His Best Friend's Wife

by Ann Omasta

  His Best Friend’s Wife

  Ann Omasta

  Contents

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  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Easter Eggs!

  Taking Chances Sneak Peek

  About the Author, Ann Omasta

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  This book is designed for readers aged 18+ who enjoy getting an inside peek at steamy romantic encounters.

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  1

  I didn't want to want her. I knew I shouldn't want her. She wasn't mine, and thanks to her marriage to my best friend, she never would be.

  It was crazy to desire her this much––to the brink of obsession. The more I tried to forget her, though, the more I craved her with every ounce of my being.

  Cassie had been my dream girl from the first moment I laid eyes on her. And, for the record, I saw her first. Not that it matters much. Dirk called dibs on her before I could even develop a coherent sentence. It was like calling "shotgun" to sit in the front seat of the car––a childish move that had stuck for all of these years.

  I'll never forget that first night we met her. Dirk and I had been young college studs out drinking and celebrating our impending graduation. Dirk had suggested seeing how many girls we could “seal the deal” with in one night, but that idea didn't appeal to me in the slightest. It wouldn't have been a competition, anyway. Dirk has always been the ladies' man, not me.

  It was her laugh that first drew my attention. She laughed with her entire body––tipping her head back, opening her mouth wide, and bellowing from deep within her belly. It was intriguing, obnoxious, and sexy as hell.

  She had been sitting at a table full of tipsy co-eds, but I only had eyes for her. I couldn't even tell you what the other girls looked like. I'm sure they were pretty, but they paled in comparison next to her.

  I vividly remember every detail of how she looked that night. She was wearing a black leather jacket over a low-cut, shimmery silver top. Her form-fitting, faded jeans shouldn't have been as sexy as the short skirts many of the other girls in the bar were flaunting, but she made the demure, wanna-be bad-ass look work.

  I couldn't take my eyes off her. Everything about her drew me to her as if we were massive magnets. I didn't want to frighten her by staring at her like a creepy stalker, but it was physically impossible for me to tear my eyes away from her.

  It didn't take long for Dirk to notice the object of my sudden obsession. I have relived that exact moment over in my mind a million times. In my imagination, I quickly and efficiently inform him of my discovery of the woman of my dreams, before boldly walking over to sweep Cassie off her feet––literally and figuratively.

  In reality, I sat still and gawked at her like a big, dumb dope. Dirk's eyes followed my gaze. It only took him a fraction of a second to mobilize. He stood, took a giant gulp from his bourbon glass, leaned in to speak into my ear over the loud music in the bar, and said, "I won't need you as wing man for this one."

  His consummate confidence was galling. Knowing he was right about his ability to charm her pants off still grates on my nerves. He leaned in close to the woman I had been immediately drawn to and whispered something in her ear.

  At first, I thought she would shut him down. She turned to her friends with a roll of her eyes and said something that had them all in hysterics. I felt an immediate, irrational swell of pride over her ability to see right through Dirk's bullshit.

  Ever the cocky bastard, Dirk didn't give up. Instead, he stole a chair from a nearby table and scooted it right next to Cassie. Spreading his thighs and plopping down backwards on the chair, he wormed his way right into their conversation. It wasn't long before he was charming all the ladies at the table, except for Cassie.

  I knew this was his style. He flirted with everyone, except his target, making her want what she couldn't have. I vividly remember sitting there alone, taking shallow breaths, and silently praying she wouldn't fall for his ruse.

  For a while, I thought she would manage to be immune to his manipulative tactics. In fact, her body language––arms crossed high across her perky chest, torso leaning back away from Dirk, and shapely legs crossed towards the woman on the other side of her––gave the clear indication that she was repelled by him.

  If only that had been the case, my life would be ever so much better. Even if I couldn't be with her, not having to see her with Dirk, which brought on the unbidden images of him screwing her brains out, would be a huge relief.

  She held out for a long time––much longer than his usual conquests. By posing a challenge, she unwittingly made herself his ultimate goal. The more she ignored him, the more he worked his magic on her friends. He had them all in stitches.

  I tried not to be jealous of his innate knack with the ladies, or his athletic prowess, or his preposterously blessed life. It gets old watching him win at everything, but I had long ago learned to accept it. Dirk was just charmed and the rest of us were mere intruders in his glowing orbit.

  Most of the time his easy breeze through life no longer bothered me, but as I watched him begin to win over Cassie, my jealousy seethed. It wasn't in my nature to be an envious person. Dirk beat me at everything from sports to grades to earning both of our families' love, but I rarely let it get to me. Dirk E. Davis was a winner, and I wasn't. It was as simple as that.

  Watching him with the woman of my dreams was too much, though. I wanted to punch him in the throat...or the balls. When Cassie tipped her head back for one of her irresistible belly laughs, I thought to myself, Yeah, he definitely needs a good swift kick to the nuts.

  That was many years ago. Dirk and Cassie had been inseparable since that first night, and it almost killed me to be around them. Some self-torturous side of me wouldn't allow me to cut ties with them, though.

  I rationalized my continued involvement in their lives, which caused me indescribable amounts of torment, by reminding myself that Dirk and I had been friends too many years to flush our relationship down the toilet. Besides, one would think getting to see the object of my obsession regularly would be better than not seeing her at all.

  It turned out that spending time with Cassie was probably causing me far more anguish than I would have suffered by not having her in my life. I searched for her flaws, trying to convince myself that my instant attraction to her had been misplaced. Unfortunately, the more I got to know her, the more irresistible she was.

  She was gorgeous. I already knew that from how drawn to her I was from across the crowded bar. What I hadn't known then was how her shiny brown hair would gleam in the sunlight, shimmering with golden highlights.

  I had known that she laughed with pure joy, using her whole body, but I hadn't realized how just being in her presence when she graced the world with one of her signature bellows would cause spontaneous, contagious giggles to erupt from anyone within earshot.


  And her scent. I had assumed that she would smell good, but I could never have imagined the intoxicating mixture of vanilla and fresh peaches that she somehow always seemed to emit. Just thinking of it made my cock uncomfortably firm.

  Her body was banging, of course, or Dirk would have quickly lost interest. She generally kept most of her luscious skin demurely covered, but I had seen her in a bikini at their pool on several occasions. Her creamy-colored breasts appeared plump and perfect as they peeked out at me from behind the tiny wisps of triangle fabric. They looked like they would make a slightly overflowing handful...or mouthful. I ached to find out.

  I pathetically prayed that her bikini string would cause a wardrobe malfunction, so her tits would pop out, and I could get a glimpse at her nipples. I didn't know whether to wish that they were small and dark or large and pink. Either way, I was sure they would harden into irresistible nubs when I nipped them with my teeth.

  The only thing that could possibly be better than her perfect tits was that round, voluptuous ass. The overwhelming desire to grab a handful of her firm butt cheeks overcame me whenever I saw her in a bathing suit...or jeans...or a pencil skirt...or leggings...or probably even a potato sack.

  What a sad loser I have turned into. I'd give anything to fall for someone other than my best friend's wife. I just don't think it's in the cards.

  2

  I knew that my insatiable desire for Cassie was pathetic. She was the one woman I could never have, so it was irrational to keep pining over her.

  It wasn't due to a lack of trying to get over her. I had sulked, cursed, and attempted to distract myself with loads of other women in feeble attempts to find someone more appropriate for my affection.

  Frequently, I found myself drawn to women who physically resembled her. They always disappointed me, though. In my mind, I couldn't stop comparing these other women to Cassie, and they always came up short. Their hair was too short, their eyes didn't crinkle when they laughed, they smelled too much like perfume, they were too tall, they talked too loud, or their nose was too long.

  I knew I was being ridiculous. Some of the women I met were wonderful, and I didn't want to shun them for such shallow reasons. It wasn't fair to hold them to an impossible standard, but I wasn't able to stop the incessant Cassie comparisons. I was becoming convinced that no one could help me get over her.

  When I was fucking these other women, I was always picturing Cassie. I would close my eyes and ask them not to speak as I pounded into them, seeking––but never finding––a release that would satisfy the raging need within me.

  I even lost an erection during sex once because the woman's moans were too high-pitched and nothing like how I pictured Cassie would sound during the throes of ecstasy. I had asked her to quiet down implying that the neighbors could hear through my paper-thin walls. It was too late, though. I had been pulled out of my favorite Cassie fantasy (the one where she whispers in my ear that no one had ever given her an orgasm as mind-numbing as the one I just gave her), and my mind couldn't get back to it. I'm sure the poor woman––I don't even remember her name––felt like it was something she had done that caused me to lose any interest in finishing our banging session. I asked her to leave and started throwing back shots to help ease the guilt.

  This was not how I wanted to treat women. I hated being a prick, but my mind refused to shut up about Cassie. The harder I tried to forget her and move on, the more obsessed with her I became.

  It occurred to me that I might have built Cassie up to some impossible standard in mind that no one could possibly live up to––including the woman herself, but I couldn't control the near-constant fantasies. I'm certain that the overwhelming emotion of being with real-life Cassie would trump any disappointment I felt at her not being exactly like my dreams of her.

  The other unwanted thought that wouldn't go away was the idea that if Dirk would suffer an untimely death, I could swoop in and take care of his broken-hearted widow. After all, Dirk would want his best friend to watch out for his wife.

  That rationalization for the dark daydream sounded lame even inside my head. Dirk would not want me to be with his wife. EVER. He'd probably come back and haunt me if I ever touched her.

  I didn't want Dirk to die. Really, I didn't. But I couldn't deny that it would make my love life (or lack thereof) much simpler. It might take years of patience and a lot of her crying on my shoulder over the loss of her husband, but I was confident that I could win Cassie's heart, if Dirk was out of the picture.

  It would be a lie to say the thought had never crossed my mind to help him along on his journey to the afterlife. That evil red devil on my shoulder likes to whisper that my life would be much better without my best friend. It's not true, though. Dirk and I have been friends our entire lives. He bests me at everything, but I can't imagine not having him around. I've gotten used to playing second fiddle to him, and I'm okay with it...most of the time.

  Dirk's death is definitely not the answer. Even though it's fun (in a dark, somewhat frightening way) to fantasize about once in a while.

  The solution to my problem is clear. I need to get over Cassie and move on with a life of my own. If only I knew how the hell to do that, I'd be more than happy to oblige.

  3

  "Get over here, loser." Dirk's gruff voice commanded into the phone.

  "Did it ever cross your mind that I might be busy with something important?" I sounded a little huffy, but the way he always assumed I would jump when he called was super annoying.

  "Hmm. Nope." Dirk made it sound preposterous that I could have something more important going on than whatever he wanted.

  I slammed down the phone and walked across the hall to his office. "You know you could come see me."

  He frowned as if that didn't make a lick of sense. It was a typical power play. We were equal partners in the tee shirt business we started right after graduation. It had been my idea to take some of the best memes from the internet, alter them to make them our own, and slap them on thick organic cotton tee shirts to sell at exorbitant prices. We had both invested our savings to start the company and Dirk's natural sales ability and charm had ensured that we grew exponentially. If sales remained steady, we were on track to become a million dollar company within the next year.

  "Have a seat." Dirk used his palm to indicate the chair across from his enormous mahogany desk. The huge desk, which was much more ostentatious than mine, and the obvious ploy to have me sit across from him in the smaller chair were additional ways to make him seem superior. His tactics tended to work on me, even after all of these years.

  "You bellowed?" I asked, opting to lean against his doorframe, rather than take his offered seat. I was trying not to indicate my raging inferiority complex.

  "We're going to a conference," he announced. It would never cross his mind to ask if I thought it was a good idea, or if I wanted to go.

  I raised my brows. "Is that so?"

  "Oh, yeah. Everyone who is anyone in the industry will be there." He informed me.

  I hated it when he slipped into his slick salesman routine. "Really?" I kept my tone droll, letting him know I wasn't impressed with his spiel.

  "It's in Indy, too, so we won't even have to fly." Holding his pointer finger up as if he had just thought of it, he added, "But it's far enough away to stay in a hotel."

  I was well aware of his ulterior motive for wanting to spend a night or two in a hotel room. He would no doubt spend the nights away from home banging some random chick that he picked up at the conference. The knowledge that he had someone as phenomenal as Cassie at home, yet he still looked for opportunities to cheat on her made my teeth clench together.

  It was so galling not only that he got to be with the woman of my dreams, but that he would then take her completely for granted. There had been so many times that I had been tempted to tell Cassie about his philandering ways, but some odd sense of bro-code loyalty kept me from it. Besides, it's not like Cassie would
come running into my arms, especially not if I was the one who revealed the truth about Dirk. I had already been covering for him for far too long to pretend that I was an innocent bystander.

  One thing I know for sure, if I was ever lucky enough to earn the love of an amazing woman like Cassie, I sure as hell wouldn't look for ways to cheat on her.

  Dirk was still selling me on the conference. "All the big name vendors will be there. We need to get our names in front of them, so they know we are the real deal. We'll let them woo us and compete for our business."

  I nodded to acknowledge that this might not be his worst idea ever, but he went right on trying to sell me on it. "The major websites will be in attendance. We might schmooze our way into some terrific Amazon product placements or special promos."

  I added a smile to my nod. Now he was talking my language. A sweet deal with Amazon could set us up for retirement.

  "Oh," he added as if he had just thought of it. "There might be some hot babes there, too." He gave me a cheesy grin, but it fell at the sight of my glare. "For you, of course," he added, but I knew he would be on the prowl.

  Needing some space from him, I said, "I'll think about it."

  As I turned to leave, he yelled after me. "Well, think quick because we only have forty-eight hours to get a partial refund."

  That prick already booked it. I slammed the door on the way back into my office, unsure why his outlandish behavior still surprised me. He hadn't been seeking my opinion about the conference, checking if I was available, or even asking if I wanted to go. He had been telling me that I was going––like I was his little bitch. The part that pisses me off the most is that we all know I will end up going.