by B. Cranford
And kissed some more.
Just when she thought that maybe, just maybe, they’d never break apart, that they’d never finish what they’d started when he’d said “I love you” and she’d said “I want you,” he pulled back. Her lips were still damp from his, his taste still lingered on her tongue, and they were both breathing heavily.
“You stopped.” Thank God you’re here, Captain Obvious. “Kissing me,” she added. Brilliant.
“Why don’t you like me calling you Garfield?” he asked, instead of offering a reason for the not-kissing-anymore thing that seemed to have clouded her brain.
“It’s stupid.”
“It’s not.”
“No, actually, it is.”
“Odie, just tell me. Jeez, you once told me you’d wet your bed, so this really can’t be that difficult,” he teased, the side tilt of his mouth making her want to simultaneously bite his lower lip and, ah, well, bite his lower lip.
Trying to make sense of her own thoughts, she defended herself. “I was eight and besides, apparently you’ve been keeping some secrets from me, Mister I love you, so shut up.”
He smiled down at her. For the first time in weeks, he was smiling at her like he always had, but now she could see something different in his eyes, in the way his shoulders moved up and his head tilted just a touch—it was like he was smiling with his whole body, and all because he wanted her, because he liked her.
Because he loved her.
But did that mean he loved her? Her thoughts, no longer under the influence of the wine she’d imbibed but rather drunk on something else—on Austin and his confessions and kisses—swirled around as she tried to make heads or tails of, well, everything.
“Can we talk about this tomorrow? I’m getting tired and confused and . . . I missed you.” She bit her lip at that last confession, wondering what his response would be. Would he leave now, and come back tomorrow? Or would he—
“Come on, Odie. Let’s get you to bed.” He scooped her up into his arms, holding her close to his chest, so she did what any not-completely-sober woman would do—she wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled in close, enjoying the feel of him and the smell of him and the presence of him.
It had been so long since he’d been a daily part of her life. Well, so long in terms of their relationship, given that they’d barely spent a day apart since they were kids, except for her time at NYU, when they’d talked nearly every day.
“Are you—” she began, wanting to know if he’d be there in the morning, but instead of asking the question, she was cut off by a kiss and a nod.
He was staying.
“All right,” he said, walking into her bedroom and standing next to her queen-size bed, “in you go.” And with that, he half dropped, half threw her down onto the fluffy floral quilt, smiling at her with a cheeky glint in his eye.
She slapped a hand over her mouth, a tipsy, roiling feeling hitting hard, but as quickly as the nauseous feeling swept in, it left.
“Too bad you lost the lingerie, Odie.” He looked down at her with a smirk, before reaching behind his head and gripping his navy T-shirt, whipping it over his head in an effortlessly sexy movement. “That would have made tonight extra interesting.”
She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. She wasn’t even sure she’d heard his words, if she was being completely honest. Because his chest—a chest she’d seen an awful lot of in her life—was on display in all its rippled, muscled, lightly-dusted-with-hair glory and she was stunned.
It looked different. Probably because she knew they were on their way to a new kind of normal, where naked torsos and firm pecs meant licking and biting, but whatever. Her tongue had adhered itself to the roof of her mouth, her eyes had locked in on that lickable skin and her sense of propriety had taken its leave.
She was staring and would be drooling too, if she could get her tongue working.
“Like what you see, babe?” Aussie asked, doing a thing that made his muscles flex and clench and oh wow, I want to touch. “God, that feels good.”
Odie blinked, feeling the warm skin under her palm before she realized she’d pulled herself to her knees and begun running her hands over his torso.
“But I think not tonight?” His words came out more like a question than a statement and the subsequent groan definitely belied his shaky conviction.
“You think or . . . ?”
“I know.” His voice was firmer, and he gripped her wrists where she was still enjoying the feel of him. “Because you’ve been drinking and we still need to talk.”
“You really want to talk?” She looked up at him, her question genuine. She’d been with enough men to know that talking wasn’t exactly a priority when sex was a possibility. And she’d been friends with Austin long enough to know he wasn’t exactly going around having heart-to-heart chats with all the women who’d been in his bed.
And there’d been a lot of women.
“Yes, Garfield. I want to talk.” He gently drew her hands away from his skin and she wanted to pout at the loss of all that goodness under her palms. But then, he sat on the edge of the mattress, body turned slightly so she could see his face. And what she saw there made everything a little bit better. “This isn’t . . . Whatever happens, it’s not just a drunken fuck, okay?”
The words weren’t exactly Shakespeare, but they made her heart flip all the same. Because he was telling her this wasn’t just for tonight.
He wanted to make sure she knew that. And she wanted to reward him.
So she did, with a kiss that started slow and ended with them intertwined on her bed, their heads having made it to the pillows, their bodies somehow underneath the puffy covers.
Better than I ever imagined.
That was the main thought in Austin’s mind as he made-out with his best friend, tucked under the covers of the bed he’d helped her pick and put together one afternoon when she’d first moved out of her parents’ home.
“Aussie?” Odie broke their kiss and gave him a sleepy look, before rolling over and nestling her back against his front. “I’m tired.”
He pressed his lips to the back of her head, enjoying the way her much-smaller body fit against his. Sex might be an adventure with their height difference, but it was one he was really looking forward to. “’Kay. I’ll be right back, okay?”
“Mmm,” she mumbled in response, as he slid out from under the covers and walked through her apartment, switching off lights, getting rid of the empty glasses and wine bottles. Then, after grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, he made his way back into her room.
She was still curled on her side, as if he was spooned behind her. Her breathing was even, low and punctuated with the occasional snuffling noise she’d been making since a rogue softball had broken her nose in middle school.
He set the bottle of water on the bedside table on his side of the bed—his side, he thought, deciding that yeah, it was always going to be his, no matter what Odette thought about it—and quickly removed his jeans, leaving him in a pair of black boxer briefs. Then, grabbing the water again, he walked around the end of the bed and crouched down in front of his girl.
“Odie,” he whispered, resting the hand not holding the water on her shoulder and giving her a little shake. “Hey, babe. Wake up a second, and drink some water for me.”
Her eyes fluttered open and closed a few times, before settling somewhere between awake and asleep. He helped her up onto one elbow—raising her body enough to be able to take a few sips of the cool water he’d opened for her and brought to her lips—and then lowered her back onto the pillow.
She was asleep again by the time he’d made it back around the bed and into his side.
“Goodnight.” He pressed another kiss to the back of her head, then added one, two, three down the column of her neck, exposed by her close-cropped hair. He loved her neck, loved that she didn’t hide it under layers of long hair.
Not that she wasn’t stunning with long hair. She wa
s. She’d be stunning with hair that reached her ass or shaved completely off.
Because she was Odie. The girl he wanted to make his forever.
Chapter Five
What the hell is that?
Odie came awake slowly, aware of something poking her in the back. Something that felt a lot like a . . .
“Jesus, stop wiggling.” Austin’s raspy voice came from behind her, jolting her senses.
All of them. Including the one that could feel something hard behind her. “Is that your arm?”
“Yes, it’s”—he shifted as he spoke, poking her and shuffling her around on the sheets—“spooning is way more difficult than people let on.”
She laughed at his disgruntled tone. “You’ve never spooned before?”
“With you, yes.” A rustle behind her and a slight movement—she’d bet anything that he’d just shrugged. Because he had spooned with her before. A lot, actually, though not for years. Since before she went away for college, she thought. “But you used to tell me to move after ten minutes.” He moved again, one arm over her waist, one trying to sneak under her pillow.
“Could you not?” She’d raised her head to let the arm under, but she knew immediately she didn’t want it there. “Stop, let me—”
“No wonder you always tell me to mov—oof.”
“Shit, sorry!” Odie flipped over to face Austin the minute she realized her elbow, which she was using to try and move with him on the bed, had drilled him in the stomach. “Are you okay?”
“You elbowed me.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“Hard.”
“It was an accident!”
“You could have just asked me to move.”
“I don’t want you to move.”
“Could you not?” he mimicked, smirking at her, one hand resting on his stomach. “You’ve been griping since you woke up.”
“It’s weird having someone in bed with me,” she countered, affront in her tone. “But I never said move.”
“Ha, I knew you wanted me here.”
And before she had a chance to respond, he kissed her. A sweet kiss, barely a brush against her lips, which was a relief because—
“I’d kiss you more but you have terrible hangover breath.”
“Oh, my God,” she groaned, slapping a hand over her mouth and using the other to pinch his nipple.
“Now, now, babe, we said we were going to talk first.”
Fighting laughter—she was still trying to hold onto a little bit of her mad until after they’d talked about what the hell was going on and what on Earth they were, aside from best friends who joked about morning breath—she rolled from bed and shuffled toward the bathroom.
“Odie?” he called after her, catching her just before she reached the door. When she turned to look back at him, he was stroking himself over the covers with a wicked glint in his eye. “It wasn’t just my arm.”
Austin’s laugh turned into a groan when Odie poked her tongue out at him, the sight of it reminding him of all the things that tongue might just do to him. If he played his cards right.
If he kept the momentum going, and managed to get them—him and Odie—back on track.
Well, on track, since back on track implied they had been on the road to a relationship before they got derailed.
I think I’m mixing metaphors.
Deciding it was time for coffee, he too rolled out of the bed, mourning the warmth and pillowy softness of Odie’s mattress. She’d gotten a new one, though the bed frame was the same one he’d put together for her years earlier, and damn, it was comfortable.
He definitely needed to get himself invited back for more sleepovers, even if it meant sleeping in her queen-sized bed instead of his own king. Good thing she’s so tiny.
Before heading into the kitchen, he stopped at the bathroom, knocking on the door before calling through it, “You want tea?”
“Yeah, and make me pancakes.”
“What am I, your house boy?”
“You’re the one trying to get back into my good graces, dude. Pancakes is the least you can do.”
“Not just your good graces,” he muttered just as the door flew open.
“What was that?” Odie asked, raising one eyebrow in a way that told him she’d heard him.
Not that he cared. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I said, I’m not just trying to get into your good graces.”
“What else are you trying t–oh. Ohhh.” A blush formed on her cheeks as she realized what he meant, which was the cutest damn thing he’d seen in a long time. “Better be some good pancakes then.”
“You’re cute,” he said, kissing her nose then turning toward the kitchen. He was still in only his boxer briefs, and if the little grunt he heard escape Odie’s mouth as he walked from the room was any indication, she liked that fact.
Her next words confirmed it. “I might not forgive you, babe”—she emphasized the nickname he’d given her, false contempt laced through her tone—“just so I can watch you walk away.”
He turned back around, walking backward as he retorted, “If you wanna look at my ass, Odie, you just have to ask. I’ll happily show it to you.” And with that, he turned a final time and walked to the kitchen.
But not before slipping his thumbs under the waistband of his underwear and dipping it down just far enough to give Odie a glimpse, earning him a laugh that quickly became another grunt.
His ass was a masterpiece.
It’s not like she wasn’t aware of the fact Austin took care of his body.
She was.
After all, she went to the gym with him several times a week. Well, she had until a few weeks ago, but she hardly thought he’d stopped going in the interim. And even if he had, a body like his wasn’t just going to up and disappear overnight.
My inhibitions might, if he flashes me again.
But the thing was, she’d never really paid proper attention to it. Not that she hadn’t wanted to—it was more that she hadn’t allowed herself to. Because paying attention meant wanting, and wanting couldn’t ever lead anywhere good when your best friend was involved.
Except . . .
It felt like they were going somewhere good. Sure, they hadn’t really talked and, honestly, some of the events of the night before were a little bit hazy. Plus, she was still telling herself to hold onto her anger in that I’ve been mad for this long, I don’t know how to stop now kind of way.
But somehow, waking up with his arm—and other parts—poking her made her feel more settled. And still somehow more . . . excited?
And not just because seeing him grip his dick and flash his ass made her panties wet.
“Yo, Odie!” His words entered the bedroom several paces ahead of his body, his voice booming in that dramatic Austin way. “You don’t have any eggs. Or flour. Or milk.”
Oh. “Yeah, I meant to go to the store last night.” Actually, she had gone to the store, but instead of the staples she’d meant to buy, she’d left with two bottles of red wine, a bag of gummy bears—I wonder where they are?—and a plan to get drunk and wallow after a workout.
“Get dressed. We’ll go out.” He walked over to his jeans, currently in a pile on the floor—not that she remembered him taking them off the night before through her drunken haze. She watched intently as he stepped into them. How does he make getting dressed look so good?
“Should we go to our usual? Or somewhere new?”
“Huh?” She shook off the reverse strip show haze. “Wha–oh, um. Maybe we sh—”
But he cut her off before she had a chance to stutter out her opinion. “I think somewhere new. It’s our first date, right?” He nodded, then kept talking. “Besides, the last time I went to our usual, the banana French toast was floppy. Let me ask you this—do you like putting floppy things in your mouth?”
“Depends,” she said with a lift of her shoulders, looking around for her glasses. She didn’t wear them often—she only needed them for reading—
but her head was throbbing and there was something comforting about wearing them when she was feeling crappy.
“On what?”
“On what’s floppy and why.” She added an extra hint of duh to her voice, just to be playful and it earned her a pat on the butt as she walked past, having spotted her glasses on the overflowing armchair that sat in the corner of her bedroom.
Every room had that one chair where things were piled and piled and piled until it resembled the Leaning Tower of Pisa, right?
“Well, it wouldn’t be floppy for long, that’s for sure.” He was thrusting lewdly at her, his hand on his crotch when she turned around, having slid her glasses into place. She shook her head, a silent laugh on her lips at his ridiculousness.
He’d always been a little bit silly, a little bit playful.
It was one of the things she loved best about him—as a friend. He knew the right things to say, that one stupid conversation at the gym notwithstanding, and was always able to turn her mood around.
“So, new place?” he asked, bringing the topic back to the matter at hand—breakfast and where to get it—as he slipped his phone into his pocket.
“There’s that bakery down on Main we could go to? They have chocolate croissants.”
“Oh, fuck, yes. Let’s go, Odie.”
“Do you mind if I put some proper clothes on?” She gestured down her body at her slept-in tee and yoga pants and gave him a pointed look. “Or should I go like this?”
“What’s wrong with that? You look hot.”
“I look like I slept in these clothes. Because I did.”
“I did think about getting you out of them, but I was worried the temptation would be too much.”
“Can’t keep your hands to yourself?”
“Oh, I can. But you practically molested me when I took my shirt off, so I didn’t want to add fuel to the fire.”
Her face reddened, again. It was the second time that morning he’d made her blush and she didn’t know what to make of it. She’d never been a blusher before, but something about the past twelve hours—and Austin—had turned her into one. “I didn’t molest you.”