by Kendall Ryan
I’m so fucked . . . and in none of the ways that I want to be.
Chapter Eight
Natalie
“Come on!”
I wrench my car key in the ignition for the fifth time. The engine sputters pathetically in response.
“Dammit!” Of course my car would die the morning of my big presentation at work. I bitterly remember my dad’s words after I refused to let him purchase a brand-new car for me.
“You’re going to get stranded somewhere in that piece of junk,” he said. “I’m here when you change your mind.”
No way in hell was I about to succumb to that temptation so easily. Now, facing the probability of being late on this vital day, I regret that choice.
I dig through my purse, searching for my phone. Scrolling through my favorite contacts, I debate who to inconvenience this early in the morning.
My finger hovers over Cam’s name. I hesitate, remembering how strangely he acted the other night. Cam isn’t usually one for hugs, but the one he wrapped me in was . . . intimate. It was pleasant, a comfort I didn’t even know I needed, but so out of the ordinary for him and hinged on the edge of awkward for both of us. But how do I talk to him about it? I could just ignore the moment, but I doubt I could control my urge to ask him what’s going on in his head.
Choosing a contact, I hold the phone to my ear and wait.
“What the hell, Nat?” Jack’s voice is hoarse, as if he was deep asleep before I called him.
“I have a favor to ask.”
• • •
Ten minutes later, and I’m on the way to work with Jack behind the wheel.
“You owe me. This is not in my sleep schedule, Moore.” Jack works nights, so the equivalent of me calling him at seven in the morning is the same as him calling me at two in the morning.
“I know,” I say, squeezing his arm. “I really appreciate it.” I look out the window and watch the buildings zoom by, hoping I’m not late.
“Why didn’t you call Cam?” Jack asks. “He’s more of a morning person than I am.”
I’m not sure what to say. I don’t want to tell him about the hug, and I’m not sure why.
“Don’t you think he’s been acting kind of . . . weird lately?” I’m not sure weird is the right word, but different feels too vague.
Jack frowns. “I haven’t noticed anything. Why do you think that?”
“Just a feeling.”
An incredibly distracting feeling, at that, and I’m not entirely sure what to do with those feelings at the moment. But right now, I need to concentrate on this presentation and get my head back in the game. After Jack drops me off, I’m still contemplating it and remind myself that I have to focus. This presentation could mean a promotion, and if I blow it, all that marketing research will go to waste. I need to move up in the ranks if I want to make a lasting difference in this business. Their methods are old-fashioned in this modern age, and I know my influence will put us back on track. It’ll also help my confidence level lately after the beating that it took at my parents’ party the other night.
As I set up the conference room, I make up my mind. No more thoughts of bizarre male behavior until after work. Focus. I have to focus.
• • •
“Well, that went well!” my coworker Janelle says in the break room. She’s worked here longer than I have, so her opinion is valuable. “Your findings were so interesting. I had no idea that we could use social media in that way.”
“It’s pretty straightforward,” I say, pouring myself a cup of coffee. “I just put the pieces together. I’m glad that it went well, despite how my morning started off.”
“What happened this morning?”
I explain to Janelle my car situation. Being the superhero she is, she offers to give me a ride home after the day has ended.
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. At this rate, you’re going to be my boss someday. Best put my time in now while it counts, right?” She winks.
I blush at the compliment. Nothing my parents say can ever make me turn my back on these good-hearted people. This is where I belong.
After work, Janelle drops me off as planned on the street just outside my condo. I’m walking up my driveway when I see something that stops me in my tracks.
“Cam?” I blink at the male form.
I’m completely thrown off at seeing him here, yet here he is, bent under the hood of my car. Despite the cool fall air, he’s wearing only a thin gray undershirt and blue jeans. His clothes, face, and arms are streaked with black grease, evidence of how long he’s been under there.
“What on earth are you doing?” I ask.
“Fixing your car. Jack said it broke down this morning, so I thought I’d swing by and take a look.”
Swing by and take a look? This man is covered in grease. That’s hardly swinging by or just taking a look.
“I was just going to drop it at the dealership—well, actually have it towed there,” I say. “You really didn’t have to do this.”
“It’s no trouble. I only had patients until noon, so what else was I going to do with myself?” His lips curl into a charming half smile. Who can argue with that face?
“Go on in,” he says, ducking back under the hood. “I’m almost done.”
Well, that settles it.
“Come in when you’re finished and I’ll make you dinner . . . after you shower, that is, grease monkey.”
With a smirk over his shoulder, he says, “Will do.”
Cam’s hair is still dripping from the shower when he joins me in the kitchen. I’ve given him back a shirt he loaned me ages ago on a bet. I’ll miss sleeping in the soft cotton, but it looks better on him anyway.
“Did you enjoy my rose-mint shampoo?” I ask, ruffling his short hair with my fingers.
“I feel like a new man.”
“You smell like one.”
“What’s for dinner?”
“Baked ziti.” I pull open the oven door and test the consistency. Needs more time.
“Smells amazing,” Cam says, leaning in next to me.
“Could use ten more minutes. Let’s go sit.”
I lead us into the living room. Cam sinks into the worn leather of my sofa. I slide next to him, my old couch creaking under our combined weight. Before I can stop myself, though, I’ve wrapped my arms around him in a massive bear hug. We fall back against the cushions in a tangle of limbs.
“What’s this for?” He laughs, pinned in my embrace.
“You’re seriously the best. I can’t believe you came over just to fix my car. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He wraps his arms tighter around me.
I breathe in the scent of him—the usual fresh masculinity mixed with the smell of my soap. It’s a pleasant combination. I’m so comfortable like this, resting here after a long day. I sigh happily, releasing the stress of the chaos of the morning and all the time spent preparing for my presentation.
“I take it we’re going to stay like this for a while?” he asks.
“Yep.”
A moment or two passes, and I feel Cam nuzzle his nose into my hair. I don’t mind the feeling at all. It’s comfortable. Familiar. Two friends just enjoying being around each other. But as soon as he’s wrapped around me and smelling my hair, I feel the change.
Without warning, Cam jumps to his feet, and I’m left on the couch without a warm body beside me.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he says. I know he’s lying. I can feel it.
“Did I do something?”
“No, of course not.” He says this, but he’s grabbing his coat and heading for the door.
What is going on here?
“Cam, where are you going?”
“Home. I forgot I promised Jack I’d take him out tonight. And I’ve got an early morning, so it’s best to get this night started as soon as possible, you know?”
“What about dinner?”
He pauses at t
he door, his hand on the knob. “Save me some leftovers?”
“Of course.”
Then Cam leaves. Not thirty seconds ago, I was using his bicep as a pillow, and now he’s gone.
The timer on the oven beeps, the ziti finally ready. Disappointment sinks in with the realization that I’ll be eating alone again tonight.
Was it something I said? Something I did?
I force myself off the couch and drag my feet toward the kitchen. I can spend the rest of the evening second-guessing myself or simply take him at his word. I bet it has to do with Jack being lonely after the breakup. Cam really is a loyal friend. But once again today, I find myself wondering if it’s just me, or if Cam really is acting strange around me.
I just pray that nothing with our friendship changes.
Chapter Nine
Camden
Natalie is quite literally killing me. She has no idea, of course. She has no clue that my body is suddenly keenly aware of her every movement, that my dick is in a near constant state of hardness whenever she’s close. She has no idea that she’s physically torturing me, no idea that I can’t act on any of these feelings because the repercussions would be catastrophic.
Which is why it just about killed me that I had to rush out of her place after she cooked for me the other night. She probably thought I was insane, which is obviously better than the alternative. She can’t know that I’m developing feelings for her. At the very least, it would complicate things, and worse, could end up ruining our friendship.
Not to mention I’ve taken a vow of solidarity with Jack. But it’s more than that—Natalie is totally off-limits. We’re friends, all three of us. The three musketeers. If she and Jack started dating, I’d become the dreaded third wheel. If they broke up, we’d all be forced to pick sides. Sex and friendship don’t go together. Everyone knows that. This is the reason I’ve been avoiding her for a few days. I can’t allow myself to do something stupid like make a move on her. And I have a feeling it’ll only be a matter of time before that happens.
Natalie has to know something is amiss. After all, it’s unlike me to go days without seeing her. But since I can’t seem to control myself or my body when I’m around her, this is the way it has to be.
We’ve still texted, me hiding my emotions behind innocuous emojis and LOLs so she doesn’t think something is up. I don’t think she suspects anything is wrong. Thank God. It’s just really hard to be around her right now, so avoidance is my only option.
I’ve just finished cleaning the kitchen after dinner when my phone chirps from my bedroom. Wiping my hands on a dishtowel, I pad barefoot toward my room and grab my phone from my bed.
It’s Natalie.
Ben broke up with me.
I stare down at the words on the screen, and my heart begins to beat faster. Rather than reply to her text, I select her name from my recent contacts and hit the CALL button.
“Hey,” Natalie answers, her voice flat.
“Hey. What happened? You okay?”
A long pause. Followed by a shuddering inhale.
Fuck. I think she’s crying.
There’s nothing worse than a crying female. It’s my kryptonite.
“Nat? You want me to come over?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I squeeze my hand into a fist and bring it to my lips, biting down to prevent any more word vomit from escaping.
Another stuttering inhale. “Y-yeah. Could you?”
“Of course.”
Jack pauses by my open bedroom door and looks in, his brows raised. “That Natalie?” he mouths.
I nod, holding up one finger. “I’ll be over soon. Hang in there.”
“’Kay,” she says before clicking off.
“What’s going on?” Jack asks.
I roll my eyes and shove my phone in my pocket. “That jackass bartender broke up with her.” Jack’s the one who set them up in the first place. I knew after one look at the guy he wasn’t good enough for her.
“Shit. Really?” He scrubs one hand over the back of his neck. “She upset?”
“She’s crying. I’m going over there.”
Jack nods. “Yeah. Good idea. Go take care of our girl. Better you than me, dude. Crying chicks, no matter who they are, are my kryptonite.”
See, it’s not only me . . . it’s every guy’s kryptonite. The male species is doomed when it comes to crying women.
I leave our apartment a few minutes later and stop on the way to pick up a bottle of wine, a pint of Natalie’s favorite salted-caramel ice cream, and a box of tissues. I have a feeling we’re going to need all three.
When I arrive at her place, I knock, and no one answers. Then my phone chirps with a new text.
That you?
Yeah, I’m here.
Let yourself in. I’m taking a bath.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Please tell me she doesn’t expect me to comfort her while she’s in the bathtub.
I follow her instructions and unlock the front door with the spare key I have for emergencies, or for watering her plants when she’s out of town. She has a key to our place too.
Inside, everything is neat and tidy, just as I expect, and there’s soft country music playing from the wireless speaker on her kitchen counter. I place the ice cream in the freezer and open the bottle of wine I brought over, stalling for time, hoping she’ll finish before I need to go check on her. Just as I’ve finished pouring two glasses, Natalie opens the bathroom door and emerges from a cloud of steam, wearing an oversized T-shirt, her legs bare.
Her skin is pink and scrubbed clean of any makeup, and her eyes are two wide pools of blue. Regardless of how fresh-faced she is, I can tell she’s been crying.
She removes the clip holding her long hair until it falls in loose waves around her shoulders. I can see the outline of her perky tits beneath the thin cotton fabric of her T-shirt.
I keep mentally reminding myself that I’m here to comfort her, not to get my rocks off. Damn my wandering eyes and lustful thoughts during her time of need.
My cock perks up in interest. Fuck.
I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek, trying to rein myself in. “Hey. How are you feeling?”
She crosses the room toward me, and without a word, I open my arms in time for her to fold herself against my broad chest. She nestles in against me, seeking comfort, and I wrap my arms around her, holding her there as she takes in deep breaths.
“Nat?” I ask after a few minutes, perplexed over her emotions. She and douche-face only went out a few times, and she told me it was just “casual.”
She lifts her head from the spot over my heart and offers me a sad smile. “Sorry I’m being such a girl.”
I smooth the worry lines in her forehead with my thumb. “Don’t apologize for that. You’re hurting; it’s understandable.”
Spotting the glass of wine I left for her on the counter, Natalie grabs it and takes a long sip. “I know my reaction probably seems ridiculous. I mean, Ben and I only dated casually for a couple weeks, but it’s just . . .” She swallows, her voice going tight. “I’m tired of being alone, tired of constantly starting over. I want to meet someone. I’m twenty-nine, you know? I don’t want to be single forever.”
I smile at her and take her hand in mine, giving it a squeeze. “First, twenty-nine is still young. You have plenty of time. And second, Ben wasn’t the one. You’ll be on to bigger and better in no time at all.”
Her mouth tilts up in a half smile. “You promise?”
“I’m certain of it.”
Natalie and I carry our wineglasses into the living room and sit on the couch. The smooth, tanned skin of her bare legs seems to go on forever, and I make myself study the covers of the home-decorating magazines on her coffee table instead.
“So, did you want to go out tonight to take your mind off things and get sloppy drunk like I did with Jack, or . . .”
She shakes her head. “I’d rather just stay in. I don’t feel like being out in public right now.”
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I nod. “Whatever you want. I brought ice cream. We can watch old movies—”
“Or we could make a voodoo doll of Ben and stab it in the crotch.”
I chuckle. “Or we could do that.”
This earns me another small smile. “Why is it that you’ve always been so good with the opposite sex?”
My eyebrows dart up. “Me? I haven’t.”
Natalie rolls her eyes. “You have, and you know it. You have this thing.” She waves her hand vaguely in my direction, appraising me with parted lips as though she’s concentrating.
“A thing?” I deadpan.
She nods. “You make women comfortable. You’re safe. Trustworthy.”
I grumble something under my breath. She’s wrong. I sucked at picking up women until about halfway through college, but then after I got the hang of small talk and flirting, I went through a string of one-night stands. Maybe that’s what Natalie’s referring to. “I promise I haven’t always been good at meeting women.”
She scoffs. “Sure, Casanova.”
I chuckle and playfully give her arm a shove. “Remember sophomore year of college, when I enrolled in that women’s studies class to meet girls?”
Natalie nods, her mouth lifting with a smile as though she remembers it exactly. “It was just you and twenty other dudes who had the same idea, and one very confused instructor.”
“Exactly. Horrible at meeting women.” I chuckle.
We fall silent for a few minutes, and Natalie quietly sips her wine. “Where’s Jack?” she asks.
“He’s working tonight. Just us, I guess.”
She shifts on the couch, folding her legs beneath her. I know if I moved to face her, I’d be able to see the front of her panties, and that’s not a vision that would contain the beast inside me. Fuuuck. My heart starts pounding, and I begin to panic at the thought of Natalie finding out I’m aroused right now. What kind of friend would that make me? A fucking creep, that’s what kind.
Inwardly, I’m trying to subliminally send her signals that I really need her to put on some pants. But outwardly, I’m trying to act normal, comfort her, and pretend that nothing has changed between us.