by Laura Brown
I ALMOST KISSED Devon. His lips had been right there; one step into him, and I wouldn’t be in his bed alone. His scent surrounded me, and I rolled over, buried my head in it, and breathed him in.
I should have kissed him. I wanted to. He wanted to. He wanted to change us, who we were, who we’d become. Change, such a simple concept for him. It meant good things and potential. Change, for me, had almost always meant bad.
I couldn’t risk losing him.
And I would lose him. If we did this, we had three weeks, tops, before he did whatever Dev did to sabotage a relationship. Three weeks, and I’d lose more than him as my friend.
That thought should have been enough to kill the desire. Had been for years. Not this time. Risk had no effect on the thoughts plaguing me. Thoughts of Dev’s lips and hands and how damn close we were to crossing that line. A line my body wanted to cross. Excitement ran rampant through me, convincing me change could be a very good thing.
I twisted in his bed, unable to stop the shifting of my body against the soft sheets. Everything needed to go back as it was, as it had been.
My body stilled, and I stared up at the ceiling. Too bad we’d crossed the line. Or Dev had. I’d toed it and hurt him by not crossing it. He put on a good front, but I knew I’d hurt him. And now he wasn’t here. Not to talk to, not to curl up with.
My head swam in circles. Over and over. Yes, kiss Devon. No, keep him as a friend. Yes. No. Sleep. I needed to sleep, clear my head, and figure out the best way to move forward.
I tossed and turned in Dev’s bed. Several times I contemplated joining him in the living room, if for no other reason than to get some rest. But there was a reason he was there and not with me. He probably wouldn’t even want me there. So I stayed.
Morning found me groggy. I stretched my limbs, adjusting to the light. Dev and Blake would be gone by now. I had the entire apartment to myself.
Which also meant Dev had been in the room. I sat up and looked around. He’d worn only his jeans when he’d gone to bed; poor guy hadn’t even been able to change into his pajamas.
I went to the bathroom to get myself ready for the day, only to end up staring at my reflection. Crazy half-curly, half-limp hair, with a good three inches of roots showing. My natural shade was somewhere between blond and brown. Why couldn’t it stay the vibrant color of my youth instead of fading to this lackluster crap? And this was what Dev had seen when he’d gotten ready for classes.
Never before had I cared what I looked like when around him. He’d seen me when I played in mud, when I had the flu, after my wisdom teeth had been extracted. He’d seen me with bloodshot eyes and falling apart after Dad died. And yet now I worried about bedhead and a few inches of roots, when the man knew damn well the color of my hair.
I closed my eyes and hung my head. I needed my friend.
I finished getting ready and picked up my phone, tapping until I uncovered my text thread with Nikki.
Me: You got time to dye my hair today?
What was wrong with me?
Nikki: I’m free after this boring lecture ends. Please tell me you want to go purple this time?
Would Dev like me with purple hair? I shook those thoughts free. I didn’t want purple hair, screw Dev.
Me: No purple. You can go purple.
Nikki: It has potential. Wait for me to shop.
I made my way into the living area. The matzo box sat on the counter, and from habit or genetic memory or whatnot, I headed for it. Enough pieces were missing to indicate that even with everything going on between us, Dev kept to the challenge.
I pulled out the jam and smothered the large square cracker. It was crumbly and bland without the sweet strawberry flavor, a flat piece of bread that didn’t have time to rise. It was also tradition, and even though I knew the taste grew old after a few days, I enjoyed the missing connection to my religion and ancestors. I hadn’t minded too much when Dad was alive. As the family chef, he made all this yummy Passover food. When he was gone, it became the matzo show for a week unless one of my grandmothers gave us something.
I’d have to search for more of his recipes, if there were any I had salvaged.
I SCANNED THE aisle, searching for the tags indicating sale prices. I wasn’t brand loyal—all I needed was something cheap and in the right color.
Nikki browsed next to me, her own black curly hair held back by an elastic band. She picked up the blond kit I had just put back on the shelf and held it up to her face. “What do you think?”
I took in the color, pictured it against her dark skin instead of the model’s pale one. “Nice! You need bleach first.” I looked around the shelves and pulled the bleach before shoving it at her. Then I grabbed the “close enough” shade for myself.
When I faced her, she stood gawking at me.
“What?” I signed, even as I forced my feet not to fidget.
She studied my hairline. “You normally go another two months first.”
I worked at a dive bar—no one cared about my roots. If I even tried to hide my real reason, she’d beat me down in ten minutes. “I almost kissed . . . someone.” I couldn’t use his sign name, it felt too real.
Nikki propped a hand on her hip. “Almost. Someone. And you’re blushing. You never blush unless . . . ” Her eyes bulged as her hands trailed off. “Devon! You kissed Devon!” Then she jumped up and down, like she was eight and I just offered to get her an American Girl doll.
“Almost. I didn’t kiss him.” Yet. I tossed my hair dye into her basket. This was weird. We usually talked about whom I had kissed or Dev had kissed, not the possibility of us kissing each other.
“Details. Tell me what happened.” Nikki continued bouncing on her feet.
I shrugged. He crossed the line and changed our relationship. “He slept on the couch.”
Nikki stopped bouncing. “That’s it?”
In direct words, yeah. But that’s not what Nikki wanted. “There was . . . closeness, and then he ended up on the couch.” And his lips, those plump, beautiful, tempting lips.
“Don’t. Stop. Don’t flip out.”
“I want to kiss my best friend, and you expect me not to flip out?” My hand knocked over two kits from my outburst.
Nikki put them back on the shelf. “You admit it! Finally! Accept that, yes, you want to kiss someone you’ve been in love with for so long no one knows when it started. You should be overjoyed.”
I sank to the floor, my knees no longer steady. “I can’t lose him.”
“You won’t. You kiss him. In a few years, you’ll get married. A few more, and you’ll be complaining about kids messing with your sex life.”
“We haven’t kissed, and now we’re married with kids?”
Nikki squatted in front of me. “You don’t picture that future?”
I swallowed. “The future is fickle. It never pans out the way we hope.” For that reason, I never envisioned a future beyond a few months. The only thing I yearned for was the bar; the rest, I left as a question mark. Less to lose.
“You are overdue for something good.”
“And when it combusts?”
Nikki stood. “You two will fight, that’s a definite. But you always go back together. No one can break you, like the yin yang. No one else stands a chance with either one of you.” She collected the shopping basket, giving me a stern look. “Unless you’re too much of a wimp?”
“I’m not a wimp.”
“Then go kiss your best friend.” She puckered her lips and pecked mine. “Wrong friend.”
I laughed, then admitted a truth. “I’m scared.”
“So talk to him.”
I didn’t sign anything else as I followed her to the checkout counter. I had another fear—maybe the way Dev and I had always been was no longer an option.
Chapter Fourteen
Devon
AT THE FRONT of the classroom, my professor leaned against his desk, talking in a deep voice. I caught a few sounds here and there, mixed in with el
ectrical noises, all background crap to me. Next to him stood one of my two interpreters, hands a blur as she did her job.
My focus too shot to pay attention.
Instead, I shifted my phone on my lap. To avoid any issues, I looked up, made eye contact with the interpreter, and wrote some nonsense on my notebook—I don’t think I managed actual letters. All part of the drill. As the only Deaf student in the class, it was pretty darn obvious if I goofed off.
My head wasn’t in my studies. My head was with my best friend. No texts from her, not that I had sent any.
I needed to figure out where to take her on our date—the main thing I still had a semblance of control over. Only I had run into a problem: I’d inadvertently taken her on all my dates. There wasn’t one thing I could think of that we hadn’t already done together.
I flipped my phone and scrolled through my text messages until I came to Pete’s contact.
Me: Where would you take Jas on a date?
And I was an idiot for leading with that. The tabletop needed to meet my head. Instead I wrote down something that had nothing to do with my class.
Pete: Why am I taking Jas on a date?
Me: You’re not.
Me: I am.
Or, I hoped. I shoved my phone away and managed to focus for a few minutes before curiosity got the best of me and I checked my phone again.
Pete: WTF?
Pete: You serious?
Pete: Friend date or date date? Because you know there isn’t much difference between the two.
Me: Nice. You should give yourself a pep talk.
Pete: We’re talking about you. Not me.
Wimp.
Me: Serious. Date date. Not friend date.
Pete: Wow.
Helpful.
Me: I just took her to the movies, so that’s out.
Pete: Well, that happens when you date someone you’re not dating.
Me: And when was the last time you took Nikki to the movies?
Yeah, I called him on his shit. The only difference was that Pete had had this conversation with me before. On my side, this was brand new.
Pete: Nikki and I haven’t been playing this game as long as you two have.
I glared at my phone, then remembered the interpreters would be watching me and made an effort to pay attention before responding. When I looked again, I found another message.
Pete: Take her to a restaurant. A nice one. She always eats cheap because she doesn’t like handouts.
I turned the phone over. Pete was right. Jas and I ate together all the time but always at the casual-friend level. Dinner was the way to go.
I CLIMBED THE steps to my apartment, going back and forth between two restaurant ideas for the date, neither striking me as the perfect option. I unlocked the door and entered my apartment, only to find her on the other side, trench on, makeup prepped for the bar. I knew the type of work clothes she wore. With none of it visible, I couldn’t stop the fantasy of her wearing nothing underneath. For me.
We both froze, staring at each other. So much passed between us, yet the wall was there, keeping us separate. Her hair was full of curls and loose. Either due to the light or something Jas had done, I swore her hair was brighter than before.
A different kind of tension arose. The shift had been unavoidable, a growing pressure, but this, this distance between us sucked.
Only one way to handle it: move on as if nothing was different. “What did you do to your hair?”
She raised an eyebrow. “My hair?”
I didn’t stop myself when the urge to touch her locks popped up. I picked up a curl and ran it through my fingers. Definitely lighter.
Jas shook her head. “I told you I dyed my hair.”
“You could dye it purple, and I would still like it.”
A wry smile crossed her face. “I have to go, or I’ll be late.”
I nodded and stepped aside, giving her access to escape to the hall. Her gaze traveled to my lips and lingered. My pulse gave a good kick, but I remained where I was.
She took a step toward me, arm reaching past my shoulder to close the door. Her brown eyes were wide and full of want, an invitation present in them. My fingers itched to yank her to me, but I needed her words.
“Are we crazy to think about changing us?” she asked.
“You’re the one thinking, not me.” Not anymore. I hardly had enough blood left in my brain to think.
She bit her lip. A shaky smile crossed her face, bravado surfacing. “We can’t go back. Can we?”
I shook my head as my pulse continued kicking. But she needed the out. “If you want me to, I will.” I’d hate myself, but I’d do it.
I held my breath, waiting for her response. That shaky smile remained. “I don’t want to.” She rubbed the toe of her shoe against the floor. “Can I kiss you?”
I tugged her close, until she had to look up to meet my eyes. The urge to warn, to make sure we wanted to create this change, rang out. But the words were pointless. We knew them, and we both agreed to be here.
My hand brushed her cheek, cupped her chin. Hers scratched at my stubble. We knew each other so well and yet we tiptoed around each other like two awkward preteens at a parent-supervised dance.
The sudden ridiculousness of it made laughter bubble up inside before I could stop it. I stepped back and bent over.
“You’re laughing? Seriously?” Sparks appeared in her eyes. “How can you even think of laughing when—”
I covered her hands, the feel of her skin a tease as she stopped signing. Her eyes grew wide, and before she had a chance to react, I tugged, sending her body into mine and crashing our lips together. We both froze, mouth to mouth, as a warmth grew. Then she melted into me. I wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her close while our lips brushed back and forth. Her hands dug into my hair, urging me closer. Heat, so much heat passed between us.
I broke it off, rested my forehead against hers. Any longer and I’d drag her into my bedroom. Her cheeks were pink, as were her lips from my kisses. “See you at the bar.”
“Wait,” she signed, halting my movement. I paused, and she flung herself at me, arms around my neck, mouth against mine. I collected her against me as her plump, sweet lips drove me beyond insane.
She opened for me, but I didn’t dare push this any further. I slowed the kiss to gentle passes, then stopped. For a beat we looked at each other, arms still locked and out of signing range. Here was my best friend. Here was so much more than friendship.
And we both knew it.
Jas untangled herself. “I have to go to work.”
I nodded. “I’ll see you later.” She slipped out the door, leaving me alone in the apartment.
I settled onto the couch wearing the stupidest grin ever in my life. Some change had to be good. If it felt like this, no way could it go wrong.
I PUSHED OPEN the doors and scanned the bar. I found Jas bent by a table, writing on her board to a mixed crowd. Her ass stuck out, covered by short shorts that molded to her frame. Up top, she wore another black tank. I ate up the sight of her.
She straightened and met my gaze, catching me checking her out. It wasn’t like I hadn’t already made my intentions known. She propped a hand on her hip, cocking her head to one side. “Like what you see?”
I couldn’t deny the weirdness of out-and-out chatting about this. “Always have.”
She shook her head, but a smile broke out, one that would fool anyone into thinking it was just another night. I wasn’t anyone.
She nodded toward the bar, and I met her there. She wiped her board as she arrived. She paused, looked at me, and attached the board to her hip. “Remember, no beer. What do you want?” Then she stuck her hip out.
This was strange. I’d never written on her board, never had to. I always gave her my order or spoke it to Len.
I bent over and quickly realized two things: the height of the barstool meant I was lined up with her perky breasts, and writing on a human was not an e
asy task.
Also, I found it damn hard to concentrate with my head so close to her rack. A few short shifts, and I could bury my face in her cleavage. I had to grip her hip to keep her steady and felt the inhale of air she took. When I finished, she bit her bottom lip and made no move to create distance between us.
Screw it. I had a taste, I wanted more.
I wrapped a hand around her waist and yanked her to me. Her body collided with mine as I claimed her mouth. Her smell and taste devoured my senses, leaving me with only her.
Jas pulled back, a nervous grin on her face. Our eyes held, and sensations passed between us. But no words. I couldn’t read her and bet she couldn’t read me. Not anymore.
She unclipped her board and read my shaky handwriting, her shoulders shaking. “You are a brave man.”
I was. My brain was fried by her breasts, so I’d written surprise me—not like I was getting a beer this week, anyways.
Jas moved off, slipping behind the bar, and I knew I was in trouble.
Someone clapped or stomped nearby, slow and rhythmic. I turned one way, then the other, before finding Pete two feet away. “That . . . wow, what a kiss. Shouldn’t you date her first?”
I rolled my eyes, then glanced at Jas, noticing the flush to her cheeks. She didn’t make eye contact.
Pete slapped the bar, no longer paying us any attention. His eyes were wide and directed over my shoulder. He stuck a finger out at Jas. “What did you do to Nikki?”
“You blame me? You know Nikki does what she wants.”
I tuned them out, searching for Nikki, and passed right over her. She stood a few feet away, sporting a hair color that I never in a million years would’ve thought I’d see on her. I glanced back at Jas, then to Nikki. “You two have the same hair color now.”
Nikki shook her head and joined us. “Not quite—different boxes.” She fluffed her newly blond curls.
Pete reached out a tatted arm, dark only because of the ink, but didn’t touch her hair. No one touched Nikki’s hair unless they received explicit permission. He needed to man up and ask. “Why?”
“It’s fun.” She banged on the bar. “Bartender. Give me a drink. Make it fruity.”
Jas slid an amber drink under my nose, nodded, and got busy working. I didn’t investigate my drink, too caught up in Jas in her element. Her hips swayed in that little drink-making dance she had. Happiness radiated off her. Anyone could tell she was doing what she loved, what she was meant to do. And it was temporary until Len took over his bar again.
