My Kinda Song

by Lacey Black

  “I’m on tonight, so I’ll catch up with you later,” I holler over my shoulder, heading towards the door.

  For some reason, my hand stalls on the knob. When I spin around to say something, anything, I find those mesmerizing green eyes on me. Well, on my ass, to be exact. Excitement races through me, different than a few moments ago. This thrill comes from knowing that she might be fighting a similar attraction. Maybe not as severe as my case of lust for my best friend, but if she’s stealing glancing at my ass–and it really is a nice one–then, that counts for something.

  At least it does to me.

  I don’t bother waiting for her eyes to return to mine. I walk out the door with a smile on my face and a boner, still very present, in my pants.

  Chapter Nine

  Abby

  As soon as he’s out the door, I want to combust into flames. Why do the most embarrassing things happen to me? Well, I guess, technically, Jaime might have that title after all the crazy things that happened to her when she was first dating Ryan, but I’m definitely coming in a close second.

  He couldn’t get out of the apartment fast enough.

  Away from me.

  Jumping up, I run to my room to get ready for the day. I can shower at any point, but I’ll at least log on and check email and my schedule for this week. My assignment will take my full attention, which is typical. When I get a manuscript from my boss, I always give it everything. Cutbacks over the last few years affected our publishing company, as well as many others. With all of the e-retailers allowing anyone to publish, they call them Indie Authors, well, it’s taken its toll on the publishers–big and small.

  It was my attention to detail and my ability to turn around an assignment quickly and efficiently that ultimately secured my job. There were other editors who had been with Stonewell longer than I had, but took too long to turn around the product.

  As I boot up my computer, I find notifications on my brand new app. It stares back at me from my desktop, taunting and assuring. I hover over the email icon, but find myself moving the mouse to the PerfectDate app. Without thinking, I click.

  The sign-in page appears. I input my username and password. Sign In.

  While the page loads, my bladder reminds me that I haven’t emptied it yet this morning. In the bathroom, I go ahead and brush my hair and teeth before heading into the kitchen and grabbing a cup of coffee. Of course, pouring the cup only reminds me of the man who started the pot for me this morning. He’s always right there, never far from my thoughts.

  Cup in hand, I head back into my office and get cozy in my chair. There’ll be time for a shower and change of clothes later. Right now, my curiosity is piqued and I need to see if this stupid site has matched me with my perfect date. Pun intended. Hardy, Har, Har…

  Three new messages and two thumbs up. Well, that’s encouraging.

  The first message is from a guy named DanTheMan. I choke on my hot coffee when I read his opening line. Beauty is a rare gift and I can’t wait to treasure the shit out of you. Is he just stating that I’m beautiful and he’ll spend the rest of his life treasuring me? Or is that some sort of sexual innuendo and his idea of treasuring me is with his peen?

  Help me, Lord, I don’t think I can navigate this landmine that is Internet dating.

  The next message is a little more cut and dry. Hammer&Nails is a carpenter by trade and enjoys quiet dinners at home or along the Bay. Okay, I’m intrigued. His message to me is that he thinks I’m pretty and would love to chat a bit more with me. He’s from Ridgewood, which isn’t too far of a drive, so if it ever came to the point where we decide to meet, it’s within a short drive. So I send him back a casual reply, and wait.

  The third message grabs my attention as soon as I see his user name: SimpleMan. My mind instantly goes to Levi. Dammit! Why do I have to think about him right now? Pushing him out of my mind, I click on the message. It’s a warm greeting and doesn’t hint at any sort of sexual reference. Before I can even think about it, I’m already replying.

  AngelEyes: Hi. It’s nice to meet you, SimpleMan. Your name jumped out at me right away. It reminds me of a friend whose favorite song is “Simple Man” by Lynryd Skynyrd. Does the name have special meaning?

  Send.

  Yeah, so much for not thinking about the pesky best friend.

  A few moments later, the little bubbles appear, letting me know he’s replying.

  SimpleMan: Hey. Actually, your friend must have good taste in music. It’s one of my favorites too. I’m a huge fan of all kinds of music, especially Skynyrd. You?

  AngelEyes: Me too. I listen to country mostly, but enjoy rock music, thanks to a friend who’s in a band.

  SimpleMan: Excellent choices. What about your user name? Is that just a reference to your amazing green eyes or does it mean something else?

  AngelEyes: Thank you for the compliment. It’s an ode to my favorite song.

  SimpleMan: *types out a few lines from the song*

  AngelEyes: Did you sing it while you typed it? *Smiley*

  SimpleMan: Of course! That’s the only way.

  I smile at the screen, surprised at how easy this whole Internet dating thing is. Settling into my chair, I continue to type.

  AngelEyes: Can I ask what you do?

  There’s a significant pause, and that makes me nervous. I go from thinking that talking to SimpleMan is super easy to wondering if I’ve crossed some invisible Internet dating line and you’re not supposed to ask about the profession. Is that a thing? Like asking women their weight? My God, I’ve already messed this up, haven’t I?

  Then the bubbles appear.

  SimpleMan: I’m in public service. You?

  Vague, but he doesn’t know me well yet, so I won’t press for more information. Instead, I type out my response.

  AngelEyes: I’m an editor for a publishing company in New York. I get to work from home.

  SimpleMan: Cool. Does that mean you get to hang out in your pj’s all day long? *winky face*

  I should lie, shouldn’t I? I mean, no man wants to know that the woman he just started talking to on a dating site is still in yesterday’s comfy clothes, hasn’t showered, and might still smell like her best friend that she copped a feel of this morning. Especially if it’s a male best friend. Though, I’m not sure it would be much better with a female best friend, right?

  AngelEyes: Something like that *smiley*

  We end up chatting for the next thirty minutes, and before I know it, it’s way after my starting work time. I should have logged in ten minutes ago, and if I’m not careful, I’ll find an email from my boss in my inbox, concerned that something is wrong.

  AngelEyes: It has been great getting to know you, SimpleMan. I’ve got to get to work.

  SimpleMan: Sorry to keep you! Hope you’re not late. It’s been great chatting with you. Any chance you’ll be on again later?

  Do I want to be on later? Before I can reply, he shoots me another message.

  SimpleMan: I have to work later, but I’ll try to pop on and say hi at some point. Have a great day, AngelEyes.

  AngelEyes: You too. Talk to you later.

  I’m breathing hard, like I just ran a mile. My heart races with excitement and nervousness at the prospect of getting to know SimpleMan on a more personal basis. It’s weird because I haven’t thought about Levi for the last forty minutes or so, but the first thing I want to do when I log off the computer is call him and tell him all about SimpleMan.

  Oh, the muddy waters in which I swim.

  Chapter Ten

  Levi

  I’m smiling the biggest fucking cheesy grin as I log off from my laptop. That’s also when the guilt starts to settle in. I just talked to my best friend for forty minutes and she has no idea it was me. This whole guise started as a way to watch over her and protect her from the potential predators that troll social media and dating sites.

  But now? Now it feels different.

  It was the most natural thing in the world to t
alk to her, even if it was under unusual circumstances. And by that, I mean lies. It’s not my intention to keep the truth from her, but I’m doing it to protect her. I’ll tell her soon, though. Hell, I tell her everything, which may be why this is so difficult and fun, all at the same time.

  It’s fun talking to her unfiltered. Yeah, I know I could just pick up the phone or walk across the hall and talk to her anytime I want. I get it. You don’t have to remind me. But this is more fun, even if slightly wrong.

  What do I expect at the end of the day? I still have no clue, but I’m more aware of things that I didn’t notice before. Like the way she smiles when she’s enjoying her first cup of coffee after her shower. Or how about the way her touch makes my skin tingle. What about how her green eyes sparkled in the moonlight while she looked out over the Bay. Or my personal favorite, how she felt in my arms when we woke up together on the couch.

  Yeah, I liked that one. The proof is in my pants.

  I’m not about to start dissecting whatever is happening between Abby and me. No matter how I think I feel, nothing can come of it. She’s my best friend, and I won’t do anything to jeopardize that. Hell, she’s more than my friend. She’s my family.

  I probably need to get laid, but that kinda sours my stomach. The thought of getting busy between the sheets with some random woman doesn’t sit well at all. In fact, the hard-on I’ve been sporting since I woke with my head pressed against Abby’s tits dies a very quick death. The thought of screwing someone else makes me feel…guilty.

  Which is why I need to figure my shit out, move past this weird little crush thing I’ve developed, and proceed with my life, friendship intact.

  Easy peasy, right?

  Right.

  I’ll tell her I’m SimpleMan soon, we’ll have a good laugh, and we’ll continue on with our friendship. But right now, I’m not thinking very friendly. What I’m thinking about is the complete opposite of just friends. These thoughts are dirty and make my jeans rub uncomfortably against my cock.

  Waking up with Abby in my arms was heaven. That’s the only way to describe it. She was warm and soft and curvy, just the way a woman should be. Her long, lean fingers were gripping my hair, and just the thought of how it felt when she tugged makes my dick hard again.

  Lying there, I knew where I was the moment I woke. Yeah, I knew who I was with too. Her scent surrounded me. Her touch encompassed me. She moved against my leg, grinding her body and working me into a complete frenzy. As soon as I realized what was going on, I tensed. Stupidest fucking mistake ever because then she tensed and things got weird.

  I should have keep my hands to myself, but I was weak–and a man–and her sweet body just felt so damn right in my arms and hands. Dammit, did she feel so fucking amazing. My mouth waters to know what it would have been like if she hadn’t been wearing a shirt, my face pressed against her glorious tits. My mouth inches away from those perky nipples. Oh, you bet your ass I noticed that part too. I groan just at the thought.

  Do you know what I need to do? Stop thinking about my best friend’s nipples. But now that the thought seed is planted, it’s growing like a fucking vine, working its way up and wrapping around my brain. I want to know – no, I need to know what they look like. Are they small and dark or a dusty rose color? Either way wouldn’t matter to me, but it’ll be interesting to see how I’m able to have a conversation with her without wondering.

  My cock still throbs in my pants. I’m a damn perv and a shitty friend, but for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, I rip my pants off and grab my cock. I haven’t jacked off this much in the last few years combined, but here I am, dick in my hand and thinking about the one person’s nipples I shouldn’t be.

  God, I bet they’re magnificent. Just like the rest of her will be. Closing my eyes, I call upon the mental image I created of her naked. Even as a figment of my dirty imagination, I’m sure it doesn’t do the real thing justice. She’s gorgeous fully clothed; could you imagine what my Abby will look like naked?

  I don’t even chastise myself for referring to her as mine. Nor do I bother arguing the fact that I said will look like naked, not would. Because right now, my sole purpose in life is to see every inch of her naked body. I want to see it, touch it, taste it, and fucking own it. I want her beneath me, on top of me, wrapped around me, bent over.

  I want it all.

  With her.

  I shoot my load all over my shirt, groaning and moaning through my release, all while picturing the way she’d look riding me.

  What the hell am I going to do? I can’t stop thinking about sleeping with my friend, which can’t happen. It’s practically a law.

  But what if it did? What if it was every bit as spectacular as it was in my daydream? You know, the one I just had while whacking off?

  I’m going to hell.

  * * *

  It’s a long week, even though I’m not on the rig as often. It’ll be my weekend to work, which means less hours during the week. But that hasn’t stopped the fire calls from coming in. Two bonfires that got out of control and a couple of minor accidents. Throw in our regular weekly meeting on Tuesday, and it’s been fairly constantly busy.

  The band wanted to practice a bit on Saturday to perfect a new song we hope to add to the show, which means I had to figure out how to sleep between getting off early Saturday morning and going back late Saturday night. That was fun. A couple hours here, another one there. The guys have been awesome at only scheduling gigs on the weekends I’m off, though we’ve had requests. I hate turning down a chance to play and make a little extra dough, but my job with the hospital has to come first.

  Sunday brings a cookout at Jaime and Ryan’s place. It’s two when my alarm wakes me up from a dead sleep, giving me six hours of slumber. Good enough for me. Crawling out of bed, I jump in the shower so I don’t smell like ass and gather up the mini fruit crepes I made last night before heading in to work. I won’t be there as early as the girls, but will still make it in plenty of time to eat with the gang. If I had to guess, they’re probably engaging in some sort of rivalry game of horseshoes or beanbags.

  They’re crazy competitive, even though my Abby is probably the least aggressive of all of them. Payton and Lexi take the crown on that title, for sure. Meghan’s just as laid back as Abby, but without the shyness. AJ’s full of the Summer spirit and has plenty of fire. Jaime too.

  Abby’s spirited, but it’s not as well known. She keeps a lid on it, only pulling it out when dealing with her sister or when we’re together. There was a time in high school when I dared her to run around my house in her bikini. Any other girl would have stripped down in a heartbeat. Hell, maybe even had left the bikini in my room with her clothes.

  But not Abby. That’s why I made the bet, because I didn’t think she’d do it. After losing (and frankly, I don’t have a clue why we even bet anymore), she showed up at my place, donning a bright pink bikini beneath her clothes. I was completely aroused when she came out of my room, her entire body flushed, and headed towards the front door. I’ve never wanted to slow time as much as I did the day I watched my best friend run around my house in a borrowed bikini.

  Oh, did I mention it was January? Chilly enough to catch a cold, but not enough to kill the boner in my pants. That was just one of many of the Abby-inspired hard-ons I’ve had. I realized that day that my best friend was fucking gorgeous. She hid behind big shirts and long pants. Her shorts were–and are–always sensible and modest, never too short – and her boobs always tastefully covered.

  But I’ll never forget that day. The day Abby showed me her sassy side.

  Pulling into the driveway leading to Ryan and Jaime’s place, I find the entire family already there. Brian’s car is even there, which makes me smile. He’s been working a lot less lately and spending more time with Meghan. After Josh’s death, her dad stepped in and is doing everything he can to help her out, including just being there when she needs her dad.

  I grab the container o
f fluffy desserts and head around the house towards the backyard where I know the family is gathered. The first person I run into is Ryan. He’s turning off the hose, kicking water out of his shoes.

  “Hey, man. What the hell happened to you?” I ask, nodding towards the remnants of mud all down his leg.

  “My girlfriend and her sisters happened. There I was, minding my own business, when they decided they wanted to play mud volleyball.”

  “It hasn’t rained in the last two weeks,” I remind him with a smile on my face.

  “You would be correct. So Jaime got out the hose and turned the old garden area behind the garage into a mud pit.”

  “Sounds kinky,” I laugh.

  “You’d think, except when it’s six girls, and they’re all related and so competitive that they’d sooner tear your eyes out than let you win anything, it kinda kills the fantasy,” he says while shaking water from his shoes. “Anyway, Jaime hollered at me to come see and the next thing I knew, I was ankle deep in mud and it was being flung at me.”

  I can’t help it, I laugh. “So where are they now?”

  “Behind the garage, acting like children.”

  “And Brielle?”

  “In the middle of the mud pit in a pink dress, refusing to get out.”

  Laughter comes from all around. I hear it filtering from behind the garage, it comes from Brian who just walked up to shake my hand, and it bellows from Dean, who’s videotaping the muddy antics on his phone.

  “I have to see this,” I say, setting my dessert down on the table.

  When I walk around the corner, I’m completely stricken in place by the sight. The small volleyball net is set in the middle of the square, which isn’t big enough to really play the game on. Something tells me they just don’t care. Payton, Abby, and Jaime are on one side of the net, while the other three man the opposite side. Brielle sits directly where Ryan said she’d be: in the middle of the court, right below the net. She’s playing with a Barbie doll, giving her a mud dress.