Rules of Friendship: Friends-to-Lovers Standalone Romance Novel

by C. A. Harms

  I end the night with a sweet kiss to my cheek, as Lance tucks me inside my car with the promise of coffee as a second date one day next week. I drive home feeling relaxed for the first time in days.

  By the time Monday rolls around, I feel like shit. The horrendous cramps followed by bloating, and the impending doom make me so cranky it is easier to steer clear, safer too. Most months Dawson knows when to avoid me and when to not push my buttons. I’ll admit it without a moment of hesitation, I am a raging bitch for precisely five to seven days every month. In fact, he’s become damn reasonable on these days, anything to avoid firing me up. But, tonight he seems to have forgotten this tactic, like all logic has gone right out the window. Dawson can’t seem to help looking for ways to piss me off right now.

  I enter the living room, holding a big bowl of popcorn, when Dawson rushes past me. He reaches out and grabs a handful of popcorn, dropping a few stray pieces to the floor in the process.

  He doesn’t even attempt to pick them up as he grabs his keys and places his free hand on the doorknob.

  “Where are you going?” I try to rein in my annoyance and bend down to gather the mess he’s made.

  “Store,” he mumbles around a mouth full of popcorn. “I need to get some deodorant.”

  “Well, I need tampons,” I state and watch as he freezes, looking back over his shoulder at me with a look of confusion on his face. “You know, the feminine hygiene section. Those things a girl shoves up her—“

  He holds up his hand and starts to shush me. “I know where they go and why a girl puts them there.” He fakes a shiver. “What I don’t understand is why you are telling me that you need them.”

  “Well, genius, that would be because you’re going to the store already and grabbing them would save me a trip.”

  “I don’t go to that part of the store.” Dawson still stares at me like I’ve lost my damn mind.

  “Yes, you do. They’re right around the corner from the condoms.” I don’t miss the way he gives me that questionable look, one that almost says, How would I know? I want to say that I’m not a prude, but think twice about it. “And what do you mean that part of the store? Like it’s some forbidden area, like the porn section in a movie rental place.”

  “First of all, I would go to that section over and over,” he confirms, wagging his brows, and I wrinkle my nose in disgust. “But there’s no point when I can log into Porn Hub or something like that on my smart TV, and lay back and relax. But the feminine hygiene area,” he air quotes the two words, “is, in fact, a forbidden zone for men.”

  “So you can wander to a woman’s intimate regions, but you can’t pick up a tampon that goes in that same area?”

  “Correct,” he exclaims, nodding as if I’ve finally gotten it.

  “You are such a pig.” He shrugs, blowing me a kiss and walks out of the door, almost skipping away in the process. My irritation level has gone from a three to an eight in a matter of minutes. I’ll get my tampons, I think to myself, and in the process, I am going to grab some pads too and make sure to stick the entire package, one by one, all over his bedroom. The only pleasure I‘ll get is knowing the look on his face when he has to touch them to remove them from his door, headboard, and walls.

  That will teach him to act like a douche.

  Dawson

  “Why are you pouting?”

  I look away from the TV for just a second when Reese flops down on my bed beside me. I avoided her for the last week because I learned the hard way—during a specific time of the month, it is better to stand clear if you know what I mean. The woman is a beast. She perches herself at my side, on her stomach with her legs up in the air behind her, as she wiggles them around anxiously.

  “Not pouting.”

  She puckers up her lip at me, trying her best not to smile. “Always so cranky. I think we need to find you a friend.”

  “I have a friend,” I tell her, looking back toward the TV, when she squints her eyes in question. I am beginning to hate the word friend because it’s now a word full of complications.

  Reese reaches out and rubs her finger over the crease of my brows. “You’re gonna inflict wrinkles if you keep scowling.” I swat her hand away, and she laughs even more. I adore her smile, always have. Her happiness equals my own. Crazy but true. I think since we’ve been kids I’ve always strived for her to be happy like it’s my life mission. When Reese is upset, I feel her pain as if it were my own.

  She still is aligned next to me on her stomach, wearing a pair of those tight pants girls wear when working out. The kind that is so form-fitting you know when and if they are wearing anything underneath. Let’s just say that there is nothing underneath Reese’s pants. Yes, I’ve looked. If I’m being honest, I’ve looked a few times in the last few minutes. Luckily, Reese hasn’t looked my way. If she glances down south, she will find my sizable package standing at attention, applauding her no-panties decision. Down, boy.

  “I wasn’t referring to a friend as in the human form.”

  Okay fine. I’ll bite. “What kind of friend are we talking about then?”

  “They sell the kind of companion you need on those websites where they’ll deliver this said friend right to your front door. Because you, my best bud, are stressed out and irritable.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Silicone friend,” she replies with a smirk and then winks slowly and playfully, “or at least I assume they are silicone. They may even throw in some lube for nice and easy strokes.”

  “Are you honestly telling me to buy a pocket pussy?” I turn my body even more because I want to see her reaction. One thing about Reese is that she always gets embarrassed when certain words are exchanged between us. So, naturally, I up my dirty word vocabulary.

  When her eyes widen, and she sits up on the bed, it only brings further attention to her upper body. A body that her tight little tank top barely covers. “Do you have to be so crude?”

  “Me?” I ask louder as I watch her hurry to get off my bed. “You’re the one that brought it up.”

  “No,” she counters, placing her hands on her hips and standing just to the side, “I said silicone friend. You said—“

  “Pussy?”

  “That is such an unnecessary word.” She glares at me—as in a ‘if looks could kill’ glare—looking like she wants to say more, only she holds her tongue instead. Her mouth moves as if she is going to say whatever is running through her mind. Instead, she shakes her head just a fraction like she is clearing the thoughts away. Then she suddenly spins on her heels and walks toward my door.

  “Pussy, pussy, pussy!” I holler after Reese, smiling as I hear her groan in protest.

  In a way, it feels like I’ve won, but in all honesty, I have only managed to work myself up. A mixture of Reese, her barely-there clothes near me, and the word pussy have my mind racing and body frustrated. Maybe she’s right; her suggestion will bring some relief to my fists after all.

  As I head home from work, I make a detour to the small coffee shop that Reese introduced me to as a food craving hit me and won’t leave. I’ve been thinking about one of their cinnamon muffins since I’d gotten to work this morning after finding Kevin scarfing down some cinnamon cake. The scent is close to the same, but nothing compares to Mrs. Trolley’s muffins.

  Standing in line, my back to the small seating area, I hear a laugh that I recognize immediately. Quickly, I turn around and begin to scan the area. My stomach tenses the moment I spot Reese. She is tucked back in a corner at a small table, too little for her to be sharing with anyone in my opinion. Especially the guy that is practically on top of her. His arm is stretched out over the back of her chair, he is leaning in, and she smiles up at him. Wearing a smile that I know I can’t claim, but I do. That fucking smile is all mine.

  I can see his lips move, and suddenly her head tilts back in laughter. The douche takes that time to look her over, from head to tits, pausing entirely too long on her chest. Fist
ing my hands at my sides, I ignore the girl behind the counter when she asks if she can help me.

  Watching Reese is like watching the worse fucking movie play out. She lowers her head, finally locking her eyes on him. Each second that passes only make my chest ache even more. It feels as if the entire event is playing out in slow torturous motion as I painfully watch. Though it hurts like nothing I’ve ever felt before, I force myself to continue to look at them. To watch this agonizing show.

  He lifts his hand and pushes back her hair, pausing to cup her jaw. His head dips, bringing his mouth even closer to hers. Again his lips move as she attempts to tuck her chin. However, from the way he grasps her face, she can’t move away too far. His movements only give him the angle he waits for to carefully descend on his target.

  I want to scream: No! I freeze, remaining silent. My hands fist so tightly at my sides they ache from the pressure. And then the moment the asshole’s lips touch hers, I have to look away. Turning back around to face the girl behind the counter who is now staring at me, her palms resting on the counter before her.

  “Can I help you?” She asks once more, her eyebrow arching in question.

  “Cinnamon muffins, please,” I say, feeling my throat burn. A scratchy sensation makes me feel as if I need to clear my throat. “Four to go,” I add. Even though I want to turn around and see what was happening, I refuse to give in and let Reese know I’m insanely jealous.

  Reality hits me like a smack to the face. Seeing Reese with a man, with any man, is so much worse than I imagined it to be.

  Once the bakery worker places the box of muffins on the counter, I give the girl a twenty and tell her to keep the change as I nearly scurry away. The need to rest after a long shift on duty no longer sounds as desirable as it once was.

  I know the things I am feeling are dangerous. But I’m not sure I can stop them. Worse than that? I’m not sure I want to stop them anymore. My fear of making a colossal mistake by following through with my desires for Reese can’t be any worse than the gut-wrenching desire I already feel.

  The need to touch her, to kiss her or even hold her close the way that dumb ass just was, eats away at me. It is clawing inside me like a green-eyed monster, making it hard to concentrate. Until now, I’ve never had a problem being near Reese. She is almost a part of me, tucked away safely in the friend zone. We’ve always been together, always on each other’s side. Only now, being near her and not touching her like I desire to is nothing more than torture. I don’t know how long I can remain safely in the friend zone.

  Reese

  “Why is it so quiet here?” Heather stands at the end of the counter as her eyes scan over the apartment. I thought it was my imagination, but to have her point it out without me mentioning it only makes the sick feeling inside me nag even more. “It’s never this quiet here unless Dawson is working. Since his car’s downstairs, I know he’s here somewhere, so what gives?”

  “I don’t know actually.” I grab the two towels sitting on the end of the counter and begin walking toward her. “Dawson’s been weird lately.”

  “Weird how?”

  “Distant.” I shrug as my eyes wander over the space and land on his closed bedroom door. “Irritable and cranky even. When he’s here, he mopes. I think something’s bothering him. Only when I ask, he tells me it’s nothing.”

  I look back toward Heather and motion for her to follow me.

  Once we are outside the apartment and on our way to the pool area, I open up even more.

  “We’ve never had a problem talking things out.” I place the towels on the lounger and sit down on the end of the one to the left. “We don’t keep secrets; we never have. But now I feel like somehow I’ve pissed him off, yet instead of admitting it, he’s just ignoring me altogether.”

  “Maybe you should just force him to talk it out.” She plops down on the lounge chair next to me and stretches out her legs before her. “Lock him in a room, heck, you can even tie him up,” she says suggestively, wagging her eyebrows and smiling wide. “Could be fun. You never know, right?”

  “We’re talking about Dawson,” I emphasize, reminding her of my friend, not admitting that my friend is also the lead in my hot fantasies. Instead of the reaction I expect, she shrugs her shoulders like it is no big deal.

  “You aren’t even going to attempt to convince me that you’ve never thought about him in that sense.” Before I can answer, she continues. “If you do, I’ll tell you now that something is severely wrong with you. That guy is yummy in every sense of the word, and he saves people as a job. Hello, hot firefighter, who can put my fire out anytime. Dawson is delicious, and he legit saves people, Reese. Rescues those in need, holds babies close when they’re scared. You saw that article in the paper, the one when he brought that lady her baby. No one, including someone who claims only to be ‘best friends’ of a guy like that, can pretend that scene alone doesn’t melt your heart and your panties.”

  Instead of arguing, I sit back in my chair and stretch out. Looking up at our apartment door, I wonder what Dawson is doing at this very minute. Is he sleeping or roaming the apartment now that he knows I’m not anywhere close? Is he dreaming of me like I dream about him? I wish.

  “How are things going with Lance?”

  I momentarily grow lost in my thoughts, my body jumping in reaction to Heather’s voice, and turn to find her watching me with curiosity. “Fine,” I say in a rush. “He’s nice.”

  “You don’t sound so sure.” I know that look, the one she wears when she knows something is up but decides to let it go instead. One of the things I love about Heather most is that she’s there when I need her, but she is never overly pushy.

  “There’s no pull there.” I attempt to explain, though I knew I didn’t have to because my friend gets me. “I’m attracted to Lance because, let’s be honest, he is a good-looking guy, but I still feel like something is missing when I’m around him. We talk and he makes me laugh, but if I'm honest, I don’t think it’ll ever lead to anything more.” How can it when I can’t stop fantasizing about my best friend? It’s not only my traitorous body, but my heart that wants more.

  “I understand,” she relays, laying her head back and closing her eyes as she tilts her chin upward toward the sky, quickly letting the topic die.

  It is a beautiful day. The sun is bright and the heat feels great against my skin so I follow suit.

  I’m not sure how much time passes, but a shadow casts over me and I peek up through one squinted eye to find Dawson hovering above. He looks down at me, his hands on his hips with a displeased look on his face.

  “Hey,” I barely squeak out, my voice shaky and unsure. Can he feel the heat in the air between us that feels hotter than the sun?

  “You know this apartment complex is full of guys who are most likely staring out their windows right now, perving on the both of you.” I arch my brow, still staring up at him, completely surprised that he is even talking to me. “And you’re gonna burn.”

  I glance at Heather, who is looking between Dawson and me. The smirk on her lips likely has a million different thoughts behind it, but she just watches silently.

  “Reese?”

  “Um, yeah.” I redirect my attention to the unhappy guy still hovered above me. “But I lay out here all the time,” I explain, finally able to look past my surprise, “and I know my limit as far as the sun. I have on sunblock anyway, but the heat feels good.”

  “As for the perverts,” Heather picks that moment to finally chime in, “tell them to come on out here and get a closer look. As long as they’re cute and have strong arms, they can stalk us anytime. We’ll let them recoat us with another layer of sunblock.” Again, she does the wagging eyebrow thing that makes me laugh.

  Dawson looks anything but amused.

  “Unless you wanna rub us down that is.” I see Dawson’s jaw flex in reaction to her challenge. Instead of replying, he turns around and walks back to our apartment. The door slams loud enough to echo througho
ut the open area in the center where the pools are surrounded by the four buildings that make up our complex.

  “He’s so edgy.” I still can’t focus on anything but our apartment door. “He needs to get laid or something.”

  My stomach bottoms out at the thought. Something has to give because this weird rift between us had started getting to me.

  When I enter our apartment close to two hours later, I remain quiet for fear of waking Dawson. He’s settled on our couch, a rare occurrence for him these last couple of weeks. He and I usually spent nights there watching television when he is off work, but lately, it feels so quiet around here. I hate the quiet.

  I pause near the end of the couch, just watching him sleep. His strong jaw is set, his arm stretches upward and is tucked beneath his head as the other lays over his stomach. He looks tense even in his sleep, and that bothers me. I want to know what’s wrong, but I push so much for answers only to come up empty every time.

  “What are you doing?” His lips move, yet his eyes remain closed. Has he been awake this whole time? “Besides standing over me like some creeper?”

  “Just missing my best friend,” I quickly reply, the words tumbling from my lips without a second thought. I try to hide the emotion I feel when his eyes open and meet mine, penetrating me, but it is impossible. He knows me so well.

  “Come’ere.” Dawson instantly holds his hand out, and I round the end of the couch, climbing over him. It is something I’ve done a hundred times. This time though, it feels different. I am still wearing my bathing suit, hot and sticky from the California heat, but it doesn’t seem to faze him. With my body pressed tightly to his, I bury my face into the crook of his neck. “I’m here."