by Maya Hughes
She doubled over with laughter, curling into the fetal position while flailing and wiping the ends of her hair off on my shirt. “That’s what you get for pretending to be asleep.”
“How is trying to touch my brain with your hair a suitable punishment for fake sleeping after being woken up by your bed-shaking snores?”
Her eyes narrowed and she shoved at my shoulder. “I don’t snore.”
“You’re totally right. The fog horn must have been all in my head.”
“Fog horn!” She charged forward, her fingers diving to my vulnerable sides, digging in and revisiting the tickling from before back on me tenfold.
My legs kicked out and my body recoiled, trying to evade her fingers of punishment.
Her hands sunk lower, going for my stomach. She sat up and got onto her knees for maximum leverage and control. Her hair fell around her face above me like a curtain.
I jerked away, but there was no escape with the wall at my back. Having her this close, even with the tickle treatment, hadn’t totally killed my erection. And I knew the exact moment she found it.
The back of her hand grazed the head of my dick and stilled.
She didn’t yank her hand away. Instead, she kept it there with my dick spelling out precisely how revved up I was in Morse code on the back of her hand.
.. ..-. / -.-- --- ..- / -.- . . .--. / - --- ..- -.-. .... .. -. --. / -- . / .-.. .. -.- . / - .... .- - --..-- / .. .----. -- / -. --- - / --. --- .. -. --. / - --- / -... . / .- -... .-.. . / - --- / ... - --- .--. / -- -.-- ... . .-.. ..-. / ..-. .-. --- -- / -.- .. ... ... .. -. --. / -.-- --- ..- .-.-.-
Her eyes widened. But her hand remained. She didn’t jerk away like she’d been burned, although it felt like my skin was lit aflame.
I groaned, torn between leaping out of the bed and turning her hand, so she could touch me fully.
“LJ.” The breathless half-question did nothing to kill the erection.
As if she’d heard my thoughts, her hand brushed along the head of my cock and she palmed it through my sweats.
We both sucked in a sharp breath.
I reached out and wrapped my fingers around her arm.
Her half stroke drew a groan from my lips.
Through the soft fabric of my pants, the heat and weight of her hand made it hard to breathe. I’d spent so many nights wanting exactly this.
I was tempted to pinch myself to test the reality. It would take a cleat to the chest to wake me if this was a dream.
Her gaze jumped from the blanket still draped over me from the waist down to my eyes.
She had taken the lead, her tentative movements more than a brush, but less than a stroke with the barrier between us. A gap of intention big enough to deny. ‘Oh, I thought that was your hand’ or ‘I was joking and shoved a flashlight in my pocket to screw with you.’
I fought to keep my eyes from rolling back in my head. My mouth and lips were dry and my fingers itched to touch her.
I pulled her closer. “Marisa—”
Her hand slipped into the waistband of my sweats.
I grabbed her wrist and pulled it back out.
A hurried hand job wasn’t what I wanted our first time to be.
I rested my forehead against hers. My lips inches from hers. My blood on fire in my veins and my dick growing by the second to full mast, heavy and ready for her touch.
“Marisa…” My voice came out strangled and tortured like my body was kicking its own ass.
She tilted her head, her eyes hooded with desire. This wasn’t a drunken night of craziness. It wasn’t something we could walk back from and chalk it up to the booze or late night loss of inhibitions. And I wanted it. I wanted her.
A sharp knock broke through the tug-of-war in my chest. “Marisa, you have a…visitor.”
Her head snapped back and she looked at me. Her eyes scanned my body before returning to my eyes like she’d also thought she had been dreaming.
She dropped off the bed, looking more like she’d fallen out instead of jumping out. “It’s probably Liv. I’ll see what she needs.” Her stunned breathless expression morphed into a smirk—a full, plump, kissable one which sent a thundering throb straight to my straining erection.
When she got back into bed, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to tell her no. I wanted her just as much, had wanted her for too long.
All the reasons I’d held back before had been eroded with three weeks of nearly constant contact and nights with her beside me. Our friendship. My plans. Her dad.
Grabbing a hair tie off the knob at the top of my bed where there were at least twenty, she put her hair up before disappearing out the door.
I slammed my head back against the pillow, muttering every curse in the book at her former roommate’s terrible timing.
What if Liv had found another place for them to live? What if she’d broken up with her pro hockey player boyfriend again and planned on occupying all of Marisa’s time with ice cream and nail-painting whisper sessions?
I jumped out of bed and headed after her.
Yeah, I was an asshole.
This wasn’t how I’d planned for this to go. There were so many plans swirling around my head for how to bridge the chasm from best friend to girlfriend. All of them had been flattened like a kicker put on the defensive line.
By the time I was halfway down the stairs, Marisa was standing in the partially opened door.
It wasn’t Liv. The two of them would have been on the couch laughing or cursing someone’s name by now.
Marisa had her arms crossed over her chest and was using her elbow to keep the door from opening any more.
The deep set of her frown was highlighted by the bright sunlight casting harsh shadows on half her face, not reaching the rest of the house with her wedged in the opening.
Who the hell was here?
Every protective cell in my body ignited to get between her and whatever made her fold her arms over her chest like that.
I jumped to the bottom of the steps and tugged open the door, ready to take down whoever stood on the porch giving her shit, but all those feelings withered and retreated as I stared back at the man in his mid-fifties in a Fulton U cap and polo shirt.
“Coach Saunders…” I licked my lips. The ones I’d been seconds from pressing against Marisa’s.
“See, I’m perfectly fine.” Marisa stepped back and stood beside me to fully block the doorway like she expected him to barge in without me there as backup.
Coach Saunders looked from her to me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why would I? I’m safe. You were at the combines anyway, so it’s not like you were even here.”
“You could’ve called me.” He wasn’t looking at her. His eyes bored into mine.
My skin felt like it was blistering. Shit.
Marisa would’ve killed me if I told him about the fire. I’d badgered her about calling and she swore she would.
“The paramedics didn’t even take me to the hospital. LJ picked me up and brought me here. I’m good. I’ve got people around me I can count on.” That was a grenade launched straight in his face.
His gaze swung back to her, softening. Worry creased the deep lines of his face. “What about your things? Do you need new clothes? A computer? Or anything else before your trip?”
“I took care of it all. Renter’s insurance is paying for most of it. I’ll save a nice chunk of change on the checked bag fee, since I only have enough possessions to fill one.”
He shook his head, pain and regret etched deep in every line. “I wish you’d called me.”
She let loose a humorless laugh. “I’ll see you at Monday dinner.”
“I know you think I’m the bad guy, Marisa.” He lifted the brim a few times like he needed to air out the furnace churning in his head before settling it back on his head. “All I want is for you to be safe and happy.”
Marisa peeked over at me with a hide-and-seek smile. “I am.” She stepped closer to me and wrapped her ar
m around my waist. Her fingers toying with the waistband of my sweats. Shit. This was monumentally bad. After three years of dinners, she’d never taken pissing her dad off this far.
My muscles went lockjaw tight.
His laser focus was back on me. His gaze swept over me from top to bottom, zeroing in on my crotch like he was about to rip my dick off with his bare hands.
I followed his gaze and with horror-movie realization saw the spot on the front of my pants. The slightly damp, definitely not pee spot as I stood with his daughter’s arm wrapped around me.
I jolted, jumping back and pulling Marisa’s arm from around me and dropping my hands in front of me.
She looked over at me, her eyebrows dipping before she folded her arms across her chest again.
My stomach plummeted.
“And I’m safe and happy.” But she didn’t sound it in the slightest. There was an edge to her voice. “I’ll see you on Monday.” She closed the door without waiting for his reply.
With a long hard look at me that felt even more searing than the one from her dad, she dropped her arms and climbed up the stairs to my bedroom.
“Brutal.”
I jerked at the invasion, turning to glare at Reece holding a mug and standing in the kitchen doorway.
“I don’t need the commentary.”
He stepped in closer, chancing a glance at the empty staircase. “All I’m saying is you need to make a choice, because you might not just be fucking yourself over with this thing with you and Marisa. Coach could take this whole house out. I know you two have been friends for forever. But he has your career by the balls. If he decides you’re out, that’s it. No draft. No pro career. No pro money.”
“She’s my best friend.”
“Would she want you giving up your dream for her? For your family?”
My back stiffened. It had been a hard road since my dad had first been diagnosed. My parents had tried to shield me and my brothers, but there’s only so much that can be hidden.
My parents had been struggling even after my dad beat cancer three years ago. It was the scariest time in my life, a time I never wanted to go back to, where we’d had to sit down and decide if we wanted a roof over our heads or to push forward with lifesaving treatment for my dad. If anything like that happened to someone I cared about again, I wanted it to be as easy as writing a check.
I’d waited so long for the time to be right. It had never been.
Not after our first kiss in my backyard treehouse in third grade, where she punched me in the nuts for springing on her.
Not after our second one at the seventh-grade dance, where our braces got stuck together beside the pull-out bleachers in the gym, and we’d had to be separated by the school nurse. We’d spent the next couple years trying to live that down.
Not after I recreated the senior trip for her after she’d saved my dad’s life and she had made it categorically known that she wasn’t into me that way.
But keeping this inside was like wrestling with a part of my soul trying to break free to tell her.
“I love her.”
He squeezed the back of his neck, shaking his head. “Will you still love her in a year? In two years?”
“I’ve loved her since we were fifteen. It’s never going away.”
With the all-knowing look he’d barely earned after having his cake and eating it too with a first-round draft pick and the woman he loved, he dropped his hand to my shoulder. “What’s better for everyone? Waiting or thinking with your dick?”
“I’m not thinking with my dick.”
“That’s not what the stain on the front of your sweats says.” He took a sip from his mug.
I tugged my t-shirt down lower. Did I have a neon fucking sign pointing to my crotch?
Waiting. Waiting even longer for her. I shoved my hands into my hair, resting my forehead in my palms. What choice did I have?
“If I tell her we can’t do this because of her dad, she’ll never forgive him. She barely speaks to him as it is.” I looked to Reece.
“Isn’t it better that she hate him, than hate you?” He disappeared back into the kitchen to leave me with those lingering words.
I was left alone in the empty living room. People laughed and shouted outside on the sidewalks. The blinds were still drawn inside; the house only now waking up.
As much as I wanted the answer to be him, she deserved a shot at some kind of relationship with her dad. Her mom hadn’t always been there for Marisa. A last-minute trip to visit a sick friend, a car breakdown or a work meeting that ran late. Anytime my parents took her aside to talk to her, she’d always reassured us her mom was just busy and was the go-to responsible friend, so everyone always turned to her.
During middle school, Marisa had hung out after school during my practices to get a ride home with me, and she’d usually stayed for dinner.
But her dad was trying. For over a year he’d been trying. Maybe what he was doing to me was fucked up, but I was also the one who showed up to every dinner he tried to have with Marisa to get her to open up. There was only one more dinner left before she left on her trip to Venice—a trip she should’ve been able to take years ago, if it hadn’t been for me. If she hadn’t sacrificed it for me.
Taking the stairs one at a time, I walked up to my bedroom and took a few breaths before pushing the door open.
Marisa was crouched by her backpack, dumping highlighters, pens and paper all over the floor. Her whole life was crammed into that bag and one of my dresser drawers. Other than the few clothes I’d given her, there wasn’t much I could do to help.
My scholarship took care of rent, food, and a night out a few times a semester. I’d check in with the financial aid office and see if I could get a small student loan. Paying it off would be easy as soon as I signed my contract.
I wanted to be able to take her out and replace everything she’d lost. Get her brand new clothes, a top-of-the-line computer, and anything else she wanted. But I wasn’t there—not yet.
After next year. After the draft. After I signed my first pro contract, I’d be able to take care of her and everyone else I cared about without a second thought. I’d seen the plans the drafted seniors were making.
Reece had been planning out an automated sneaker closet. Guys bought their parents brand-new homes. They paid for their siblings’ college tuition. If they were smart with their money, people they loved never had to worry about anything, and they got the best medical care in the world.
I just had to get there.
Marisa shoved papers back into the now empty duffel. “I can’t find my tutoring notebook.”
I slid a few folders to the side and pulled the worn purple notebook from the stack.
“I know I had it,” she grumbled and shoved more back into the black and gray bag.
I held out the notebook beside her, dangling it in my hold.
Her head snapped to the side and she looked at it and up at me.
I scrubbed my chin. “We need to talk.”
5
Marisa
No, we most definitely didn’t. Not even a little bit. We didn’t need to talk because I didn’t want to hear what he was going to say. He’d telegraphed it all loud and clear downstairs in front of Ron.
My stomach had knotted tight and painful when he’d dropped my arm, letting it flop to my side like a sunbaked fish covered in flies.
A couple minutes before, I’d sworn he was going to kiss me. I could almost feel his lips pressed against mine from the intensity of his gaze.
The ache between my thighs had plowed into me and I was ready to take our friendship to the next level. Obviously, I’d been a freaking moron for forgetting what our relationship was.
Once again, reading the room hadn’t been my strong suit. How many times were we going to do this? Too many, it seemed. Only this time, I hadn’t kissed him—I’d gone straight for his dick. Stepping up my game. Maybe next time around, I’d grab a strap on and some lube.
> I’d gotten a big head thinking his morning wood was due to me. Maybe he had forgotten who I was for a second, just thinking of me as another woman who’d woken up in his bed, not Marisa, his best friend.
With any of the other women he’d slept with, it probably would have been, but not me. And then I’d gone for it and he’d stopped me. Who stopped a girl mid-hand job? Although it was more like a hand-internship or hand-volunteer-work than an actual job.
He’d been looking at me so tenderly in a way that made my heart thump against my ribs and made me feel lighter than air. I had been thinking he was holding onto my arm because he had to touch me. Instead, it was more likely because he’d been trying to keep me from going any further.
And the second I attempted to go for it, he was ready to head for the hills.
How stupid was I? And then he’d stepped away in front of Ron. Double rejection right in my face.
It wasn’t like Ron hadn’t cancelled three weeks of dinners for some scouting and recruiting trips he needed to go on. After all the posturing he’d done about how much he wanted to connect, he’d cancelled more dinners during the season than we’d actually eaten. Instead of making me happy, it pissed me off even more. He’d shown me exactly what was the most important thing to him.
I’d thought about calling Ron after the fire, but I hadn’t, even after promising LJ. I kept meaning to, but other things kept coming up. Maybe it was a test. One where I waited it out to see how long it would actually take for him to realize his daughter might have died in a fire. Maybe.
And I’d gotten my answer: three weeks. It had been three weeks since Liv had woken me from my study hangover with an index card stuck to my face and smoke choking the air from my lungs. Panic had shot through me and all knowledge of exits and fire escapes were wiped from my memory as smoke burned my eyes and seared my throat. We’d crawled out of the apartment, tumbled down the stairs, and were met with firefighters and paramedics on our doorstep.
Three weeks.
It was a hell of a lot better than fourteen years, I guess. That was how long the radio silence had lasted before. I hated that I’d counted the days. Hated that I cared. Hated how much it hurt.
