by Gemma Weir
I shouldn’t have left this morning. I should have let her wake up in my arms, and told her I’m in love with her, because I am. I’m so completely and totally in love with her that apparently the only person who doesn’t know is her.
Last night she wanted me, almost as badly as I wanted her, but I don’t know if that was the cocktails talking or if it was actually real.
Before we left the bar she was with her date, dancing and flirting with him, and at the end of the night she wanted him to come home with her and the lucky fucking bastard would have if Zeke and I hadn’t intervened. Then it wouldn’t have been me waking up in her room, it would have been him.
Jealousy, hot and fast swells through me and the sudden urge to hunt down the bastard my girl is dating plows through me. He might be a geeky, skinny little fucker, but he’s still a guy and he wants her. I saw the way he was looking at her last night, like he wanted to know what her skin tasted like all over.
I want to know that too, but the difference between him and I, is that one day he might actually find out.
Standing outside her door, I sigh wearily, lifting my hand up and resting it against the cool wood. I should knock, go into her room and confess everything to her, but when she rejects me, I won’t just lose my soulmate, I’ll lose my best friend too.
No, I need to play the long game like Zeke and Valentine suggested and then hope, just fucking hope, that one day she’ll see if she just gave me the chance I could be her fucking everything.
Growling, I push away from her door and head for my own room a few doors down. Throwing myself down on my bed, I stare up at the ceiling, lifting my arm up and dropping it back down over my eyes. The faint smell of her perfume clings to the fabric of my shirt and I groan, my dick twitching in my pants.
The urge to grab my cock and imagine what it would feel like if it was her touching me is strong enough that my fingers are sliding beneath the waistband of my track pants before I even consciously decide to move.
When my fingers meet my rock-hard length, I hiss, my eyes fluttering closed as I wrap my fingers around my girth and slowly move my fist up and down. Precum coats my fingers as I glide them along my cock and allow my brain to wander to Emmy.
I imagine her above me, her thighs spread straddling me just like she did last night. Her hair is hanging over her shoulders, hiding her naked body from mine, but then she smiles and my dick twitches against her bare pussy, feeling the heat between her legs. Her hand pushes mine out the way and she wraps her fingers around me and squeezes.
“Fuck.” The word slips from my lips on a gasp as her hand slowly begins to slide up and down, twisting at the top and pushing me closer and closer to release. Her hair tickles my chest as she leans forward and kisses me, her hands still on my cock.
I can’t help myself; I grab her hair and hold her in place, devouring her lips as she jacks my length. Another groan slips from my mouth and she pulls back, gliding down my body until she’s lying between my legs, my cock only inches from her mouth. Her plump bee-stung lips part and she dips her head, swallowing my cock whole.
Reality hits as my cock jerks in my hand, cum shooting from me, hitting my stomach in hot spurts. As my eyes snap open, I’m dragged back to the present, gasping for air, my chest heaving up and down as my body calms.
“Fuck,” I hiss, my hand still slowly jacking my deflating cock.
That was fucked up, three seconds and a barely X-rated fantasy about my girl playing with my dick and I’m shooting my load like a preteen. But it’s hardly the first time Emmy has been the center of my fantasies. Hell, if I’m honest with myself, she’s been the star of every fucking wet dream I’ve had since I was thirteen years old. She turns me on more than anyone ever has, she’s my ultimate perfect woman.
My muscles go lax, the adrenaline from my orgasm burning away, replaced by lethargy and dissatisfaction. A wistful sigh escapes from my lips. Is this all she’ll ever be to me? A fantasy. Spank bank fodder that I’ll jack off to in the dark of my bedroom while she lives her life with some other fucking bastard. The thought evaporates all of the happy chemicals my release produced and I’m back to being anxious and agitated.
Grabbing a discarded towel from the end of the bed, I clean myself up, tuck my dick back into my sweats and roll to my side, my gaze falling to the window. It’s bright and sunny, a beautiful day, but I can’t bring myself to find any enjoyment from it.
The urge to go to her, to confess everything, is so strong I actually roll to my back and start to get up. If I had any idea how she really felt, I’d have found my balls and told her I’m in love with her already. But if she rejects me it could ruin our relationship and I’ll lose her completely and I can’t risk it. If all I can have of her is friendship, I’ll live with it. I’d rather have the dregs than not have her at all. I’m a fucking coward but at least this way I still have her in my life in some way, even if it’s not in the role I so desperately want her to play.
Somehow Griff and I manage to avoid each other for the rest of the day. The sun is high in the sky by the time I drag my hungover ass from my room, and I’m glad I texted Kent when I finished puking this morning to tell him I wouldn’t be able to make our date tonight. When I get downstairs, the others are there with only one absence.
“Where’s Griffin?” I ask Valentine, when he smirks at me dragging my heels through the doorway.
“Upstairs, I think. Haven’t seen him.”
I nod, then instantly regret the movement as blistering pain ricochets through my skull. Grabbing a coffee, I avoid food, then make my way back up to my room. When I wake again it’s after seven in the evening and I finally feel almost human again.
Shuffling to the bathroom I empty my bladder, then pad downstairs, my stomach growling. As I pass the living room, I can hear the low murmur of the TV, but I don’t go in, instead opting to head toward the refrigerator and the leftover Chinese food I’m hoping is still in there. Grabbing the carton, I quickly reheat it in the microwave, then pull a fork from the drawer and head into the living room.
The room is dark and quiet, except for Zeke who is lazing languidly at one end of the couch, his feet resting on the coffee table.
“Feeling better?” He asks with a smirk.
I nod, shuffling over and dropping down next to him. “I swear I’m never drinking again,” I groan.
His laugh is low and so full of amusement I reach over and shove him in the arm.
“Shut up,” I scold. “Was Kent okay when you left him?”
“Yep, he was drunk off his ass too, so I made sure he got to his dorm okay then walked home.”
“Thank you,” I say, turning to look at him.
“It’s fine. I might not be a fan of the guy, but if he’s important to you, he’s important to me.”
A burst of something that feels a lot like guilt hits me. I wasn’t thinking about Kent as I was mauling Griff and begging him to stay with me. In fact, I’ve barely given Kent a second thought. My thoughts, my everything, has been so wrapped up in Griffin Fucking Bennett that I’m barely aware of what’s going on around me.
Digging my fork into the pot of noodles, I twist a pile up, then lift them to my lips. The salty, greasy goodness hits my tongue and I moan in pleasure.
Zeke laughs. “You should have had a greasy sandwich the moment you got up; it would have sorted you right out.”
“God, no. I puked enough this morning without anything in my stomach.”
“You were pretty badass last night, Em. You kinda blew me away with the way you handled that kid at the bar. Your dad would have been proud,” Zeke says, nudging my knee with his.
Sighing, I lift another forkful of noodles to my mouth, chew, then swallow. “I don’t know how I can be two different people and then just be me as well. Last night, I was annoyed with all your macho male bullshit posturing and I just lost my temper. But other times I have no idea what to say and I’m so meek and awkward.”
“You’re not meek, Em. You might
be quiet, but you’re strong. You’ve never taken any shit from us.” He reminds me.
“Yeah, but I’ve known you guys my whole life.”
“So what? That’s exactly it. You haven’t been pretending your entire life. The person you are with us is the real you. The way you behave with Griff and me, and Nova, and hell, even Valentine, is you. You saw what happened to Nova when she tried to play the roles she thought people expected of her. Don’t fall into that trap, just be you.”
My mind snags on the boy I’ve known forever, but who I think I feel a whole lot more than friendship for and sorrow washes over me. Zeke’s right. Who I am with my best friends is the real me, but if the real me can so easily kiss and grope and want to be with Griff, then maybe pretending to be someone I’m not might be the best thing to do.
My best friend knows who I am. He saw how much I wanted him last night and he ran from me. He obviously doesn’t feel the same way, because he’s one of the only people who really knows what he’d be getting with me.
Tears fill my eyes and I duck my head to stop Zeke from seeing them. I can’t explain to him why I’m crying right now, so it’s better that he not see it. With my eyes lowered to my food, I quickly finish the rest as we sit in companionable silence.
“I should go find my cell, then text Kent to see if he’s all right,” I say, pushing up off the couch.
“You gonna go out with him again?” Zeke asks, his brows furrowed together.
I don’t think. I just speak before I can convince myself otherwise. “Yeah, of course I am. It will be so much easier for me now I know you guys are going to give him a chance too.”
“Oh,” Zeke says slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“Night, Zeke,” I say, not giving him a chance to speak again as I turn and leave the room. Lead fills my stomach and I wrap my free arm around my waist to stem the tide of emotion I can feel coming. Saying that I want to date Kent feels wrong, but I can’t exactly tell Zeke that I want to date Kent so he can help me get over my newly discovered crush on my best friend.
When I fall asleep later that night, my dreams are plagued with visions of Griff, and I wake up, hot and horny with a pulsing need between my legs. It would be so easy to slide my hand into my pajamas and release some of the tension that’s thrumming through my body, but I refuse to get myself off thinking about Griffin no matter how much I want to.
Somehow using him as fantasy material feels like crossing a line I can never step back from and it will only make this need, this want I have for him even heavier.
For the entirety of Sunday, I waste the day lazing in bed, trying to lose myself in a book. But for the first time ever, the lure of another world and a perfect story don’t appeal to me. Instead my head is full of my own fantasies of my own life.
When Monday dawns, I wake up full of fresh determination to ignore my new lusty feelings towards my best friend. Throwing my legs over the side of the bed, I pretend I don’t feel the twinge of desire that courses through me when I squeeze my thighs together, and stomp purposefully to the bathroom. Turning on the water, I twist the control all the way to cold, then step beneath the torrent of icy water, letting it dissolve the lust I refuse to acknowledge.
Ten minutes later, I step out of the shower, dithering as I grab a towel from the rail and wrap my cold flesh in the fluffy cotton. Inhaling deeply, I exhale a relieved breath when I feel normal, calm, stable.
I quickly dry my skin, apply some lotion, then pull on the clothes I brought in with me. Rubbing my hair dry, I pull a brush through the strands and stare at myself in the mirror. There are slight black circles beneath my eyes and my skin looks a little dull.
Staring at my reflection, I scrutinize the way I look, pulling my hair back from my face and holding it with one hand. Tilting my head to the side, I turn one way, then the other, assessing my high cheekbones and freckles. My hair’s still wet and the water darkens it to a brown color, completely different to my natural red. For a moment I wonder what I’d look like if I dyed it a different color and a thought jumps into my mind. Would Griff like me more if I were a brunette or a blonde?
Inhaling sharply, I drop my hair and turn away from the mirror, my breath coming in rapid pants. I don’t want to be that girl; I don’t ever want to be the type of person who would change themselves to get a guy to like them.
My hair is one of my favorite things about myself. I love the color, I always have. Yet one day after being rejected by a guy I like, I’m considering changing the way I look on the off-chance he might like me more.
Avoiding the mirror, I rush from the bathroom and down the hall to my bedroom, narrowly avoiding hitting Valentine as he passes me.
“Emmy?” He says. “You okay?”
The genuine concern in his voice makes my feet stop moving. Valentine isn’t as big of an asshole as I thought he was, but he’s still not the guy who checks on a girl just to make sure she’s okay. Lifting my eyes to look at him, I slowly shake my head. “No, I don’t think I am,” I say quietly.
His eyes widen as if he hadn’t expected me to answer, or perhaps he only asked me because he assumed I’d tell him I was fine. “What time is your first class?” He asks.
“Err, nine thirty.”
“Same. The others don’t have any classes until ten. Go finish getting ready and we can talk on the way to class.”
Then he turns and leaves, stepping into Nova’s room as if he never spoke. What the hell? I’m not sure that I want to talk to Valentine about all the weird stuff I’m feeling, but I suppose he’s the least involved of all of us; the one with the least history and perhaps the most rational perspective.
I find myself doing as he said and go back into my bedroom and get ready, leaving my hair to dry naturally and only applying a small amount of makeup. Quicker than I’m actually prepared for, I’m downstairs, a travel mug of coffee in my hands as I follow Valentine out of the front door.
We walk for a few hundred yards in silence, both of us drinking our coffees before Valentine speaks, “So, what happened to have you all freaked out?” He asks.
A sigh escapes my lips, sounding loud and weary. “This morning for a moment I became someone I never want to be,” I confess.
I wait for him to laugh, or ask me to explain, but he doesn’t, and when I look at him, I find him watching me thoughtfully. Squeezing my eyes closed, I grimace. “I was looking at myself in the mirror and thinking that maybe if I changed the way I looked a guy would like me.”
Again I wait for him to say something, but he remains silent. “I don’t want to be that girl,” I say raggedly.
“You shouldn’t be that girl.” He says, his voice hard and unyielding as he stops walking, reaching out and stopping me. “Look, I know we’re not close. I know it’s gonna take you a long time to realize that I might be an asshole, but I’m an asshole that’s in love with your sister and I will never do anything to hurt her. But regardless of who we are to each other, you should never be that girl. Guys think you’re hot as fuck, Emmy, but even if you were butt ugly you shouldn’t ever change yourself for some guy. We might not know each other that well, but I’ve spent enough time with you to know you aren’t the type of girl that gets caught up in the hype of guys and all that shit. So what’s happened? Whoever he is, if he’s made you feel this way, I will happily hold the douchebag down while you beat the shit out of him.”
A laugh bursts from my lips. “You don’t want to beat the shit out him for me?”
He shrugs. “If you want me to, but I’m guessing you’re just as capable of inflicting damage as I am.”
“My daddy and every single one of my uncles taught me how to bring a guy down. Both Nova and I are pretty badass, but on this occasion there’s no ass kicking needed, unless I’m bitch slapping myself for being an idiot.”
We both start walking again and for a moment neither of us speaks. Eventually I say. “I like a guy and he isn’t interested.”
“It happens,” Valentine says, taking
a sip of his own coffee.
“I know,” I say with a resigned sigh and that’s it, we don’t say anything else until we’re inside the campus, my class in one direction, his in the other. Lifting my hand, I start to wave, but he shocks me by hauling me into a hug.
“Any guy that doesn’t want you is blind, deaf, and dumb as shit. I’d like us to be friends, Emmy. I’m not good at that shit, I don’t trust too easy and I’m an asshole, but I’m here for you, even if it’s just to hold people down while you whale on them.”
Then he releases me, peppering a soft kiss to my forehead before he pulls away and turns to leave.
“Valentine,” I call.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you, friend,” I say.
He nods, then leaves without another word.
I watch as Valentine and Emmy leave the house, then stare like the stalker I am as they walk down the street, neither of them saying a thing as they move side by side both drinking their coffees.
I didn’t see her at all yesterday and I’m still trying to convince myself that I didn’t hide out in my room to avoid her. But the truth of the matter is that I’m not ready to face her rejection or see the look in her eyes when she explains away her behavior and blames it on the alcohol.
Pouring myself a large cup of coffee, I sink down onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar and sulk. I know I’m being pathetic, but I just can’t stop myself or apparently grow a pair of balls big enough to get myself out of this rut.
If I were giving advice to anyone else in my situation, I’d tell them to sweep her off her feet and claim her. Especially after the other night; the way she touched me, kissed me, clung to me and begged me to stay with her. But I’m too fucking chickenshit to take my own advice, so instead I’m nursing a fucking coffee and pining for her.
Hindsight is a fucking wonderful thing and I haven’t stopped kicking myself since I crawled out of her bed. Why did I leave? Why the hell would I leave her when that night was the perfect segue into testing the waters and seeing if she feels anything more than friendship for me.