Hating Tate - A friends to lovers romance.

by Raquel Belle

  “What!?” I explode at Tate.

  He kisses me. It happens so fast, I can’t even react at first. He’s leaning down, and his lips are on mine. His lips are softer than I expect. When his tongue skims my bottom lip, I let him in. He picks me up, my legs wrapping around his waist, as he pushes me against the side of my car.

  It’s a consuming kiss. I haven’t had one like this in a looooong time. I forget I’m kissing Tate, someone I can’t stand, and focus on how my pelvis aches with want. I grind myself against him, and he groans, his lips leaving mine and finding their way to my neck. I sigh, throwing my head back, allowing access.

  When he sets me down and steps back, I feel overheated and ready to combust.

  “Holy shit,” he says kind of breathlessly.

  “Ummm …,” I say. I have nothing coherent.

  “I should …”

  “Yeah. I should probably …”

  He leans in and kisses me lightly on the lips again. And then walks away.

  I drive home in a daze. Did I just have an epic make-out session with my sworn enemy? What the hell was I thinking? I can’t face that guy at after-school on Monday. Holy cow. What have I done?

  Additionally … now I’m hornier than I’ve ever been in my entire life. I absolutely have to—Have. To.—have an orgasm. And soon. I think my clitoris is about to explode.

  At home, the lights are all out save for the living room. I find Rob asleep on the couch, a plastic dinosaur on his belly.

  He’s my best friend. He’s been so good to us, and he loves us. All of us, not just me.

  I stand over him, at odds with myself. Last night, I almost gave in to this growing, gnawing need. I’m lonely, dammit, and I deserve someone. Right? I deserve something for myself.

  He opens his eyes, just slightly, and gives me a sleepy, sexy grin.

  “Welcome home, mama,” he says, his voice groggy and thick.

  “Robbie,” I say, then hesitate.

  “Everything okay?”

  “I need …” I can’t get the words out.

  “What do you need, baby doll? Come over here, and let me cuddle you. Rough night at work?”

  I crawl next to him. It’s a few minutes. I worry he might be sleeping again. I whisper, “Touch me.”

  His whole body stiffens. “Are you sure?”

  “I need it. I can’t … I won’t promise anything, but I need it, and I need it to be you. You’re the only person I trust like this. Please.” The last word is as painful as the pressure that’s built up between my thighs.

  He slips his hand down my jeans, unbuttons them, pulls the zipper. My black lace panties are exposed. When he runs a finger over them, they’re wet.

  “Fuck,” he says like a prayer. He slips his hand beneath the lace. Those artist’s fingers are long, skilled. He touches my clit, and I almost fly to the ceiling. He fits two fingers inside me, pumping in and out while his thumb beats a strong rhythm against my clit. I arch my pelvis and push against him, soft, incoherent noises escaping my throat.

  His breath is hot on my neck, and he kisses the skin there every so often. I should feel badly about this, right? I’m using him, using my best friend. But Tate McCullough is not someone I want in my future. Rob Duncan is. He’s already more of a father to my kids than their father is. He loves us. We love him. He’s right for me. This is okay.

  I get closer and closer, trying to get Tate out of my head. I keep pushing the thought of him away, pushing away the feeling of his lips on mine. But there he is again and again and as the pressure builds and I let go, it’s his face I see.

  Rob takes a sharp breath as I come, his fingers squeezed by the intensity of my orgasm. He pumps and pumps, riding the waves until I come back to earth.

  He pulls his pants down and slips into me from behind. I’m glad because I don’t think I can look at him right now. We move together as his hand continues to stroke me. I come again a short while later and he follows me, saying my name. Telling me he loves me so much.

  Ashamed, I get up quickly and head to the bathroom. First, we used no birth control. Second, I totally used him. I decide to shower. To wash away Tate. To wash away Rob. I try to wash away the sick feeling I have over what I’ve just done.

  But damn. There I am in the shower, and the water feels good, and I’ve just had two amazing orgasms, and I really needed them. Like, really. You don’t even know.

  Am I a bad person?

  There’s a soft knock, and Rob slips into the bathroom. He doesn’t say anything, just disrobes and joins me in the shower. It’s a tight fit. When he falls to his knees, all I can do is hold my breath, until I feel his tongue slide up my slit. I put a hand on the wall, spreading my legs, letting him have me. He explores my folds with his mouth, and I come again, my legs shaking with the force of it.

  He picks me up and pushes inside me again, forcefully this time, looking me straight in the eyes. His expression is intense with want, and emotion. He kisses me, and I close my eyes. I picture Tate again, feel Tate’s lips on mine.

  I shouldn’t be doing this. But still. It feels so good, and my body needs it so badly. I trust Rob; I wasn’t lying about that. I wouldn’t want this to be happening with anyone other than him. Also, fun fact, his cock is huge, and he knows how to use it.

  I ride against him, pushing him to go faster, harder. I build up one more time, release one more time and feel him shuddering, emptying himself into me for the second time.

  He washes me gently, dries me with a big, blue towel, and brushes my wet hair. He doesn’t say a word. I don’t want him to.

  Chapter Three

  When I wake up, there’s a breakfast smell in the air. Bacon, coffee, eggs …

  I pad out into the kitchen, expecting the stove to be on fire and the dog to be dialing 911, but instead, I find the dog begging for the bacon Rob is frying in the skillet and the kids sitting at the table shoveling cinnamon rolls in their cute faces.

  “What time is it?” I ask, peering at the oven clock.

  “Almost ten,” Rob says. “Thought you might like to sleep in for once.”

  I look around the room. It’s too calm. What the hell is going on? When did Rob come back?

  Or did he ever leave?

  Oh my god, I slept with Rob last night. A lot.

  I head to the counter and pull out a mug, making my morning coffee. Rob asks, “Sleep well?”

  “I … did. Yes. Thank you. You’re here early.”

  He makes a noncommittal noise of agreement. “You want the works? I’ll make you a plate.”

  I imitate his noise and sit down at the table with the kids. Eric is babbling about baseball practice, and Amy reminds me she has a soccer game today. All the while, I’m dripping with shame because I had crazy monkey sex with my best friend in this house while my children slept. And, and, and … I kissed Tate McCullough before that. I am dying—literally dying—inside right now.

  When Rob cheerfully sets a plate in front of me, it’s all I can do to keep from throwing up all over it. I am a bad, bad person. This is not me. I don’t do things like this.

  I pick at my food, and no one seems all the wiser to my inner turmoil. Rob sits down and talks to the kids about what they’ve got going on. I pretend to flip through Facebook.

  When their plates are clean, I send the kids off to gather their sports stuff and get ready for the day. As I help Rob clean up, I say, “Thanks for making breakfast.”

  “Was it bad?” he asks. “You didn’t seem to eat much.”

  “No, no, it was great. I just wasn’t hungry.”

  He leans over and kisses my cheek. “Okay, then.”

  We don’t talk about anything important. I’m not sure what I would say, anyway. I made a mistake? We shouldn’t have done what we did? It was a moment of weakness? I used you to get the taste of Tate McCullough off my lips?

  All of those things are true. But also, I care about you and I needed you last night. And you delivered, but now I feel like you think we’
ve made a commitment that I’m not sure I’m ready to make.

  Rob leaves to meet a group of students from one of his classes. He promises to meet me at Amy’s game. He’s everything Alex isn’t. He shows up. He cares. He provides. He never complains. I’ve been told many times, by many people, that I’d be crazy to let him go.

  I just don’t feel that way about him, I don’t think. It’s hard to reconcile that we could be so compatible, so good with each other, but I just don’t know if it’s love in the way love should work for couples. Yes, the sex was phenomenal—better than our one night twelve years ago, for sure, which tells me he’s had way more practice than I have since then. But seriously, wouldn’t I know if I was in love with him? I love him, yes. I think he’s amazing. But …

  I feel like I would know. And I don’t.

  ***

  “But what?” my friend Meredith asks, as we wait for baseball practice to finish. “Look, Rob Duncan is one of the hottest guys in town. If I weren’t happily married, I’d be one-night-standing his ass every night. And don’t tell me you can’t one-night-stand someone more than once because you absolutely can.”

  I laugh. Meredith’s got big, black sunglasses on, and it’s not even sunny today. Probably drank too much at the wine and canvas night she went to at the local wine bar.

  “Seriously, Hope,” she says, “He’s good to you. He’s got a great gig at the university. He loves your kids. And the sex was good, right?”

  “Amazing.”

  “Well, what the heck? Snatch that boy up, he ain’t gonna wait forever!”

  “ I just …”

  “You just what?”

  “I kissed Tate,” I mutter.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, “but I thought I heard something about kissing that meathead from the community center that you hate?”

  I wince and give her the side-eye.

  “Oh. My. God. Hope? Seriously? What the …were you drunk or something?”

  “No, unfortunately.”

  “Was it gross?”

  “No.”

  “Eww, you liked it?”

  I nod, pushing my lips out.

  “So you went home and screwed the stuffing out of your hot best friend in order to get awful Tate out of our head?”

  “Bingo,” I say. “I was weak. I needed it. It’s been … since Alex left. We had one parting goodbye bang before he left, and it’s been me and my hand ever since.”

  She inhales and exhales in a big, dramatic way. She yells for her son as he gets a hit. “Well, what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t want to hurt Rob. I guess I’ll just … play along. I mean, you’re right. He’s hot, he loves us, he’s a really great guy. I should want to be with him. I should be with him.”

  “That’s not the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard, sister.”

  “I know,” I say, groaning and burying my face in my hands.

  ***

  Rob and I are holding hands at Amy’s soccer game. Holding. Hands.

  To me, it feels like everyone around us is staring, but Rob seems comfortable and happy as a clam.

  I pull away after a while, mainly concerned that the kids will see and ask questions.

  The game is fast and furious. This U12 team is good, but the team they’re playing is really well-matched. After three shots on goal, Amy finally hits the mark and scores. I nearly fall out of my seat screaming for her; it’s her first goal of the season.

  We cheer, and yell, and recount the game all the way home. Neither of the kids seems to have noticed anything between Rob and me, so that’s good. When we get home, he helps us get Rigby out without a neighborhood excursion, and then says he better head home and grade some exams.

  “You give them exams? In art class?” I ask.

  “Yes, we do some history of sculpture stuff, and I do give them exams,” he says. “And I do need to grade, but I also feel like maybe you need some space.”

  I open my mouth but shut it again just as quickly.

  “Look,” he says, “I’m not about to make you feel trapped. I know how you fret over things, and I can counter every argument you’ve got for why we shouldn’t let it happen again, or why we can’t be together, or whatever. Here’s the deal ... You needed me, and I joyfully answered your request. It was a pleasure, Hope, a pleasure. And while I want nothing more than to take it to a reasonable next level, I won’t force it on you.”

  He pulls me into a hug, and it feels so good to have him wrapped around me. I feel so safe, so level, when I’m with him.

  “Thank you,” I say into his shirt.

  “For the amazing, earth-shattering orgasms, or for being an all-around awesome guy?”

  “Both,” I say, laughing. “You know I love you, right?”

  He pulls away and considers. “Yeah.”

  When he leaves, it hangs in the air. He says the same thing every time. Not as much as I love you. And he didn’t say it this time.

  ***

  I don’t see or hear from Rob Duncan for the whole week. I call him twice, but when he doesn’t answer, doesn’t show up, nothing, I give up. It’s not that we haven’t gone periods without talking before. We’ve had arguments, and we’ve gotten busy or needed space. But none of that was preceded by amazing sex and awkward relationship issues.

  In the meantime, I’m doing everything I can to avoid Tate. On Monday, I drop the $30 check to the front desk and have them send the kids out to me. On Tuesday, I call ahead and have them waiting at the door, feigning running late for some sport or another. On Wednesdays he leaves early, so I don’t have to worry. On Thursday, I literally hide around the corner and wait for him to go talk to another parent.

  So on Friday, I rush in, nearly late again, and find him waiting at the sign-out table.

  “I haven’t seen you all week, Ms. Elmore,” he says, arms folded in that annoying way of his. “Has everything been all right?”

  I give him what I think it a nice, non-weird smile, though I’m sure I just look constipated. “I’ve been fine, just busy. You?”

  He nods. “Fine as well.”

  The kids run up, backpacks in hand and I say, “Well, have a good weekend.”

  We start to leave, but Tate calls my name. I hand Amy the keys and tell her to take Eric to the car.

  “Do not start the engine,” I say. “Seriously.”

  You don’t even want to know about the one time they did start the engine.

  As I turn back to Tate, he says, “I wanted to apologize for my behavior last week. I shouldn’t have … it was inappropriate.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “Takes two to tango, but obviously we shouldn’t …”

  “Yes, I’m aware. You don’t like me at all.”

  “Well, that’s not ...” I exhale and make a face. “Yeah. Not really. Though you’re a good kisser, for what it’s worth.”

  He chuckles. “Okay, then. Well, I do believe BBBS has a match for Eric so would Saturday be a good day for an outing?”

  “A stranger is going to come take my child somewhere?” I ask.

  “It’s a good program. I think Eric will really benefit from it.”

  “Ah, I suppose,” I say. “He’s got baseball until noon.”

  “I’ll tell them one o’clock, then.”

  I turn away and wave. “Fine,” I say as I walk toward the door.

  I assume it will be some college student looking for community service hours. That will be fine, I guess, though I thought I’d have a chance to vet these guys before they showed up to take my child to who-knows-where.

  Eric and Amy have decided to make dinner tonight, so we stop at the store so they can get supplies. We do this every so often, mainly because I want them to grow into independent humans, and I usually end up eating a meal that consists of scrambled eggs, undercooked pasta, or Easy-Mac.

  When we get home, Rob is waiting for us. He suggests we take the dog for a walk while the kids make dinner.

  “So … where’ve you been
this week?” I ask. It comes off more accusatory than I mean it.

  “I had some work things, and I spent a lot of time in the studio.”

  “Ah.”

  “And I slept with someone.”

  I stop walking and stare at him, mouth agape.

  “I just …,” he says.

  “You don’t need to explain it to me, Rob,” I say, walking again, trying to get a few paces ahead of him so he doesn’t see my cheeks aflame.

  He grabs my arm. “I do, though. I need you to hear me when I say that I know you feel conflicted about what happened between us. I know you needed release, and that’s okay. But it did mean something to me. I love you, and you know it.”

  “You’ve slept with other people these past twelve years. Why tell me about this one? Why now?”

  “Because I only did it—any of it—to distract me from you. I’m tired of pretending it’s okay to be in the friend zone. It’s not. It sucks, and I want to be with you. So I took the week away to think about things, and I just needed to come here and say what I feel.”

  “Robbie, don’t do this to me.”

  “Don’t do what, Hope? Love you? Worship you? Love your kids like they’re my own? There is no reason for us to avoid taking this step. Why not just give it a try?”

  I bite nervously on my bottom lip. I might cry. Believe you me, I am an ugly, ugly crier, so the last thing I need is to be all blotchy and contorted out here on the street with my dog.

  “You slept with someone else, though.”

  “I just … needed to know. If it would feel different or better or worse.”

  “Did it feel different or better or worse than any other time you ever slept with any other woman? I mean, why do it now? When we’ve just …” I can’t even finish my sentence.

  “Sex is sex, Hope. I have needs, too, and yes, I’ve screwed other women. The whole time wishing it was you. And then it was, and it was amazing, and then you pushed me away.”