I should go, leave this night behind us. Close the book on this brief tryst like we planned to. But the thought of leaving is like a serrated knife in my gut. I don’t want to lose this connection.
Maybe I’ll stay a little longer.
I tug her closer and run my nose along her neck, inhaling her coconut scent. Thief that I am, I steal a midnight kiss, brushing my lips over her soft skin.
Sometimes, something hits you all at once. Something that’s been in front of you all along slams into you hard. I’d be a fool if I said this feeling was unexpected. I’d be a liar if I claimed I never thought this would happen.
The truth is, I was wildly attracted to Ally the night we met. Poised to ask her out, I was shot down with her “do you want to be friends” comment. I’d been ready, so damn ready to ask for more. After only a few hours of talking to her at the arcade that evening, I knew I didn’t want to take her home for only one night. I wanted to romance her with dinners, with bowling, with more arcade games, and with walks in the park.
It wasn’t insta-love. But it was insta-like.
She was the kind of woman I imagined could break the spell of my bachelor ways. She dropped the hammer on that quickly, crushing the possibility.
So, friends it was, and I never imagined our connection would turn this deep, this tangled up, like those skeins of yarn in her knitting bag. Somehow, six years later, we’ve become so thoroughly wrapped up in each other’s lives that I can’t imagine how we’d separate. She’s one of the longest relationships I’ve ever had. That’s the issue. I don’t want to stare down a time when there’s no Ally in my life.
But I don’t want to stop touching her either.
I press my lips to her neck, imagining all the other ways I can kiss her. All the places on her body I can explore with my lips. The back of her thighs, her tight nipples, the top of her ass.
Between her legs when she’s hot and wet and hungry for me.
Like she was tonight. My God, I bet she’d have tasted like heaven on my tongue.
A moan escapes my lips as I brush her hair off her cheek and kiss the shell of her ear, fantasizing about kissing her all the fuck over.
Murmuring, she turns to me, maybe still asleep, but maybe awake enough. Her lips find mine, and she brushes hers against me, whispering, “I was dreaming of kissing you.”
Whatever resolve I have—and it’s debatable whether that’s any at all—melts like the snow on a New York sidewalk. I kiss her, and it doesn’t end. It’s a long, lingering kiss, the kind that turns into yet another soft, deep, sensual one, then another. The kind that is scarily romantic but also hints of dirtier desires.
Her hands slide down my shirt, then slip under the fabric.
“Your belly is so sexy, I want to lick it,” she whispers, and I wish I could give in to everything. All my nerve endings spark and sizzle at the prospect of her lips, her tongue, traveling over me.
“It’s still the middle of the night,” I murmur.
“Let’s make the most of it.”
I reach for her hand, sliding it up, over, and around my stomach. Letting myself savor the intoxicating exploration of her traveling across my body.
“Mmm,” she murmurs as her fingers dip lower. “I believe in this too. Your cock.”
I. Die.
Her nimble hands slide over the front of my jeans, cupping my erection. I grit my teeth because it feels too fucking good. So good, in fact, that I should push her away, but I don’t.
Instead, I let her pop open the button to my jeans and slide her palm inside my briefs. I groan as quietly as I can as she touches my dick for the first time. Then, pleasure spirals as she wraps that soft hand around my shaft.
Nice and tight.
She grips me, and I see stars. I see planets. I witness supernovas.
Her blue eyes spark with such naughtiness that I let her stroke me once, twice, three times. The way she fists me makes my bones vibrate with something wild and hungry. I’m nothing but frayed electrical wires, sizzling, crackling.
“A little tighter,” I urge, and she grasps harder, strokes me faster.
The air evacuates my lungs in a hot rush as she reaches the tip. I let loose a gravelly groan as she slides back to the base. Hard, rough tugs.
A few more strokes, a couple pumps, and I could come.
That won’t do at all.
The image alone makes me find the will to remove her hand from my boxers. “Don’t think for a second I don’t want you to jack me off right now,” I tell her, and it’s a wonder I don’t whimper from the loss of contact. It pains me—my dick throbs and practically screams obscenities at me for not letting her finish the job.
She smiles. “Don’t worry. Your dick does good work communicating.”
I laugh as I tuck myself back into my jeans and do them up. “Yeah, he’s skilled in the fine art form of hard gestures.”
She laughs too. “I think I have a good sense of what he’s trying to say.”
“Let me just kiss you for a while.”
Not that kissing her is any less enticing. In fact, maybe it’s more so. It goes to my head. It fries my brain. It makes me think crazy, wild, romantic thoughts.
Dangerous ones.
But what happens in Vegas has to stay in Vegas. What happens after midnight stays in the dark. When morning comes, we have to return to Ally and Miller, friends, bandmates, and no more.
It’s still nighttime though, so I savor this kiss, this sweet devouring of her lips, her tongue, her mouth. “One more time.”
One more time turns into another minute, then five, then ten, until I yank her up from the couch, carry her to her bedroom, and settle her into her bed, planting my palms on either side of her. “If I stay, I will do unholy things to your body.”
She nibbles on her bottom lip. “Someday I’d like to know what those blasphemous things are.”
Someday.
That word makes my chest ache. I’d like that someday too.
But it can’t happen.
“We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”
“Of course we will.”
Her certainty makes me grin. I bend down, plant one more kiss on her forehead. She smiles and sighs contentedly. “Goodnight, Miller.”
“Goodnight . . . hot stuff.” I head to the bathroom, wash my hands, and brush my teeth, since I have a toothbrush here. When I leave the room, I nearly jump out of my skin.
“Hey,” I say nervously to a sleep-rumpled Chloe, who rubs her eyes as she stands outside the bathroom door.
“Hi, Miller.”
“I’m just leaving,” I say quickly, maybe more defensively than necessary. I don’t know what she’s thinking, but I hope it’s G-rated.
“You can stay if you want. The couch is comfy.”
“I should probably go.”
“Do you want to hear something funny?” she says in a whisper, motioning to me.
“Sure, sweetie. Tell me something funny.”
Her voice is a sketch in the night. “Ally thinks I still believe in Santa Claus.”
My eyes widen. “Are you serious?”
She nods, a clever grin on her face. “I know there’s no such thing as Santa, but I like believing in it. And I like letting her think I do.” She brings her finger to her lips. “Don’t tell her.”
I shake my head. “It’s our secret,” I say to this sweet kid who melts my heart, just like the woman in the other room does.
That’s the problem. That’s the big fucking problem. I care for them both too much.
I ruffle her hair, then I get the hell out of there.
Chapter 19
Miller
Miller: Hey, hot stuff. Told you I’m not the kind of guy who dry-humps and doesn’t text by six a.m.
Ally: I’m not sure you specifically did, but hey, that’s clearly another point in your favor.
Miller: Hooray for points. Ready for a busy day at prom?
Ally: You remembered what I’m reading today. :)
> Miller: Does that surprise you?
Ally: It shouldn’t. You always remember. I guess I haven’t stopped liking it.
Miller: Keep liking it. It’ll keep happening. As for me, I’m all about the songwriting today.
Ally: Someone distracted you from songwriting last night. :)
Miller: Someone definitely distracted me, and I regret nothing.
But no regrets doesn’t mean we have a free pass to mess around again. Today, I vow as I turn on the shower, I will resist the irresistible. A little later though, because I need to take care of this morning situation first. It’s the same situation I faced last night when I returned home from Ally’s place.
The solution isn’t nearly as satisfying as the one she teased me with when I left. But the image of her mouth on me will do just fine.
Oh yes, that’s way more than fine.
That’s one of the ways showers are indeed much better than baths.
* * *
The moment of truth has arrived. With a deadly serious expression, I plunk the first Dixie cup on the counter.
Beverly rubs her palms together. “Honestly, I didn’t think you’d come back.”
I scoff incredulously. “Oh, ye of little faith.”
She rolls her eyes. “I knew you’d come back for the birth certificate. But I figured you’d forget all about the great test.”
I fix her with a don’t-ever-doubt-me stare. “There is nothing more important to me in this moment than testing the veracity of this candy’s flavor.” I take a deep breath. “Are you ready?”
She nods solemnly, brushing a few loose strands of hair back into her bun. “I am.”
I stare intently. “There’s no turning back, Beverly. Once you know, you can’t unknow this.”
She nods resolutely, like a soldier.
I line up four Dixie cups on the counter, showing her the contents of each one. Each cup contains a different color of candy—I doled it out in the hall before I came in. I move them around, Three-card Monte–style, mixing up the locations. Each one is marked on the bottom with the candy’s color.
I slide the first cup to her in the taste test. She closes her eyes, fishes for the red candy, and pops it in her mouth. She chews thoughtfully. “It definitely tastes like cherry.”
She works her way down the line, pronouncing grape, lime, and orange.
When she opens her eyes, I thrust my hands in the air in victory. “She shoots—she scores!”
Her eyes widen, and she smiles gleefully. “I got them all right?”
I tap out a beat on the counter. “You sure did, Beverly. You are a one hundred percent certified Skittle aficionado with taste buds like Giada De Laurentiis,” I say, then show her the marks on the bottom of each cup. “You, Beverly, have dispelled the notion of a Skittles Matrix.” I reach into the bag again and hand her a huge, unopened packet of Skittles. “Your reward.”
She clutches the bag to her chest like it’s a precious object, a teddy bear from her childhood returned safely. “Thank you. You certainly made my job a lot more fun. And I do appreciate it because this is the first job I’ve stayed in for a long time.”
I tilt my head to the side, my curiosity stoked. “What do you mean?”
“You name it, I’ve done it. I was a short-order cook. I was a retail clerk. I’ve worked in an auto parts store and as a receptionist at a nail salon. Then I found this job. I’ve kept it for five years and counting. That’s the longest.”
“What do you attribute the longevity to?”
“Honestly,” she says, lowering her voice to a whisper, even though no one’s nearby since it’s still lunch break, “the benefits. This job has really good benefits.” She spins around in her chair, grabs an envelope, and hands it to me. “Plus, every now and then you meet somebody who makes your day interesting.”
I flick open the envelope and verify that it’s Jackson’s birth certificate inside. “Thank you. I appreciate you doing this so quickly.”
She shakes her head. “Sweetheart, I have you to thank. You made my day. In fact, you made two days. I guess you’re one of the benefits now too, and so are these Skittles.” She opens the bag and shakes a few into my palm.
I pop a red one in my mouth, savoring the cherry flavor. As I leave, I linger on that word, letting myself think about benefits.
All kinds of benefits.
Everything snaps into place, thanks to the power of red Skittles.
Chapter 20
Ally
I’m walking on sunshine today. I'm shiny and new. Forget these young adult novels that pay my bills. Someone ought to hire me today to model skincare.
I’m positively glowing as I read a toe-curlingly, heart-meltingly delicious first kiss at a prom scene for my sports-radio heroine. “As the pop music plays, and the lights flicker across the dance floor, Taylor sweeps his thumb across my cheek and brushes his lips to mine. He’s soft and gentle, but full of longing too. I soar to the sky from a kiss at prom.”
I exhale, stretch my arms, and tell Kristy I’m going to take five.
She pokes her head into my side of the booth, holding up a hand to high five. “You are on fire today, girl.” I smack her palm. “Can I have some of what you're having? I want that flow when I'm editing.”
“It's one of those lucky days.” I smile, as if I've got a secret, only I don’t even know what that secret is. Except maybe it’s that orgasms make you feel better about everything.
Or maybe it’s that friendship and fooling around can coexist. Miller and I danced so seamlessly back onto familiar ground this morning, and I’m pretty damn ecstatic about that too. Who said a little nookie would ruin a friendship? Not this girl. We are all good. We slid back to our roles like the path was lubed.
Though that might not be the best word to use.
Because now I’m thinking below the belt again. Truth be told, I’ve kind of been thinking with my lady parts all day long. As I slick on some lip gloss in the restroom, checking out my reflection, those parts are thinking of Miller.
What if we had one more time? One more night? To truly get him out of my system?
I close the tube of gloss, leave the restroom, and nearly bump into our receptionist outside the door.
“Hi, Ally. You have a little gift, it looks like,” she says with a conspiratorial smile and a curious glint in her eyes.
Frowning, I check out the padded envelope she hands me, but there’s no return address—only the words From M.
“Thanks, Meg. I appreciate you bringing this to me,” I say, then spin around since I don’t want to open this with an audience.
Anything from “M” has to be personal. Walking down the hallway, I reach inside and tug out a clear plastic bag filled with red Skittles and wrapped with a red polka-dot ribbon.
A shiver rushes through me as I snag the card tucked under the bow.
Red Skittles are my favorite. They taste like cherries. That gave me an idea. Call me.
M
I stop near the stairwell door and hit Miller’s name in my contacts. He answers immediately.
“Tell me more about this idea,” I say, setting my hand on my belly.
“Remember at the ice skating rink when you said people struck deals and arrangements?”
I remember every detail of that day—when I felt the spark and sizzle for him. “Yes. Why are you asking?”
“I did a little research, and I learned that one of those arrangements is a friends-with-benefits deal.”
My jaw comes unhinged, clanging to the floor. He’s asking me for this? “You want a deal?” I sputter.
“I enjoyed last night, and I thought you did too.” He hums a worried note. “Shit, Ally. Did I fuck up by asking this?”
I answer at the speed of light. “No. I just want to be sure I understand what you’re asking.”
And confirm it’s the thing I’m fantasizing about.
He breathes, sounding relieved. “Good. Because what I’m saying is this—what if we cou
ld keep the friendship and also enjoy some delicious red Skittles?”
“Courtesy to speak English.” I need to know I’m not interpreting him through my own wishes. My face is hot. My bones are humming, and I’m this close to running a hand down my breasts because I need touch.
He takes a beat. “I want you naked. I want you naked and under me. Naked and over me. Naked and coming. Again and again.”
There isn’t a thermometer on earth that goes high enough to record my temperature. It’s shot beyond the stratosphere. “That’s English,” I manage to say.
“What do you think?”
I think I’m an electric line and I could power a whole city. “Yes,” I blurt out, because I want that kind of benefit. “I say yes.”
“Can I see you later?”
I can’t even process what I’m doing in the next ten minutes. “I’ll text you when I’m done.”
I return to the booth, floating on a cloud of climactic possibilities. Sliding on my headphones, I open the book file on my iPad. I clear my throat, ready to tackle the next scene, when my phone buzzes. I need to turn it to silent.
But I catch a glimpse of the message on the screen.
One word.
Ribbon.
I slide it open to read.
Miller: One of the benefits is that I’m going to tie you up with that red ribbon, and I'm going to kiss you everywhere, run my tongue down your breasts, spread your legs, and devour you till you come on my lips. And then I will fuck you like you wanted me to last night. Till you’re mindless with pleasure.
I stare, slack-jawed at the screen. Flirting is one thing—dirty texting is entirely another, and it’s ridiculously arousing. I wriggle in the chair, wishing I could race out of here this second.
Instead, I close my eyes, take a breath, and will away the images, so my young adult book doesn’t sound like the sixteen-year-old heroine walked into the NC-17 version of prom.
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