my lover’s eyes looking up at me.”
“Oooh, how romantic,” she purred. “And the fact you get to control everything has nothing to do with it.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Topping is the power position. You set the pace, the depth, the subtle shifts that prolong things.”
“Tell you what, Honey, next time you sit on my lap, I’ll let you prolong anything you want.”
His flirt hung heavy but she laughed it off. Calling her by her radio persona insulated him. This was Doc teasing Honey, not Bastian flirting with Charlie, at least to her.
“In your imagination, Doc.” She saluted him with her bottle. “And speaking of imagination, next week’s show on self-love—you okay with that? Some men get twitchy.”
“Yep. Masturbation is a normal human behavior. I’ll have all my facts in order, don’t you worry.” Saucy Doc Hot took hold of his tongue and ran with his thoughts before his brain could catch it. “How’s the self-love treating you lately, Honey?”
Cornflower eyes widened before narrowing in challenge. This banter was what made their show spicy and successful.
“Just fine, Doc. How about you? You handling everything all right?”
His cheeks warmed but he never dropped his gaze. “Been a little lax lately, too many ER shifts and not enough sleep.”
“Tsk-tsk-tsk. You can’t neglect yourself. All work and no self-play makes Doc a grumpy boy. Find a few minutes to take care of business, will you?” A vampish smile curled seductively. “Let me know if you need a hand.”
“You’d need both. So how long has it been for you, Honey?”
Her eyes dropped to her beer before rising. Undiluted sexual energy zapped between them. A lump the size of a Volkswagen formed in his throat when her teeth caught her lower lip. The vehicle revved when she brought the bottle to her mouth, wet tongue gliding along the rim.
“This morning.”
The Volkswagen spun tires, speeding to his gut. He wasn’t sure what fueled it, her tongue or her words. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder to the two-man tent.
“In there? This morning? Where was I?”
“Beside me. Asleep.”
Shock and excitement raced through him, tightening his chest and his shorts. She had masturbated inches from him and he’d slept through it? Life was cruel. At this rate, he was going to get a refresher course in self-love before the night was over, especially if she didn’t stop tonguing that damn bottle.
Bastian couldn’t think but Doc grabbed control. “You should’ve woken me up, Honey.”
“Now why would I ruin a perfectly good fantasy by waking you up? Hands Solo was doing just fine by his lonesome.”
His hearty laugh exploded, easing the lustful grip around his balls. “Hands Solo? That’s bad, even for you.”
She shrugged sheepishly. “I had to try. It sounded better in my head. But young Harrison Ford was a hottie. That Star Wars marathon we watched last week got everything all juiced up.”
Still laughing at her awful wordplay, he nearly missed her question.
“Who were you thinking of your last solo playtime?”
Clear memory slammed into his mind. The sound died in his throat and he yanked his gaze to the flame. No way was he telling her that, best friend or not.
A feminine lilt teased him. “I do love a man who blushes. Come on, ’fess up. No secrets, remember?”
“Private thoughts aren’t secrets.” Avoidance only made his face hotter, and sweat formed on his brow.
“Se-bas-ti-an,” she singsonged, drawing his name out for four long musical tones. “Okay, let me try to guess. Uh, Marianne?”
The dour nurse manager was so far from his fantasy he simply glared at her.
“Guess not. Bridgette?”
His deep inhale was noisy. He hadn’t thought about Bridgette in over a year. Charlie needed to back off.
She just arched one brow at him. “Hmm, Suzanne?”
He bit his tongue.
“Okay, wrong. Lauren?”
That didn’t even warrant a scowl so he ignored her.
“Maybe Tyson then?”
Now she was just being a brat. “Don’t go there.”
“What? Some men have same-gender fantasies.”
“It was you, Charlie, okay? You.”
He was adorable when embarrassed. Eyes closed tight, he twitched his nose and turned his head to the side, bottom lip tucked beneath his teeth. For all Doc’s on-air bluster, Bastian was a quiet man, preferring the backstage.
“It’s okay.” She kept her voice gentle, soothing. “Been there, done that myself.”
His head whipped back to hers, and his deep brown eyes fixed her with a stunned look. “You’ve thought of me before…while masturbating?”
“Of course. It’s only natural to wonder, to imagine, after all this time. We do talk about sex daily. I think I’d be hurt if you hadn’t thought of me at least once or twice. Fantasies are just fantasies. It’s normal, don’t worry about it.”
For a long time, he studied her and she let him, not dropping her gaze. Charlie wanted him to know she wasn’t offended or bothered by his admission. Nor was she looking for more from him. She didn’t ever want anything to damage what they had. Bastian was the most important person in her life.
“Charlie, have you ever wondered what might have happened if I wasn’t married when we met?”
She loved his voice, so deep and rich, with just enough silk in it to make her quiver. It carried across the radio waves like water in a brook. Just a word or a phrase in his gilded tone and she wanted to melt like butter in July.
He was the poster child for the All-American classic male. One look told you his life story. Football hero, baseball captain, Young Republican’s Club and med school whiz. He’d married his college sorority-sweetheart and set out to live the picture-perfect life.
But nobody was perfect and dreams crumbled. Charlie had been there when his did and helped him hold it together. That was what a friend did. That and they never crossed that invisible boundary.
Had she wondered what might have happened if he’d been single? No, she’d always known.
“It’s pretty easy to figure out. We’d have become sizzling hot but temporary lovers and missed out on something really great. The chemistry’s always been there. But lovers are a dime a dozen. Friends that last are priceless.”
“Maybe we would’ve been different.”
Jazz. His voice was jazz, invoking images of steamy nights, moist skin and rolling hips. Had she fantasized about him? Hell, yeah. Long ago she’d trained herself to stop actively imagining his hands on her bare skin or his mouth pre
ssed to hers. Snippets and flashes snuck in, of course, but she always shrugged them off. Being his lifelong friend meant more to her than getting naked and sweaty for a while.
Bastian wanted a woman forever. It was in his makeup, his genes. Charlie didn’t do forever where men were concerned.
She preferred hard, intense sex and lots of it. Sex had intrigued her from her first time with Bobby Mason in his father’s Ford. It lacked everything she’d thought it would be. So she set out to discover why. What she’d learned fascinated her, empowered her, awed her. Sex made the world go ’round, and Charlie absorbed every facet. Sex was fun. It was exhilarating. It was temporary.
Her best friend was permanent.
“What might have been doesn’t matter now. You were married and off-limits so we became friends instead. Besides, you mean more to me than any sexual fling ever could. You’re my best friend, the best friend I’ve ever had. That’s harder to find than any piece of ass. I love you, Bastian.”
Lines crinkled around his eyes with his gentle smile. She’d never said these words aloud but knew he knew them. She knew she meant the same to him. They were rare and nothing could make her risk that. But still, a girl could fantasize. In color.
When he jerked his head, a silent invitation to join him, she leaped up and threw herself in his arms. Bastian gave the best hugs. Not wimpy and soft as if she’d break or hard and crushing like she was a grape to be squished. He never tried to cop a feel or worried if he brushed her breasts. He just hugged her. It was one of her favorite things about him.
His lips skimmed her brow, just enough to let her know he loved her back.
Sitting between his knees, she offered him her beer. He took a swig and passed it back before propping his chin on her skull. She snuggled into his chest and sighed. This felt good.
“Did I tell you Lisa came into the ER yesterday before I got off duty?” Precise and cautious above her head, his words bleached away some of the coziness.
She couched her response in wariness. “No, you didn’t mention it. Was she sick?”
“No, she was in labor.”
Charlie winced. “Ouch.”
“Yeah. Her new husband brought her in. Craig sent them up to L&D.”
Maybe no one else in the world would have heard the traces of pain hidden in his voice, but Charlie did. She shifted until her back leaned on one of his bent knees. She searched his face, one hand straying to his chest. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just because I couldn’t give her kids doesn’t mean she shouldn’t have them. She was in pain but excited, you know? I hadn’t seen that kind of…joy on her face in a long, long time.”
He removed her hand from his shirt, gripping it in a tight clench. Bastian didn’t talk about his sterility much, and when he did, she let him set the boundaries. She knew the basics, a bit more than the basics, and why his marriage had failed. She’d suffered through his bouts of proving his masculinity, listened to his philosophical ramblings on “real men,” flat-out told him when he was being a crybaby.
He’d said she was the only one with balls enough to do that. She’d crowed and agreed—she’d kick his ass whenever he needed it. Now he didn’t need kicking, he needed space. The hardest part of being friends was knowing when to back off. His silence was her cue to change the subject.
“Do you think you’ll ever get married again?”
“I hope so. I liked being married.”
Charlie wanted to keep him talking, to give him space from the ache she knew never fully left him. “Why? What did you like about it?”
“Everything. I liked feeling I belonged to someone, that someone belonged to me alone. I liked having someone know me well enough to finish my thoughts. I liked knowing I had a date for every major occasion without calling someone. I liked waking up Sunday mornings and smelling her hair before I fell back to sleep.”
Each sentence seemed to lighten his mood so the sparkle in his eye when he looked at her was no surprise.
“I liked rolling over in the middle of the night, knowing if I rubbed her ass right, I’d get lucky. I liked regular sex without latex.” He chuckled on the last line. “I really miss regular sex. At this point, I just really miss sex.”
“Been a while, has it?” Charlie teased.
“Oh God, what year is it?” She laughed and he grinned at her. “I don’t know, fourteen, fifteen months or so.”
“Damn, you need to get laid.”
“You’re telling me.” Pushing back, he slid his rump up onto the log, towering over her. Charlie tucked her knees back under the sweatshirt hem and wrapped her arms around them. The firelight played over his face. He didn’t fool her. If he wanted sex he could get it without batting an eyelash. For some reason, he’d taken himself off the market.
“Come on, there has to be one cute little nurse willing to pass a few nights with a single handsome doctor in that big hospital.”
“Maybe. You’re missing the point. I miss relationship sex, not one-night-stand sex. A one-night stand I can get anytime. I want more.”
“So go find it.” Possessiveness welled inside her but she stifled it quickly. She couldn’t keep him all to herself. That was selfish. He had a right to find a partner, a love. But she hated sharing him again.
The look he settled on her was contemplative, searching. “I’m thinking about it.”
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
His snort was sardonic. “Why not? You already know my favorite sexual position and what I fantasize about.”
“It’s about your marriage…and your sex life with Lisa.”
Golden-brown eyes snapped to hers, guarded emotion shimmering in the fire’s glow. This was an area she had never broached. His slow nod screamed his trust.
“You two were together a long time. How many years?”
“Seven. And nearly four before that, so close to eleven total. Why?”
She dropped her eyes to his ankle, burying her fists in the sweatshirt sleeves. “Did sex get boring?”
Above her shoulder, his chest rose with his drawn breath as he considered her question. She loved how he never blew off her off-the-wall inquiries. He considered every one important. He treated her as if she was important.
“I don’t know if I’d have called it boring. Predictable, maybe. Comfortable.” He rubbed his brow harshly, as if a pain had slammed into his skull. “Then at the end, it was more—I guess I was wrapped up in trying to prove I was still man enough—It wasn’t often but it was…empty.”
“You went a little pussy-crazy after the divorce.”
He rolled his eyes with a soft groan. “You have no idea how much of a man’s identity is wrapped up in his dick, all right? Being told you’re sterile is like invisible castration. Suddenly you’re not a real man. Some guys turn to alcohol or drugs, others get into fights or jump out of airplanes, anything to prove they’re masculine enough despite their sissy-ass sperm counts. So yeah, I bed-hopped a while. I’m not proud of it.”
“Did you ever bed-hop before the divorce was final?”
“No.”
“Not even when you were—”
“I did not cheat on Lisa in any way, shape or form, okay?”
“Did you tell her you kissed me?”
His lids closed and his breath stilled. Tension seeped into each muscle before he leaned away from her.
The first year they’d known each other, Lisa had thrown a huge Christmas party. Bastian arrived late, his hospital rotation running behind. Lisa had been livid. Their argument was quiet and low-key, but Charlie had noticed. She’d also noticed Bastian drinking more than usual.
From what she’d seen and what he’d told her, Charlie knew they were having problems. But she never expected him to catch her under the mistletoe for more than a casual peck. His tongue had tasted of whiskey and, if she was honest, did naughty things to her senses. He’d pulled back, eyes wide in horror, apologized and sought out his wife all in the same breath.
Less tha
n a month later, Lisa had him served with divorce papers.
“It shouldn’t have happened. It was a bad time. I felt like half a man and was trying to…I don’t know. I was drunk and I made a mistake.”
“I know, that’s why I’ve never brought it up. But you didn’t tell her, did you?”
His head bowed and a sigh caressed her cheek. “No. It would’ve just hurt her. We were having enough trouble without adding that.”
“So you did kind of cheat.”
Confusion deepened in his eyes as he brought one hand to stroke her hair. As an only child, she’d always taken the move as one an older brother would bestow on a little sister. It made her feel cherished.
“What’s going on? Why all the questions about cheating? Do you think Adam’s cheating on you?”
The gray fleece crept up and she took the time to pull her knees tighter to her chest and smooth the soft cotton over her legs before replying. “You could say that. I dumped him after I walked in on him and his assistant Thursday.”
“That son of a bitch!” Each line of his body jerked into a seated protective stance. She liked that he was concerned for her. He’d hated Adam, calling him a variety of names despite her objections. Those objections had never been very strenuous. “Are you okay? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Oh, I had plenty to say to him. Mostly that he couldn’t find my clit if it was painted neon orange and that I faked every orgasm.” Bastian’s lips twitched but he tightened his mouth. Charlie gave him a small grin. “Honestly, I just feel stupid and angry at myself. I meant to tell you Friday but I forgot. That ought to tell you something.”
“What flavor?” Bastian asked, still hiding his smile.
She had a breakup routine. Very few people knew about the ritual. Bastian, of course, did. After every breakup, she drowned her sorrows in ice cream, picking a flavor on a personal rating scale. The lowest any man had scored was low-fat vanilla frozen yogurt.