Pants On Fire

by Lacey Black

  Her suitcase is in the closet, so I make quick word at filling it. I grab everything from the dresser first, my heart skittering to a halt when I find her panties. I have no business lusting over anything in her drawers—the dresser kind, not the ones she’s wearing—so I quickly toss them into the luggage, trying to forget the fact that they were blue and lacy.

  Next, I remove everything from the top of the dresser and nightstand. Satisfied that I have everything from the main room, I make my way to her bathroom. The moment I walk in, I’m surrounded by Cricket. I grab the bag on the counter and fill it with her makeup and other items strewn across the bathroom counter. I unplug a flat iron thingy, as well as a blow dryer, and clear out the product left in the shower. I find a mesh bag on the floor and grab that too, which contains her dirty clothes.

  Finally, I go back to the bed and toss everything in the suitcase. It’s definitely full, and not even close to being the proper way to pack a bag, but time is of the essence here. My last stop before heading back to my room is the closet where the bag was kept. There, I find a gold sparkly dress that makes my cock twitch in my pants. There’s also a pair of strappy black heels, and all I can think about his how fucking hot those will look on her feet later this evening. I throw them in the suitcase, grab the skirt and shirt set hanging beside the dress, and toss the garments over my arm.

  With all of Cricket’s possessions in hand, I slowly exit her room, grateful to find the hallway once more Danny-free. I don’t need to knock on the door for admittance, as Cricket opens the door the moment she spies me in the peephole. She pulls open the door, grateful to see me with all her things.

  Just as I start over the threshold, a door opens somewhere in the hallway, and Danny’s familiar voice fills the silence. I’m not sure if he’s talking to someone in his room or on the phone, but I don’t hang around to find out. I dive inside, past Cricket’s wide eyes, and hold my breath until the door shuts behind me.

  Damn, that was close.

  We both stand there, waiting to see if Danny knocks on the door, but it never comes. Panting a little, I say quietly, “I think I got everything.”

  “Okay,” she whispers.

  I take her bags and set them on the bed, ignoring the rumpled bedding and the divots in the pillows. Stepping aside, I let Cricket open the suitcase and start sorting her haphazardly tossed clothes. “Why don’t I jump in the shower first while you unpack. Take all of the space you need. I think I only used the top dresser drawer, and there’s plenty of closet space,” I tell her, heading over and hanging up the gold dress and other outfit I took from her own closet.

  “Thanks, Rueben,” she says behind me. When I turn, she looks a little nervous and uncertain. “I’m really sorry I got you into this mess. If you want to tell Danny the truth, I’m okay with that. I don’t want to force you to lie to your friend, even if that friend is a massive jerk.”

  I shrug. “Listen, Cricket. Things with Danny and me haven’t been the same since graduation. I wasn’t very happy with him when I found out what he did to you, and to be honest, we haven’t spoken that much since, even after I drove his shit out to LA. It been years since I’ve seen him and don’t exactly consider him my friend as I do someone I used to be friends with in school.” It’s the truth. Danny and I have been cordial since our time together in school but haven’t kept in touch the way true best friends would. I guess you can say we grew apart since college. “My point is, I consider you more my friend than I do him, so if you need my help, I’m here for you. Even if it’s pretending to be your boyfriend for a few days to fool a massive jerk.”

  She gives me a small smile, one that makes my heart gallop in my chest. “You’re a good guy, Rueben Rigsby.” Then she steps forward, into my personal space, and wraps her arms around my waist and hugs me.

  I toss my arms over her shoulders and do the same, trying—unsuccessfully, mind you—to ignore the way she fits so perfectly against my body. “I’d do anything to help you, Cricket. I hope you always remember that.”

  That’s the truth. Even though we lost touch after a while, both of us moving to different parts of the country, I will always consider her a friend. That’s why I’m more than willing to serve as her pretend boyfriend if it makes her life a little easier, and at the end of the weekend, I’ll head back to Tennessee and her back to California.

  And our relationship—albeit fake—will be over.

  “I do know that,” she whispers, turning her head upward a little. When she does, her nose grazes against my neck and a shiver sweeps through my body.

  Desperately in need of a little space, and a shower, I pull myself from her hug and retreat to the bathroom. “I’ll only be a few minutes,” I say, closing myself in the small room.

  Exhaling deeply, I lean against the back of the door, realization setting in. These next two days are going to be the most trying of my life. The lines between friendship and more are starting to blur. That crush I’ve suddenly developed is big and alive, an ugly truth that I can’t seem to ignore. I’m going to have to give the performance of a lifetime, and at the end of it all, pretend it never happened at all.

  Shouldn’t be a problem.

  After a quick shower, one that uses more cold water than warm, I grab a towel and dry off. With the towel wrapped around my waist, I brush my teeth, run a comb through my hair, and place my glasses back on my face. Then, I turn to grab my clothes, only not finding any clothes. Probably because I didn’t grab any from the dresser drawer before I closed myself off in the bathroom.

  Sighing, I realize there’s only one thing for me to do: walk out of here in my towel.

  Chapter Seven

  Cricket

  I gather up my clothes as soon as I hear the shower shut off. It’s weird to see my things intermixed with a man’s, let alone Rueben’s. I haven’t lived with a male since my time with Danny in college, and even then, we weren’t stuffed in four hundred square feet of joint space.

  Rueben agreed to help me with Danny, but I still feel bad. It was my big mouth that got us into this mess, and I’m determined to get him out of it as soon as I can. Maybe we can stage a breakup tonight at the alumni dinner? Though, the thought of a breakup with Rueben—whether fake or real—doesn’t sit well in my stomach.

  I’ve kinda become attached to him.

  When the sink turns off, I know my time to get ready is almost here. I make sure to have my travel cosmetic bag and other bathroom things, heading to the door as it opens.

  And. Stop. Dead. In. My. Tracks.

  Rueben is standing there in nothing but a white towel. My mouth goes dry and my tongue dangles from my lips. Truth, that last part doesn’t happen, but it could, you know, just like those cartoons I used to watch when I was little.

  “Sorry,” he says, standing straight and looking both incredible and uncomfortable at the same time. “I forgot to take clothes in with me. I guess I’m not used to sharing a hotel room with anyone.”

  I’m already shaking my head. “No problem! I’m the one crashing your space. I’ll just…go,” I stutter, waving my full hands toward the bathroom and juggling my things like a clown at a birthday party.

  Inside the room, which still smells like Rueben’s soap, mind you, I drop all of my stuff on the vanity counter and start to sort it. Is it possible he didn’t notice the way my eyes were riveted to his chest, not missing the way the V of his hips dropped low and disappeared behind that lucky terrycloth? God, I hope so. Yet, I’m pretty sure a blind man could have seen the way I was practically drooling all over myself.

  I find my shampoo and conditioner, but the face scrub and body wash aren’t here. I know I had them when I gathered my stuff for the shower. I guess I dropped them when I juggled my bath products and clothes. They’re probably lying on the floor beside the bed. I’m sure it would be no big deal to use Rueben’s body wash, but my face is sensitive enough that a change in product might not have a good outcome. I’ll just slip out and grab my stuff.

 
; I open the door and say, “Hey, Rueb, I think I dropped my—”

  But the words stop on my tongue, my mind going completely blank. Rueben is standing there—naked—with his back to me, the towel that was once wrapped around his waist, now dropped on the floor at his feet. All I can do is stare at his ass. His incredibly firm and perfectly round ass. It’s magnificent.

  “Cricket?”

  My eyes finally move up, taking in the muscled planes of his back and the way they tighten under my scrutiny. Words. Did he say something? I can’t recall. I finally glance all the way up, my eyes locking on his. The chocolate brown is an even darker shade of molten black, and they stare back at me with question and astonishment.

  “What?”

  He’s watching me over his shoulder, his bare ass still very much on display. “Did you forget something?”

  I blink back. Did I forget something?

  Yeah, my brain, apparently.

  “Oh! Yes, I forgot my…” I glance around on the floor, spying my body wash and face scrub immediately. “Here it is!” I declare, picking up the misplaced bag. “Thanks for assing. I mean asking.” My face burns with mortification. “I’ll just…” I point over my shoulder as I backpedal to the bathroom.

  Of course, my traitorous eyes drop down once more, drinking in one last, long look at that very fine derriere. Before I can slip into the bathroom, where I have a likely chance of accidental drowning in the toilet, my eyes flick up to his face, catching the hint of humor and the smile on his lips.

  I practically slam the door shut and pray for the earth to open and swallow me. It never happens, however. What does happen, though, is a constant repeat of his naked butt right in front of me. I’ll never get that image out of my mind, not that I want to. No, just the opposite actually. I’d take that picture with me through the rest of my life, happily pulling it out of my memory bank to ogle it over and over and over again.

  Right now isn’t the time, however. We’re late for breakfast with my ex and a football game with half my graduating class. And I have to try to figure out how to not picture Rueben’s ass every time I look him in the eye.

  Should be easy.

  Not.

  ***

  “Sorry we’re late,” I state as we approach Danny’s table. He’s sitting there in deep conversation with a blonde woman. The moment they hear me speak, they both break apart, rather guiltily, actually, and turn to look at us.

  Ellen Montgomery.

  Well, this day just keeps getting better and better.

  “Cricket, hi! It’s so good to see you again,” she coos, standing up to give me a hug.

  I’m too shocked to return the gesture, but finally mumble a quick. “Hi.”

  “I’m glad you two could make it. I know what it’s like being in a new relationship and never wanting to leave your hotel room,” Danny says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively to me and Rueben.

  My fake boyfriend holds out my chair and waits for me to sit before taking his own seat. Always the gentleman. Danny never held out a chair or opened a door, unless it was to catch a glimpse down my shirt. I grab the menu, blatantly ignoring the awkwardness of this breakfast date after only the first five seconds. Unfortunately, I’m unable to ignore the way Danny reaches over and grabs Ellen’s hand, bringing it to his mouth and placing a kiss on her knuckles.

  There’s a squeeze in my stomach, one that is both nauseating and revolting. Two things I’ve associated with Danny in the last decade. Rueben takes the seat beside me and squeezes my hand under the table. Comfort washes through me as we sit together, and our eyes connect. He gives me a friendly smile that makes my heart dance, and I can’t help but feel grateful that the embarrassment from earlier this morning is gone.

  We’re back to friends.

  Who cares if one friend has seen the other’s naked ass?

  We’re both adults here. We can coexist and not fantasize about the other’s nakedness, right?

  Easier said than done, I’ll admit, but I’m determined to do just that. I’m not about to ruin many years’ worth of a friendship just because I can’t handle a little ass. A very, very nice ass.

  Shaking my head, I glance across the table and find Danny staring at me. I quickly look away, hating the feeling of him watching, dissecting me. The waitress arrives and fills up our coffee cups. I add a splash of cream and two sugar packets, stirring my drink and taking a long sip. Rueben sips his black, something I recall from college. He was the only guy I knew who actually drank black coffee. Danny prefers his not tasting at all like coffee. He’s more of a fancy latte guy.

  “So, are you both ready for the game?” Rueben asks our tablemates between sips of coffee.

  “I am so ready! It’s been so long since I’ve been to a football game. Of course, it won’t be the same as seeing my Danny out on the field like I used to,” Ellen replies. Again, Danny brings her hand to his mouth and nibbles a little on her fingers.

  As sickening as it is to watch their gross display of affection, it’s her comment that is more revolting. She makes it sound like he was hers way back when he used to play. I’m the one who was wearing his number. I was the one who joined him on the field to celebrate every victory and commiserate every loss. Ellen was the one in the stands, flirting with anyone she could, not even knowing who we were playing or what the final score was.

  “It’s going to be so great having you beside me,” Danny coos, smiling blinding white teeth that have clearly been bleached to the max.

  “So…you two are…together?” I ask, the bitterness of my coffee catching in my throat.

  “We are!” Ellen declares, flashing her own too-white smile and giggling. Good to know her giggle still grates on my nerves, even ten years after I’ve heard it.

  “Wow, congratulations. That must be a fairly new development,” I reply. You know, considering she was trying to hook up with Rueben yesterday afternoon and Danny made no mention of Ellen last night at Slim’s.

  “We ran into each other last night in the hotel bar and got to reminiscing. The attraction is there, right? I mean, he’s Danny freaking Ohara,” Ellen boasts, waving her hand in front of the man at her side like she’s Vanna White.

  I can’t help it, I roll my eyes. Really big like. So wide, I’m sure I catch a glimpse of my brain as my eyes are swirling around in my head. I try not to make a big showing of it, but I know Ellen saw. The glare is intense, and if I were a weaker woman, I would have definitely cowered under her stare, but I have years under my belt, covering Ellen’s disapproval and less than sunny disposition.

  Our waitress returns to take our orders, but I’m not sure I can eat much. Watching Danny and Ellen maul each other at the table is doing a number on my stomach. Even Rueben seems a little grossed out by the PDA our tablemates are putting on.

  “So, Ellen, what have you been up to since graduation?” I ask, hoping that they’ll stop licking each other long enough to have a conversation, even if I’d rather do anything other than talk to them.

  “Oh!” she starts eagerly. “I moved to Chicago after graduation and worked for WKN as an intern. I did that for about six weeks and met Rodney. He was the CEO for the station. We got married about four months later in Aruba,” she says with bright eyes.

  “Wait, Rodney Jergeson? Wasn’t he married?” I find myself asking, even though I already know the answer. I recall word hitting the streets, even all the way out in California. Rodney had been at WKN since he was in his early twenties, working his way up to CEO. He had married his high school sweetheart, and the world went nuts when his affair with a much younger woman came out. His wife left him and got half of everything, including their three houses and a boat.

  “Oh, her,” Ellen replies, waving her hand dismissively. “It was practically over before I met him.”

  Right.

  “Anyway, I quit my intern position because everyone was accusing me of sleeping with the boss to get a better job,” she goes on to say, but doesn’t actually deny it. “B
ut then Rodney started to get on me about spending money and the trips I was taking. I divorced him a year later.”

  I just stare at the other woman at the table. So, she quits her intern job to stay at home and spend his money, and then gets upset when he starts to push back about all of her spending?

  “Anyway, I got half of his half in the divorce, considering his first gold-digging wife took so much of it.” Ellen rolls her eyes dramatically for effect.

  “So, are you working anywhere now?” I ask, almost afraid to ask. Ellen had big dreams of having her own syndicated talk show by the time she was thirty. Since I only recall seeing one Ellen on the TV, and it most definitely isn’t Ellen Montgomery, I figure that dream didn’t become reality.

  “Nope,” she replies, popping her P. “I don’t need to,” she adds with a shrug before chugging her mimosa.

  We’re saved from further elaboration when our food arrives. My ham and cheese omelet is still steaming, scalding the roof of my mouth with my first bite, but I don’t care. I’m determined to get through this breakfast as fast as possible and away from Ellen and Danny. Rueben glances over, his eyebrows pulled together as he watches me shovel my food into my mouth. As if the lightbulb goes off, he grins and takes a big bite of his own food.

  Throughout breakfast, I make occasional conversational noises, but for the most part, I drown him out. Danny is talking—again—about his career in LA. I hear things like ratings galore, charity ball, and Paris Hilton, but I tune the rest out. I don’t really care that everything worked out exactly as it was supposed to. Yeah, I didn’t miss that subtle dig either. Kudos to Danny for making something of himself, blah blah blah.

  Is it wrong that I can’t help but wonder who ironed his work shirts when he got to Los Angeles?

  Probably some poor intern who wasn’t even being paid to take care of the manchild.

  When the check arrives, Danny reaches out and grabs the bill. I made no attempt to reach the slip of paper, nor do I offer to help with the tip. Instead, I let Mr. Perfect Moneybags take care of the forty-three dollar check, plus tip. Ellen seems very comfortable allowing him to pay.