Me: It’s not a code for sex.
Nikki: Great. You coming over now?
Me: If that’s okay?
Nikki: It’s only okay if you bring food. I’m starving and too lazy to cook dinner.
Me: I can do that. Any requests?
Nikki: Something delicious. Surprise me. I trust you.
That same startled feeling from before hits me again. Trust. It’s such a fragile word. Hell, it’s a fragile thing. I vow to not break it this time.
Me: Give me an hour.
I quickly throw the lock on my bedroom door and strip my towel from around my waist. I dress hastily, thumbing the keyboard on my phone screen, dialing the number to a local Italian restaurant. I place an order for a few different types of pasta, some breadsticks, and a salad. I have no idea what Haley likes, so I’m sure I’ve gone overboard on how much I’ve ordered, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.
I don’t even blink when I’m told my total. I hardly ever spend any money on myself; it always feels wrong, especially when I have my siblings to take care of. This time, though, it feels good. I refuse to apologize for feeling good.
I slip on my shoes and check my reflection in the mirror above my dresser. Figuring I look good enough, wet hair and all, I quickly make my way out to my car, ignoring the shouts from my roommates to wait.
Nope. Not dealing with their bullshit tonight.
I make the drive to the restaurant, grab the food, and head straight to Haley’s, ignoring any nerves I sense on the way there.
Nerves are pointless in this situation. We’re hanging out as two almost-friends. So what if we’ve slept wrapped around one another several nights? Who cares if she’s practically a stranger? Do I give a shit if she’s the sister of Hudson’s girlfriend? Mostly no.
I’m not letting anything interfere with my night off, with my current mood. I’m happy. I want to be fucking happy. It’s been too long since that emotion was true, real. Nothing will get in the way—not the kids, not Mercy’s health, and sure as hell not the guilt that eats away at me daily.
I climb the stairs to her apartment, walking the hall looking like a total weirdo because I’m smiling so wide right now.
Fuck it feels good to feel good.
She answers after the first knock, a grin gracing her lips. Her eyes light up as she takes in the giant bags of food I’m holding.
“Oh my God. You’re my hero! Get in here so I can hug your sexy ass.”
I quirk a brow, following her into her apartment, closing the door with my foot. “That’s the second time you’ve called me sexy, and you claim you just want someone to sleep with you—uh huh. I’m onto you, Haley. You’re totally into me.”
She throws a glance over her shoulder. “Just because I compliment you doesn’t mean I want in your pants, Addams.”
“Keep denying it,” I tell her, setting the bags down on the empty counter. I run a hand down my chest. “Let’s face it, I’m irresistible.”
She openly rolls her eyes and sighs. “You’re hot, not irresistible. Case in point: I’ve slept beside you the last two nights, wrapped nice and tight around your muscled body, and haven’t once felt you up.” She snorts and sarcastically continues, “Yep. You’re right. Totally irresistible.”
“Maybe something’s just wrong with you.”
“Or maybe something’s wrong with you.”
“Is this your way of flirting? You need some work.”
She cackles, like legit cackles. “Oh, Gaige. If I was flirting with you, you’d know it, and you wouldn’t be able to resist me for a moment.”
“Sure. That’s what they all say, that they’re ‘irresistible’. Right,” I deadpan.
Her mouth drops open, and the smile that’s been plastered on my face since earlier widens. “You…you just…”
“Just what?” I ask innocently, holding my hand up to my ear, waiting for her explosion.
“You just said you were irresistible and now I’m the one catching flak for it?” She’s riled up, her eyes lit with fire and fun. I like it. A lot.
Shrugging as I begin digging through our bags of food, I pull out the paper plates the restaurant threw in and set them on the counter, dropping a handful of Parmesan cheese packets on top of them. “Don’t be so full of yourself, Hales. It’s unattractive.”
“Don’t call me Hales.” She spins around and opens a drawer, pulling out two forks and serving spoons. She then marches over to the fridge, grabbing two bottles of water. When she turns back to me, her stare is challenging. “That’s reserved for friends.”
“We’re practically best friends by now.”
“Best friends?” She scoffs. “With you? No way.”
I point to the stools then to the couch. “Here or there?”
“Either is fine with me.”
“Here,” I tell her, arranging the bowls of pasta in a line, breadsticks in the middle. She makes her way around the counter, and I wait to sit so she can choose which stool she wants. She picks the left so I go for the right.
As we start filling our plates, I say, “Watch, one day we’ll end up best friends and I can remind you of how reluctant you were to befriend me. That’s just how the world works, Hales.”
She rolls her eyes again, huffing as she slops a giant forkful of Alfredo onto her plate. “Bull.”
“Don’t stop our witty banter now. We’re bonding.”
“I think we bond enough when we sleep together.”
I glance over at her. “That sounds like we’re screwing.”
I swear, hand to God, she mumbles, “I wish we were screwing.” I want so badly to call her out on it, but I don’t. I let it slide, because if she was to suggest something like friends with benefits, I wouldn’t turn her down.
Instead I ask her, “How’s the food?”
“Really good.”
Then we’re quiet…too quiet. So quiet that the usual mushy, wet noise pasta makes is squigging me out. But, I let it continue, pushing my food around my plate as we both continue to eat in silence.
After five torturous minutes—yes, I keep track—she throws down her fork and sighs. I twist in her direction, her mossy eyes pulling me in instantly. “Let’s pretend you didn’t hear that, okay?”
“Deal,” I say too quickly.
She squints, eying me closely. I don’t break her stare. “This isn’t about sex, Gaige.”
“I never said it was, Haley.”
“Stop thinking about it.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re not?”
“No. Are you?”
“Nope,” she says, turning back to her food, picking her fork up and shoveling in more pasta.
I don’t turn back to my own plate. Instead, I watch her, because I’m now most definitely thinking about sex. I think about sex as her lips close around another forkful of food, as they slowly drag across the utensil, licking it clean. I think about how her lips would feel on me. I think about sex as she reaches for a breadstick and slowly lets it fill her mouth, how good that’d feel if was my breadstick in her mouth, my hands wrapped in her hair, holding her to me as she takes me deep.
She dips her bread into the white sauce on her plate then takes another bite of her food. Her tongue darts out, licking away the small amount of sauce she missed. I know I’m breathing heavily right now. I know she can hear it. But fuck me if my dick doesn’t jump when she swallows. I can’t help but imagine how it’d be to see her swallow me.
I want to…
“You’re totally thinking about sex right now.”
Her sultry voice pulls me from my daze and I drag my eyes away from her lips.
“Huh?” I ask, dazed.
“I said you’re thinking about sex right now. I told you I’m irresistible.” Her grin is cocky and sexy.
The blood that’s rushed to my now hard dick finally enters back into my system and I start to function again, realizing I was just watching her eat, comparing all her movements to her sucking my cock.
I’m a fucking pig. A gross, disgusting pig. I’ve never—and I mean never—dared to daydream about a woman like that. I don’t do that. It’s not me. I’m not a sex-focused guy.
That’s not to say I don’t like sex. I do. Of course I do. It’s simply not a main focus of mine like the majority of other single guys my age. I’m not out looking for my next hookup or fling. I’m busy taking care of my family and righting my many, many wrongs. If sex happens, it happens, but I don’t go looking for it, or fantasizing about it.
This though? Fuck. I let my mind go places it’s never gone before. And I liked it. A lot.
Shaking my head, I slip on an easy grin, turning the tables on the vixen sitting next to me. “Only because you mentioned it first. That must mean you’re the one really thinking about sex. Is that the case, Haley? You’re the one who keeps emphasizing that we’re not sleeping together. Think about that a moment.”
She grimaces, her shoulders sinking in defeat. “Fine. You win, Gaige. You win.”
For some reason, one I’ll never figure out, I lean in close, my lips just inches from her ear. My voice drops lower than normal as I say, “I always win.”
She shivers, and I know I’m fucked.
“How about American Horror Story?” Haley asks, perched on the edge of the couch as she clicks through Netflix, trying to find something else for us to watch.
I’ve been here for two and a half hours now. We ate, watched a movie, and are now attempting to find a show to start. It seems the longer we sit on the same couch together, the closer we inch toward one another. After starting on opposite ends, we’re now side by side on the middle cushion. Each time one of us got up to use the bathroom or grab more water, we returned to a different spot, naturally floating toward one another and somehow meeting perfectly in the middle.
“Have you seen it?” she asks.
“Nope. Wanna give it a shot?”
“I don’t know… It looks scary.”
I glance over at her, watching as she works her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes wide as she stares at the creepy image filling the television screen. “You okay with scary?” I prod.
“Sometimes,” she admits. I think back to her opening the door in a Disney sweater. Anything with horror in the title doesn’t fit Haley, but I think it’s cute she’s trying to be brave. “If this show doesn’t have creepy kids, I’m good. They freak me out the most.”
“We won’t know unless we try,” I encourage.
“True.” She relaxes back in her spot next to me, arranging the blanket she’s been using so it covers us both. “But you have to promise not to make fun of me if I scream or can’t sleep tonight.”
Laughing, I slip an arm around her and pull her closer, rubbing small circles on her shoulder with my thumb. “Don’t worry, I’ll be here to fend off the creepy kids.”
I push down everything in me that’s saying, Why are you touching her like this? Stop touching her.
Because I don’t want to stop touching her. It feels good. She feels good.
She peers up at me. “You will, huh? Who said you could sleep over again?”
I lick my lips, shocked I even suggested I stay again, let alone assumed it. “I… Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine. Besides, I was going to make you stay anyway.”
I refuse to allow the twitch in my lips to form a true smile. “Did you just admit to planning on kidnapping me and holding me against my will?”
“Yes.”
“Fair enough.”
She grins in triumph and turns back to the television, clicking play on the remote and starting American Horror Story. We’re bathed in darkness as the screen remains black, the little icon circling and circling. I can feel every inch of her plastered against me. She’s soft, comfortable. Too comfortable. And now, again, all I can think of is the way this could go. I mean, the situation is perfect for a hot and heavy make-out session, something I wouldn’t dream of turning down.
Oh crap. No. No, Gaige. Step away from her. Focus on something else that doesn’t include anything sexual. You are not here for distractions, purely friendship. Friends only. Remember that, you horny fucker.
While the show buffers, I reluctantly remove my arm from around her, not wanting to make this seem any more intimate than it already is. Hell, I was a teenager once upon a time. I remember insisting on watching scary movies with my girlfriends just so I could cop a feel. I don’t want Haley to think that’s what this is, because it truly isn’t, so I think it’s best I keep my touching to a minimum from here on out…especially since her skin feels like silk beneath my fingers, and since I’ll be staying the night again. Despite my jokes earlier regarding her continually putting the emphasis on the just sleeping part of our slumber parties, tonight I’m the one needing reminders left and right.
But truthfully, she’s the one to blame after all her sex talk earlier.
That’s it, Gaige. Blame Haley. You’re innocent…for a change.
If I could slap my mental self, I would. I’m a moron.
A moron who doesn’t need any of the complications that will arise with this line of thinking, with wanting.
I focus my attention to the screen in front of me just as I see a little girl warn two small boys not to go into a house. They ignore her, predictably. Knowing where this is going, I check on Haley with a quick, inconspicuous glance. We’re not even five minutes into the show and she’s clutching my arm under the blanket, eyes wide, terror shining vividly.
“What the shit?” she mutters before she jumps violently and a loud scream falls from her lips.
My body shakes with stifled laugher, trying my damnedest to not make a sound. A loud thwack reverberates through the room as she slaps my stomach and I double over, clutching my stricken belly, laughing harder and openly at her.
“It’s been five minutes!” I say once I’m able to. “You’re a damn chickenshit!”
“You promised you wouldn’t laugh!” she accuses, her lips twisting into a frown of sorts.
“Correction: I promised to fend off creepy kids in the middle of night, not to hold in my laughter. There you go making assumptions again, Hales.”
“That’s an asshole move, asshole.” She pouts, crossing her arms over her ample chest.
I begin a witty reply, but I’m too enraptured by the sight in front of me. In the span of a few seconds she’s glued back to the show, fully engrossed in the storyline. Much like her, I’m unable to look away. She’s so…intriguing. I count the seconds that tick by, noting how she only blinks twice in a minute, which is insane because I happen to know that on average people blink about fifteen times per minute, or once every four seconds.
I don’t bother returning my attention to the show, too interested in watching Haley’s reactions. Every time the creepy music plays, her mouth floats open. Whenever someone pops up out of nowhere, her breath hitches and her eyes grow twice their size. And whenever something truly scares her, she lets out a little squeal and grips my arm tightly. It makes me feel like a fucking king because I’m the one she’s clinging to.
Her chest is pumping fast, and I try not to let my eyes fall to her breasts, because then I’ll just think about how she’s not wearing a bra again, but I’m unsuccessful.
Great. I’m thinking about it again—or more accurately, again again.
I force my gaze upward, back to her face, to those full lips of hers. I’m just in time to watch another gasp slip from them. It’s subtle and somehow sexy. If someone told me my body had a mind of its own, I’d believe them right now, because for no and yet every reason, I’m suddenly leaning in closer to her. Inching slowly, my focus purely on her lips. I want to touch them, taste them. I want to capture them between my own and never break for air.
Kiss her, kiss her, kiss her, chants a devious voice in my head.
Oh, I want to. I want to kiss her bad.
I’m just shy of being all up in her personal space when I snap o
ut of whatever the fuck is going on with me and casually move myself back to where I was. It takes minutes to talk my dick down while I pray she doesn’t happen to look over at the tent in my jeans.
I haven’t had an accidental boner since I was fifteen. What the hell is wrong with me tonight?
“Do you want to watch another?”
Her silky voice startles me, causing the hairs on my arms to rise. “Another what?” I manage once I right myself.
“Uh, episode?” It comes out a question, like she’s not even sure what she’s talking about.
“Um, sure. How many have we watched now? I haven’t been keeping track.”
She frowns. “Are you not liking it?”
“No!” I say too quickly. Taking a deep breath, I urge myself to calm down, to talk naturally. “No, it’s not that. I’m actually a little too engrossed.”
Haley studies me, looking for a fissure in my lie. It’s a partial lie, technically; I am too caught up in something—just not the show.
It’s her.
Her mouth, her eyes, her gasps, her hand on my arm. I’m too distracted by it all.
“Three.”
“Three?”
“Episode three, Polly. We’re about to start four. You game?” I nod, not trusting myself to talk. “Okay. I’m going to grab some popcorn.”
I nod again as she stands, eying me suspiciously as she makes her way to her tiny kitchen. Closing my eyes, I focus on my breathing while listening to her move around, opening and closing cabinets. The fridge. Setting a glass on the counter. The tink of a bowl following shortly after. The quick slaps of her feet against the tile as she races to beat the last few kernels, trying to save the popcorn from burning even the slightest bit. The shimmy of the freshly popped snack scraping against the bag as it falls into the bowl. The fridge again. I get lost in the sounds. For someone who immensely enjoys silence, I’m surprised at how immersed I am in her noises right now. Everything sounds like an intricate dance instead of someone simply grabbing a snack.
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