One Night: A Real Man

by Snow, Jenika

  And now I had to face him, to do the “walk of shame,” and that scared the hell out of me.

  I let my hands land on the bathroom counter, curled my fingers around the edge of the sink. And then I just stared at myself in the mirror, cursing internally, hating myself in that moment for not being stronger.

  I couldn’t even blame last night on being too drunk to know what I was doing, because although I had been pretty intoxicated, I’d been with it enough to know I all but seduced my best friend. I had sex with him, and on top of that, it had been unprotected.

  “God,” I whisper-groaned, looking a hot mess as I stared at my reflection. My eyes were bloodshot, dark bags underneath. My hair looked like a rat had been trying to make a nest in it, and I could see my lips were red and swollen, my cheeks slightly flushed. And I knew that redness on my face wasn’t just because I was hungover, but also because I was getting warm thinking about what Devon and I had done.

  My cheeks and lips were red because of the erotic abrasion when he had his face pressed against mine, his scruff moving along my delicate skin as he thrust in and out of me, as he devoured my mouth.

  I closed my eyes and held off my moan, one that was a mixture of pleasure but also fear and just not feeling good. I didn’t know what the hell either of us had been thinking. He’d been just as drunk as I was, so maybe he hadn’t really—fully—realized the implications of being together like that.

  But it was too late to think about the “what ifs” or the repercussions. It was all said and done, and I had to face the fact that things were most definitely different between Devon and me.

  It was unavoidable, something I couldn’t just push away. This stone wall was now between us, this awkwardness I felt so deeply, so tangible it was strangling me.

  I turned on the faucet and splashed some water on my face before using the hand towel to dry off then forcing myself to leave the bathroom.

  I heard Braxton speaking with Devon, knew he’d come by so we could go to the bar to get our vehicles.

  I didn’t know how long I’d been in the bathroom, but time had blended together as I thought about everything, as I tried to look into the future on how this all played out.

  I tried to “look on the bright side,” and I hadn’t been able to get there... not even close.

  I was so humiliated as I walked toward them, knowing it was unavoidable for me to be around Devon right now, even though that was the last thing I wanted. I wanted to hide my head in the sand, lock myself away, and hope the mortification faded. Which I had a strong feeling it wouldn’t. Ever.

  When I stepped into the foyer, Braxton and Devon both looked at me, the conversation suddenly ceasing, the air thickening, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.

  Devon cleared his throat and shifted on his feet, but he let his gaze lock on me. Braxton gave me a warm smile, one showing he had absolutely no idea what the hell actually happened last night.

  “Damn, you look just as bad as Devon here. Long night, huh?” Braxton was all laughs this morning, it seemed.

  Devin cleared his throat and shifted on his feet a little bit, and I glanced over at him to see this tight expression on his face. I probably looked the same way. And even though he seemed uncomfortable, he was looking at me as if he couldn’t take his focus from my face.

  He lifted his hand and rubbed the back of his neck, and I looked at that scruff on his cheeks and jaw, remembering how it felt on the side of my face, along my throat as he trailed kisses down the sensitive skin. And more importantly right between my thighs. And as those thoughts crossed my mind, conjuring up memories, causing my inner muscles to clench, I felt warm down there, my body heating, the flesh on my inner thighs so sensitive as I felt the slight abrasion from his five o’clock shadow.

  God, I was getting worked up, when that was the last thing I should be feeling.

  “Okay, well, are you guys ready to go?” Braxton asked.

  I was quick to act, walking over to where my shoes and purse were. I didn’t even remember seeing them down there. But I sure as hell remembered everything after that.

  Once we were in Braxton’s car, I took the backseat, and Devon thankfully took the front. Right now, I needed some distance between us. I was embarrassed, things were weird, and I just needed to wrap my head around everything. But I didn’t miss how he kept glancing at me. I didn’t miss that it was very clear by the way he looked at me he wouldn’t let this go, that he wanted to talk about it.

  That was the last thing I wanted.

  He’d been my best friend for years, and although I did care for him, the truth was I was in love with him. He didn’t know that, and us having sex last night wasn’t exactly like a giant neon sign had been flashed about it.

  It had been two consenting adults enjoying the pleasure of each other. Right? Only that.

  But I kept thinking about us actually sitting down and talking, him telling me how it had been a mistake. And that’s what I didn’t want to hear; that’s what I was so afraid of. Devon telling me it had been a horrible mistake, when it had felt so right and so good to me.

  Before too long, we were pulling into the parking lot at the bar. I told Braxton thanks and got out quickly, just wanting to get home and shower, maybe try to sleep off this hangover. Maybe after that, I’d feel more refreshed, clearheaded. Or maybe I’d feel even worse. Maybe once my hangover subsided, I’d really feel like shit over the whole sleeping with my best friend thing.

  I didn’t look back as I heard the car door open and close, presumably Devon getting out. I was hauling ass to my car, digging in my purse for my keys, and praying that I could just get out of here before a confrontation happened. And I knew that was going to happen.

  “Leila?” Devon called out from behind me. I heard Braxton’s car departing, the sound of his vehicle leaving becoming more distant. “Hey, Leila?” Devon called out again, and I was right beside my door now.

  I closed my eyes, breathing out roughly, my car keys still in my hand. I didn’t want to leave like this, being a bitch and ignoring him, but what else was I supposed to do? How else was I supposed to react?

  I forced myself to turn around and face him, swallowing a thick lump in my throat. He had this pained expression on his face, and it cut me deep, tore out my heart so there was this hollowness, this dark pit that took its place.

  “Hey,” he said and stopped a few feet from me. “Were you just gonna leave without saying goodbye?” He shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, and this silence descended on us.

  I knew he had to be just as hungover as I was, but he looked good, awake and clearheaded. The pants he wore were loose denim, faded. He wore dark boots and a plain white T-shirt. His muscles stood out in stark clarity, all that golden flesh looking even more tan against the crisp white of his shirt.

  I ran my hands up and down my thighs, the keys digging into my skin. “I’m sorry,” I said, meaning that in more ways than one.

  His brows were pulled down as if he was confused by my statement. “What are you sorry for?” His question was genuine, not like he was calling me out and wanting me to say what needed to be said.

  I cleared my throat and looked down at the ground, kicking the gravel around with my foot. “I’m sorry I was going to leave without saying goodbye.” I looked up at him then, keeping the rest to myself. “I just feel like shit and want to get home, take a shower, and wash the booze off.” I grimaced, because that statement made me think of last night, how maybe he’d think I was talking about washing off him, his scent, the stickiness I felt between my thighs. And that was another hard reminder that we hadn’t used protection.

  He was silent for a moment, his expression stoic as he stared right in my eyes.

  I knew I probably looked uncomfortable. I felt nervous as hell, shifting on my feet, the gravel under my shoes moving around and seeming obscenely loud. I also kept fidgeting with the keys, the clank of the metal an annoyance I couldn’t stop. And I knew Devon to
ok all that in by the way he glanced at my hand then down to my feet before lifting his eyes back to my face.

  “Okay,” he said softly, but his voice was still husky, still hard and deep with whatever he felt. “I’ll talk to you later then.” He didn’t phrase it like a question. There was no mistaking that he would be talking to me later; that’s why he said it the way he had.

  I licked my lips and nodded, but right now, I wanted to avoid Devon. I wanted to just bury my head under the covers and process it all.

  I just wanted to get the hell out of here.

  * * *

  Devon

  I watched as Leila left the parking lot, driving to her house. Things were fucked up between us. I felt it, like this other body between us, blocking me from getting to her.

  I ran a hand over the back of my neck and exhaled roughly. I didn’t know how to handle this, how to make it better. I didn’t know what steps to take to try to rectify the situation. She needed time; I knew that. But the part of me that was in love with her didn’t want to give her that time. I wanted to show her what we’d done was right, that she was mine, that I wouldn’t let her go.

  Yeah, things were tense and weird between us this morning, but surely she felt what I had, how good it had been between us, how right we were together?

  I guessed I just had to show her, prove to her that we were made for each other. Although I could say the worst that could happen was she didn’t want me like that, that it had all been about the alcohol. But I’d look her right in the eyes and tell her that was a fucking lie. I felt her touch, saw the way she stared at me. It hadn’t been the booze talking. That had been her emotions speaking to me directly.

  She could try to deny it, she could run, and she could hide. But I’d show her, prove to her that there was something more between us than just friendship.

  And I wouldn’t stop trying until she fully understood that.

  10

  Devon

  This was the third time I tried to call Leila after dropping her off at the bar to get her car. She acted weird around me, so fucking uncomfortable it made me twitchy.

  I could relate.

  What we’d done last night certainly changed things, but not for the worst like she no doubt thought. I felt closer to her now more than ever, sharing a part of myself with her I wanted to share for so damn long.

  But her reaction the next morning made me feel like it was all one-sided. Surely that wasn’t the case? The way she’d given herself to me, the things she told me, all led me to believe that my feelings this whole time hadn’t been just me. But shit, maybe I was wrong.

  I disconnected the call and unceremoniously tossed the cell on the table.

  “Fuck,” I growled and ran a hand over the back of my head. I was frustrated—not with Leila, but with myself. I should’ve talked to her fully before we left, but she’d been in such a hurry to leave, the awkwardness coming from her so tangible I hadn’t wanted to make things worse.

  I should have left her alone last night, shouldn’t have sat on the bed beside her, because it led to all this. I knew I wouldn’t have been able to control myself, but I wanted her so fucking much.

  But I couldn’t say I regretted being with her, because I didn’t. I never would. It was the best thing I ever experienced in my whole fucking life, and not just because it felt incredible, but because I was finally with the woman I loved.

  I’d give her a day or two to get her thoughts settled, but she wasn’t going to push me out of her life. She wasn’t going to push me away or create this wall that stopped our growth. There was too much history between us, and there was no way I was giving Leila up.

  If she thought this was a mistake, that what we’d done was wrong, so be it. I could be her friend, only her friend, if that’s what she wanted. It would be painful as fuck, but I would not let Leila walk out of my life.

  * * *

  I found myself driving to her house before I could talk myself out of it, before I could stop myself. She was avoiding me, and I wouldn’t have that. I couldn’t. We needed to hash this out. We needed to talk about it, even if it was uncomfortable as fuck.

  But I was tired of waiting around. I wanted to just work this out, bring it to the forefront of the conversation so we could move on. The longer we waited, the weirder it was going to be.

  Ten minutes later, I was pulling into her driveway, thankful her roommate’s car wasn’t there. The last thing I needed was Shia hearing this and getting into our business.

  I cut the engine and got out of the car, thinking maybe I should’ve called Leila first to tell her I was coming by. She wouldn’t have answered, but at least I would’ve given her a heads-up in her voicemail. But on that note, I didn’t want to spook her away, give her a reason to not be home when I showed up.

  I brought my knuckles down on her front door three times and then waited. I could hear her roommate’s dog barking, one of those little Pomeranians that sounded more like a squeaky toy than an actual animal. I was about to bring my knuckles down on the door again when I heard the lock disengage.

  The door was pulled open, and I could see on Leila’s expression that she’d known it was me on the other side before she even opened the door.

  For a moment, neither one of us spoke. I cleared my throat and lifted my hand to run it over the back of my neck. I hated that things were like this between us.

  “Hey,” I said, shifting on my feet, feeling pretty vulnerable right now, which I hated. I’d never felt this way around Leila, things so unsure and up in the air. Things had always been so comfortable.

  “Hi,” she said in a soft voice and pulled the door open farther.

  Her long dark hair was piled high on her head in what I knew she called a top knot. It was something she did when she just stayed at home, when she told me she was “too lazy to look presentable.” But she looked so damn gorgeous like that, whether she was dolled up or when she didn’t wear a stitch of makeup and was in baggy lounge clothes.

  She was perfect.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Can we talk?” I asked, and she glanced down at the floor, breaking eye contact. “You won’t answer my calls and are avoiding me like the damn plague.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that.” She looked at me then. “Things are just... weird, I guess.”

  I nodded slowly. “Yeah, but they don’t have to be.” The uncertainty on her face was tangible, and I just wanted to wipe it away, to bring back the girl who never questioned being around me. I cleared my throat again and asked, “Can I come in? Can we talk for a little bit?” I saw the hesitation on her face, in her body language, but she pulled the door open wider and stepped aside, letting me enter.

  The AC blasting had the interior frigid. She closed the front door, and chills raced up my arms. But I knew it had nothing to do with the cold air and everything to do with whatever was about to happen in this conversation. Maybe now wasn’t the right time. Maybe I should give her longer, let her process things more at her own pace.

  I felt this stronger pull to her than I ever had because of that one night of claiming her. And that’s exactly what I’d done.

  I claimed Leila as mine. She just didn’t know it yet.

  But she might not be feeling the same way, and I guessed that was what I needed to find out, and then I could plan the next course of action.

  She headed into the kitchen, and I sat down at the dining room table. I watched her as she grabbed a couple glasses and set them on the table before turning and heading toward the fridge and pulling out a pitcher of lemonade. I knew she was trying to keep busy because she was nervous.

  After she poured us both a glass and set the pitcher on the table, she took a seat across from me.

  “Thank you,” I said as I reached for my glass, bringing it to my lips and taking several long swallows of the slightly sweet and sour drink. But still, it couldn’t quench my thirst, because what I was parched for had nothing to do with needing something to drink.


  It had everything to do with Leila, and only her.

  A gruff exhale left me, and it was a mixture of frustration for how things played out and hesitation on how things would move forward. “I think we need to talk about that night, Leila.” I just came out and said it, not beating around the bush.

  She licked her lips and nodded slowly. “Yeah, that’s probably best.” She looked down at the table, and I saw her running her fingers over the condensation that started to form on the outside of the glass. “Although I don’t really know what to say, Devon. I don’t really know how to process any of this.”

  Telling her that I was in love with her was right on the tip of my tongue. Maybe it would clear the air, make things better for her. I was about to say it, but I stopped myself. She was already freaked out, and rightfully so. Me telling her that I was madly in love with her could push her over the edge to where she really put a wall between us. I didn’t want that.

  When I finally told her what she meant to me, how I felt about her, I wanted things the way they were, not this tension that was suffocating us, closing in on our relationship.

  “We were drunk, Leila. Things just happened. I’m sure this isn’t the first time best friends banged.” I was trying to make light of the situation, smiling at her and making it seem like it wasn’t a big deal. But inside, it was a big fucking deal. It meant she was mine, and I was not letting her go.

  I know I told myself that if she just wanted to be friends then so be it, but as I sat across from her, really talking to her for the first time since it happened, I knew that would be impossible. I didn’t want anyone else touching her. I didn’t want any other men talking to her. Fuck, I didn’t even want any male to look in her direction.

  Those thoughts had possessive jealousy swirling inside me, and I curled my hands into tight fists and placed them on my lap so she couldn’t see how tense I actually was.