Forever Hearts

by CJ Martín

  He’s probably texting Shelly. He’s probably arranging their next hookup. He’s probably going to fuck her after he leaves tonight.

  I roll my eyes in disgust, but then I’m annoyed at myself. Why do I give a shit about who Jesse hooks up with?

  “What?” Liza’s voice draws my attention back. “I bet it’d be a bestseller. Certainly better than the Jack Rabbit you have.”

  “Liza!” My voice raises ten octaves. “Okay, I think you’re cut off.”

  I’d confessed one night when we still roomed together that I preferred to use my vibrator, because it was quicker and more efficient than any of the men I’d been with. It was silly girl talk, and I never imagined that she’d share something so private.

  “Sorry.” She shrugs and smirks at Jesse, who’s now watching me with sudden interest. “It’s not like he doesn’t jerk off.” She shrugs again. “We all do it. It’s biology.”

  “Besides”―she tosses the bowl of chips on the low coffee table―“weren’t you the one who said…”

  “Enough.” I slice my hand through the air.

  “No,” Jesse interjects, voice husky and holding more heat than I’ve ever heard before. “I want to hear this.” He pins Liza with his gaze. “What did Ry say?”

  Liza’s gaze jumps between Jesse and me, her smile downright wicked. “That she has more fun with herself than she ever has with any man.”

  My face flames redder than a lobster, shines more cherry red than a summer-ripe tomato. It’s like I have a motherfucking third-degree sunburn.

  Note to self: Kill Liza. Slowly.

  The sound of Jesse sucking in a breath is palpable, and I hear the soft whisper of his words. “Holy shit.”

  My hands shield my face, and my fingers dig into my scalp. How do I get myself into these situations? Yes, Liza is my best girl friend and Jesse is, well, my best, everything, but there are just some things that shouldn’t be discussed. Masturbating habits or otherwise included.

  Not even a minute later, Liza has moved on to another inane topic, but my mortification doesn’t subside. The heaviness of Jesse’s stare weighs on me all night, and every now and again, in a moment of bravery, I sneak a glance his way. His blue eyes are round and dark, pupils dilated, lips parted in the most enticing way, and for a crazy moment I imagine those full lips on mine, on my breasts, on my belly, on my…. What. The. Fuck.

  I’ve definitely had too much wine.

  Blinking my eyes, I force my gaze back to the program. I chuckle at the appropriate scenes, nod my head in agreement whenever Liza says something that demands a response, but truthfully, I’m freaking the fuck out. My mind is reeling, wondering if I read the heat in Jesse’s eyes correctly, and if so, why the hell did I like it so much?

  29

  Riley

  Liza and Jesse leave together a half hour later. Because it’s late and I don’t trust Liza to drive on her own, Jesse agrees to drop her off at her dorm on the way back to his apartment. I hug each of them goodbye and make Jesse promise to call me when he gets home so I know he arrived safe. What can I say? It’s the Leo in me—we’re worriers.

  The combination of wine, our talk about sex and vibrators, and Jesse—holy shit, the way he looked at me—had me…worked up. Glancing at the clock on my nightstand, I grab my computer and settle into bed to enjoy some alone time.

  I’m not even ten minutes into the video—a sexy video—when the shrill ring of the phone echoes in the room. I shift my gaze toward where my cell sits on my desk and reach my arm across to silence the sound. Right now I don’t want to be disturbed.

  Directing my attention back to my computer screen, I lean against the headboard and extend my legs. The woman on screen is beautiful, dressed in a short, pale pink dress. She wanders through the empty house, finally stopping at an open door. She peers through the opening and spies on a naked man in the shower. The camera pans to the back of a tall, muscled body. Beads of water trace a path through the cut of muscle of his upper back, down his tight ass, to his strong legs.

  The man turns suddenly when the woman on-screen gasps. Even soft, he’s huge and thick, just the way I imagine Jesse would be. Wait, no. Definitely not the way I’d imagine Jesse, because I don’t imagine Jesse naked. Or wet. Or covered in soap suds.

  A faint voice calling my name catches my attention. I pause the video and cock my head in the direction of the sound. Hmm. I must have drunk more wine than I thought. I un-pause the screen and continue to watch, my skin already warming with desire.

  But then I hear the noise again, more clearly this time. “Riley? Are you there?”

  I know that voice. Jesse’s voice.

  When I glance at my phone, I realize—to my utter horror—I didn’t decline the call but rather I answered it. Shit. Lurching forward, my finger stabs the “end call” button, but it’s useless because my phone screen is cracked to hell from the recent tumble it took out of my book bag. My finger continues to poke the screen.

  Seriously, please, God, just let me hang up. Please make it end.

  After another ten seconds of trying to disconnect, I finally raise the phone to my ear. I keep my voice light. “Hello?”

  “Ry?” Jesse sounds confused. “Is everything okay? What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. Why?”

  “I don’t know. You picked up but then I didn’t hear anything…”

  Then, as if things couldn’t be any worse, in the precise moment when Jesse’s voice trails off, in that perfect moment of complete and absolute silence, the woman on the screen begins moaning. Loudly.

  Maybe he didn’t hear.

  “What’s that?” Jesse’s voice questions, and I rush to mute the volume.

  Fuck. My. Life.

  #WorstNightmare

  #Dying

  #KillMeNow

  “Nothing,” I clip much too quickly, my face a deep crimson. Did I seriously get busted watching porn? By Jesse?

  My fast response serves only to pique his interest more. “Riley.” He draws out the syllables of my name, the singsong teasing of his voice carrying through the connection. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing,” I answer again, slamming the lid of my laptop closed.

  “Uh-huh,” he agrees in a way that says he knows exactly what I was up to. “Were you watching an adult video?” The way his voice rises when he says the word adult tells me he’s smiling.

  The truth is I’m not embarrassed that I (occasionally) watch porn or that I get myself off…it’s natural. Dave and I are in a weird place right now, I’m horny, and…for fuck’s sake, guys do it all the time. Why do I need to justify or explain myself?

  But I am embarrassed to be caught. By Jesse. Because he was the one I’d been fantasizing about, the one I’d been picturing in the shower with beads of water trickling down his washboard abs, the deep cut V that leads down to his thick, hard—God, what is wrong with me?

  “Whatever.” I roll my eyes and try to downplay the awkward conversation that will ensue. “I assume there’s a reason you called?” I ask, completely forgetting in my confused state that I told him to call when he got home.

  He ignores my question completely. “Holy shit. You were, weren’t you?”

  “Jes,” I say, exasperation creeping into my voice. “What do you need?”

  “Ry.” His voice drops lower, and the tiny hairs on my arm stand on end. “I need you to tell me what you were doing before I called.”

  “Why?”

  “Do you really need to ask?” I hear a door click closed and some shuffling on the other end before he says, “Tell me. Now.”

  The command in his voice pulls me, and I wait, teetering on the edge of a steep cliff, knowing what happens next has the potential to change our dynamic forever. Yet, my mouth begins to move, forming the words that I know should remain trapped inside.

  But that’s the thing with bad decisions, right? Deep down we know they’re wrong, yet we plow forward anyway, thinking maybe, just maybe, the rules won’t
apply to us. And in the end, when we discover that we’re not special and that we don’t get a free pass, we hang our heads in shame, vowing to do better next time, hoping we’ve learned our lesson and won’t fall victim to the same poor choices.

  Jesse and I are no different.

  I know this can only end one way: badly.

  But I take a deep breath and jump anyway.

  30

  Riley

  I squeeze my eyes shut even though Jesse can’t see me, and my fingers pick at the tiny pin-sized hole in the bottom of my t-shirt. “I was on a website…” My voice trails off as my bravado falters. I clear my throat. “A movie.”

  His voice is even, so damn controlled, and I equally hate and love the racing of my own heart as nervous excitement courses through me. “What was this movie about?” He enunciates the word movie, and I can almost feel his voice, smooth as honey, dripping over me.

  I don’t feel like myself. I feel like an amped version of me, the me who says and does whatever she wants. The me who says, “A girl came over to drop something off at her boss’ house, but when she gets there, he’s in the shower and…”

  Jesse’s breathing, strong and heavy, encourages me.

  He likes this. Is it turning him on? Am I turning him on?

  “She shouldn’t want him,” my voice whispers, and I wonder if subconsciously I’m talking about my own desire, my longing for Jesse in a way that I know I shouldn’t. “She wants him… God, she wants him,” I say, voice heavy with lust.

  “Are you turned on, Ry?” His voice strains with each word, like it takes enormous effort to push the sound past his lips.

  “Maybe,” I whisper.

  “Put the movie back on,” he says, and I pause only long enough to reboot my computer. “Tell me what they’re doing now.”

  “She’s in the shower with him, his hands are everywhere.” My voice breaks as my fingers work beneath the waist of my pajama bottoms. “It’s so slippery.” I moan, grazing my swollen flesh underneath my panties. I bite my lip when I hear Jesse groan long and low.

  Is he touching himself, too?

  Fuck, this is crazy.

  We should stop.

  “Jesse.” I pant, my breath puffing in short bursts. “I should…go.”

  “Don’t you fucking dare,” his voice warns. “What happens next?” And the way he asks the question, I’m not certain whether he’s talking about the movie or what happens next with us. I peek at the screen, but avert my gaze just as quickly, my mind much happier building my own fantasy. One that involves Jesse and me in the shower.

  My words echo my thoughts. “She’s on her knees, takes him in her mouth. He grabs her hair to hold in her place. He’s rough, but she likes it.”

  Heavy breathing pours through the line, followed by a strained, “Fuck.”

  “She likes it so much.” I moan as I work myself harder, so damn close to losing it I’m afraid I’ll scream.

  “Fuck,” Jesse curses again. “He likes it, too.”

  “Oh my God.” I moan. Jesse definitely heard me, and I bite my lip as the familiar tingle of nerves begins in my belly, building pressure until it cascades over my spine like tiny bursts of water stretched to their breaking point, my whole body going lax from the effort. The phone drops to my side, and I lie spent, as tiny aftershocks course through my system. After several long minutes, I cradle the phone to my ear, almost positive that he’s hung up. “Jesse?” I whisper, voice sheepish.

  “Yeah?” His voice is strained.

  “Why did you call?” I ask.

  His rough voice scrapes my skin. “No idea.”

  31

  Jesse

  “Friendsgiving” is a tradition that Riley started our freshmen year of college and always took place the first Saturday of December. It began as a way to break up the final stretch of classes and the soul-sucking week of exams before winter break.

  Even though I no longer attended school, as Riley’s best friend, I’m always on the guest list. Hell, I helped her organize most of the party. I chose the toppings for the pizza, picked up the beer, selected the party game (Cards Against Humanity, always), and listened to three different playlists before she decided on the perfect one. Riley and I are a team. What I don’t understand is why she invited Dave.

  Maybe because he’s her boyfriend, asshole, my mind supplies.

  My stomach sours at the thought. I still can’t believe, at nearly twenty-two years old, Riley and I are still playing this cat and mouse game. Christ, we got off together on the phone—and can I just say, holy fuck, was it hot—three weeks ago, but neither of us has yet to mention it. I suspect it will be the same as our other “near hookups.” To be filed away in the “Never to be Discussed” folder.

  Hell, I was half-tempted to bring it up, if only to ask if (and when) we could do it again. Because the way she softly moaned as she came? Yeah, that gets me rock-hard just thinking about it.

  “Anyone want another slice?” Riley asks, as she tips open the lid of the pizza box on the living room table.

  “I’ll take another one.” Dave hands her his plate.

  “Me, too,” Liza chimes in.

  I look at Shelly—what? I had to bring her; this was a couples’ night if I ever saw one―me and Shelly, Riley and Dave, Liza and Scott—but she shakes her head no. I’m surprised Shelly even ate one slice. When we go out she normally pushes the lettuce around on her plate, claiming after two bites she’s “stuffed.”

  “I’m so glad you guys are here.” Riley smiles around a mouthful of cheese. “My first holiday in my new apartment.”

  Liza narrows her eyes. “Yeah, I know.” She laughs and tosses a throw pillow at Riley. “Thanks again for abandoning me!”

  “I did not.” Riley whips the pillow back at her but misses and hits Shelly in the head.

  “Hey!” Shelly whines and knocks the pillow to the floor. I look at Riley and watch as she catches her bottom lip with her teeth in an attempt to not laugh. It was kinda funny.

  “Besides,” Riley continues. “I don’t think Scott is complaining, now that you’ve scored yourself a single room.” She waggles her eyebrows. “I bet he’s sleeping over every night.”

  “Not every night.” Liza giggles. “Are you, Scottie boy?”

  Scott’s eyes widen and he looks at me as though to say “Dude, help!” But what he really says is, “Want another beer?” He pushes himself to stand, and I follow him to the kitchen.

  Scott and I have formed somewhat of a friendship over the past three years, mostly based on our shared desire to not get embroiled in the girls’ in-depth discussions on shopping and make-up. Also, I think Scott knows how I feel about Riley. He’s never asked me or said anything specifically, but it’s this vibe I get from him. That, and this weird chin-tip thing he does whenever he sees us together.

  “Thanks, man,” I say, as he hands me a bottle. “I can’t wait for that guy to leave.”

  “That guy?” He scrunches his nose. “You mean Dave? Riley’s boyfriend?”

  I tip the bottle to my lips and swallow, the cold liquid sliding down my throat and burning slightly. I nod. “He has his hands all over her tonight. Did you see the way he grabbed her ass?”

  Okay, maybe this is the real reason why Scott knows I have feelings for Riley. Because I can’t seem to stop myself from seething every single time I see her and Dave together. And the worst part is I don’t think Riley even likes him. Yet she keeps him around for God only knows what reason—Jesus, I pray it’s not for sex. Though, based on our phone conversation a few weeks ago, I’m guessing sex with Dave isn’t all that great.

  Scott continues, “I think I heard Liza say he’s staying over tonight.”

  What the fuck?

  “And aren’t you with Shelly?”

  I shrug. It’s complicated.

  I met Shelly several months ago at Ho-Ho’s, an upscale version of Hooters, for lack of a better comparison. It’s a Christmas-themed bar where all the waitresses dress as s
exy Santa elves and work for tips. They’re not nude, but they might as well be.

  Shelly’s job doesn’t bother me. I knew what I was getting into. Hell, I met her during one of her shifts. A few guys from work suggested we go out for some beers and we ended up there. I was lonely and horny, and Riley had just got back together with Dave even though he fucked her over… One thing led to another, and three months later, here we are.

  Shelly and I aren’t officially “together,” but we hook up now and then, a sort of mutual arrangement. Things are changing, though. I sense that Shelley wants more. More than I’m willing—or want— to give. I have to end it soon.

  “She’s hot.” Scott takes a swig of beer as he leans back against the counter. “I could get lost in those tits.”

  Here’s how I know I don’t love Shelly, that I have zero feelings for her: because if Scott, or any man for that matter, made a comment about Riley the way he just did Shelly, I’d rip his fucking throat out. My lack of reaction confirms what I already know to be true. Shelly’s temporary. Riley’s my forever.

  I grunt my agreement. Shelly flaunts her shit for everyone to see. Scott’s a guy. He notices. That’s the whole point, right?

  “What are you two doing in here?” Liza peeks her head around the corner.

  Scott whispers conspiratorially, “Girl talk.”

  I raise my beer. “Yep.”

  “Come on.” She loops an arm through Scott’s, then through mine. “The game’s about to start.”

  Scott groans, and I grab the remaining beers from the fridge. “We’re gonna need these.”

  32

  Riley

  A groan rumbles from the sleeping boy next to me. Not boy, I correct. Man. Jesse is a full-grown man, tall and strong, with thick, sharp cords of muscles. So different from when we were kids, yet somehow exactly the same.