Can't Match This: A Friends To Lovers Romantic Comedy

by Xavier Neal

  Her bluntness, though surprising, is something I can appreciate.

  Turns out I might get my wish on going home early after all.

  My response isn’t what she was hoping for, but also isn’t one she flat out accepts. She insists we finish our drinks since they’re already paid for and simply enjoy each other’s company. We touch on easy topics like sports, which she has absolutely no interest in. Movies, though the only films she’ll watch are foreign. And food, from which I learn she’s a vegetarian. Her sexual antics continue throughout the conversations, ending only once I’ve walked her to the valet station and declined the one-night stand proposal. The valet boy who overhears the comment seems unable to stop shooting me looks like I’m insane for passing on such a precious piece of pussy.

  If only he knew what was already waiting for me in my bed.

  I arrive home even more exhausted than I was when the date started thanks to a pit stop at one of Lenny’s favorite taco places and an annoying construction detour that added fifteen minutes to the trip. During the walk to my bedroom a dull pain begins to spread in my lower back. The obnoxious on again-off again aches have gotten worse as the years have gone on. I’ve done a fairly great job hiding it, because trusting your career to a man who appears weak due to a limp is hard enough, but trusting your career to a man who has trouble walking altogether is idiotic. How can a man who can’t take care of himself ever take care of you?

  “Maldita puta pasar el la pelota! Pass the ball!” Lenny shouts at the top of her lungs.

  The sound instantly brings a smile to my face.

  At least I know there’s one person who has never thought my injury makes me less of a man.

  Pushing the door open to my bedroom, my eyes immediately drift over to where she’s sprawled out in the middle of the mattress, on her stomach, face supported by the palm of her hand, and eyes glued to the flat screen that’s pinned on the wall.

  A familiar announcer’s voice causes me to chuckle my question, “Are you yelling at highlights?”

  She snaps her face in my direction. “They’re forcing me to relive the shitty game, so I’m allowed to relive my earlier reactions.”

  I flash the fast food bag in my clutches. “You can yell from the bed, but you gotta eat on the floor.”

  “I’ll be careful!”

  “Lenny, you’re never careful, and the feeling of shredded lettuce in my ass crack is not one I’ve forgiven just yet.”

  Her snicker is attached to a short shrug.

  Glad she thinks it’s cute.

  It’s not.

  Your bed is not your dining room table. It’s not meant for food. And if you do bring food to it, it’s supposed to be in the form of a whipped cream bikini, thank you Varsity Blues. That is not only sexy but can be licked off, as well as easily washed off, your sheets.

  No one finds rolling around in lettuce sexy.

  No. One.

  “Speaking of my bed,” I toss a nod in its direction, “what the fuck did you do to it?”

  Her attempt at pretending to be innocent is awful.

  “Why are my sheets one color and the pillowcases another?”

  “They’re Hellcats colors!”

  “I don’t need to sleep in them. I’m not their mascot.”

  She bobs her head in a mocking fashion. “How about a thank you for buying me new sheets?”

  “How about I didn’t want nor need new sheets?”

  “Beg to differ after what happened between us this morning…”

  Yeah, I imagine getting cum out of my sheets was probably not something she wanted to ask Margo to do…

  Why is it instead of just washing them herself, Lenny opted for the wilder option of buying something new?

  My best friend crawls off the mattress, snatches the bag from my grip, and sets up shop beside the foot stool at the edge of the bed. “How was your date?”

  “You’re getting worse.”

  She lets out a theatrical gasp. “She was perfect for you.”

  “Yeah, if I had a sex dungeon I needed to put to good use.”

  “You do. It’s in the basement. It’s just been so long since you used it, you’ve forgotten it exists.”

  My head tilts at her, only slightly amused.

  “What was so wrong with this one?”

  “You know I’m all for women who enjoy taking charge of their sexuality-”

  “You sweet feminist.”

  I helplessly roll my eyes. “However, when I feel I could probably write up a sexual harassment suit against you, it’s a problem.”

  Instead of chomping into her soft chicken taco, she cringes.

  “What led this match to happening, and please, don’t say it was career based again.”

  “Okay then. I won’t say it.”

  She bites into what I’m assuming is dinner rather than just a snack.

  Her eating habits haven’t progressed much since we were in college. She still has a tendency to spend more time munching during the day then remembering to eat ridiculously late or only when reminded by me that she needs a real meal. It used to happen because of her studying schedule, classes, and work. Now, it’s because of helping her mom repaint the house, working at the clinic, and playing part-time cupid.

  I know it’s dumb to think, but sometimes I like to believe she enjoys me taking care of her. Making sure she gets dinner. Buying her new sneakers when it’s clear hers have given up. Holding her close when she has a nightmare.

  They seem like little things I shouldn’t think twice about.

  Yet occasionally I do.

  Walking over to my dresser, I begin to undress, starting with my watch. “Go ahead. Explain this match to me.”

  “Ciara was career driven. Focused. Had corporate aspirations I thought you would admire. I mean she’s one of the only female marketing executives at this huge company and the youngest they’ve ever hired for such a position. She was committed to putting in the work to climb the ladder, ya know? It reminded me of how dedicated you are to pushing A+ Athletes from being number four in the country to actually being number three.”

  “We are number three.”

  “You’re number four.”

  “Number three. We demanded a recount.”

  Lenny shakes her head so hard her curls bump into her face.

  After I’ve emptied my pockets, I rest my back against the furniture. “Do you think work is the only thing I’m interested in?”

  She ceases her attempt to eat once more to tilt her head sarcastically at me. “OG, you’re basically bullying me into a job I have no desire to take because you’re overly concerned with career stability, so I think it’s a safe assumption to conclude that you would want a partner that possesses that same business-related aspirations in their field.”

  She’s not…wrong.

  Damn it. I hate that she’s not wrong.

  Lenny continues to lecture with a mouth full of food, “It’s a totally natural human instinct for someone to want their mate to match their level of ambition.” She swallows and smacks away whatever taste is lingering. “Back to Ciara. She was too aggressive?”

  “Too aggressive…and then there was the fact we had nothing in common.”

  “Nothing?”

  “She hated sports, meat, and movies that were spoken in English.”

  “Yikes.”

  “Yeah, pretty fucking awkward. May have surpassed crying Rapunzel for worst first date ever.”

  “No,” Lenny quickly denies, wiping her hands. “Neither of those win for worst first date ever. I have the worst first date ever story to end all worst first date ever stories in this friendship.”

  Relationship.

  I want her to fucking say relationship…

  I stroll over to the stool to sit closer to her and insist, “Hit me with your best shot, Rocky.”

  “You mean Creed. He was black.”

  “The jab wasn’t racially motivated. It was about knowing your cocky ass is coming into thi
s conversation and going to lose.”

  She lightly laughs, pushes her dinner aside, and faces me. “Get ready to endure a knockout, baby.”

  My lips press together to stifle the groan that grows any time she uses the term.

  “Couple years ago, Archer set me up with one of his co-workers. It was similar to the set up you went through tonight. I was all about beers, tacos, and sports while he was all about wine, sushi, and home improvement projects.”

  “You hate sushi.”

  “Be a fucking man and put el pescado in a fucking tortilla.”

  I don’t bother hiding my laugh.

  “Anyway, he took me out to Swinging Sushi. Aside from the fact of having nothing to talk about and there being nothing on the menu I wanted to eat, he ends up disappearing for a really long time to the bathroom. Like food poison level of dump time. I go to check on him but then hear moaning from the women’s restroom and get distracted. Do a little investigating, because uh, hello, who doesn’t love a little voyeurism, only to discover him in the stall, fucking a waitress, who I later found out was his ex-girlfriend. He only brought me there to make her jealous. It worked. Oddly enough, after our date they got back together and ended up married last year.”

  Bewilderment overtakes my expression. “How the hell have I never heard this story?”

  Lenny gives me a small shrug.

  “Why didn’t you tell me when it happened?”

  “You mean why didn’t I let you go to the store, pretend to need his assistance, and then kick his ass in the back?”

  I don’t refute the prediction.

  “There was more important shit to deal with at the time.”

  “Like what?”

  “You had just come back into town after spending a week trying to close the deal with some whiney rookie who decided not to sign, which was the worst mistake of his career, and needed to vent. And drink. And have your very bruised ego stroked.”

  The corner of my lip threatens to tug upward. “Was your ego not bruised?”

  “Yeah, but I rebound better than you on and off the court.” Lenny laughs harder than I do at her joke. “You needed me more than I needed to bitch about some dude they had to twist my arm to go out with.”

  Initially, the comment causes me to smile, yet the action quickly fades back into a frown.

  Has it always been this way? Has she always put her own needs on the backburner to put mine first? How many times has she needed me to listen that I haven’t? How many times in all these years have I stopped to really hear her like no one else makes time to? Am I ever really giving her what she deserves in a deep conversation or just waiting my turn to talk?

  A sharper ache pierces my lower spine forcing me to grit my teeth.

  “You okay?” She swiftly questions.

  “Leg’s a little stiff…Back’s been hurting like a bitch today.”

  Concern in her eyes expands exponentially. “What’d the doc say at your last appointment?”

  “Pop two pills a day and call me when you need a refill.” The grunt that leaves me is bitter. “Same shit he’s been saying for years.”

  Despite knowing how much I hate pain killers.

  “Want me to help massage it?”

  Her offer is a welcomed surprise. “You don’t mind?”

  “Have I ever?”

  “Because I want you to rub me, I won’t pull at that thread.”

  She gives my non-sore leg a gentle nudge, stands, and saunters away to the en suite bathroom to retrieve the cream. I silently shed my clothing until I’m down to just my boxer briefs. By the time she returns, I’m leaning back on my palms, pushing harsh breaths out of my body to bulldoze through the pain.

  Lenny lowers herself between my thighs and lifts the container of medication cream up towards me. I swipe a small scoop to rub on my back while she begins to spread it on my leg. We work as a team to alleviate as much pain as we can. The actions bring back fond memories the way they always do. She’s first to begin the reminiscing of my physical therapy days, and I’m quick to add to the humorous experiences we engaged in.

  The entire time wasn’t bad. While I had been abandoned by everyone who realized I was no longer a meal ticket to them, me, Mick, and Lenny became family. They doodled profanity and provocative images on my casts. Helped me scratch the itches inside with odd objects. Scared away women who only wanted to throw me sympathy ass once my dick was in working order again and led those with more class my direction. Lenny went to therapy with me whenever she could. Mick drove me around like a fucking Uber. They proved they had never been there for the future fame, and it was during that experience I knew they’d be around for the rest of my life.

  Lenny’s fingers dig in deeper to the tissue, and I try to catch the groan before it can leave my lips. She shoots me a wicked smirk. “You want me to do it again?”

  My stirring cock begins to fully swell.

  “Maybe a little…higher?” Her hand slides to my inner thigh and massages firmly. “Am I high enough yet?”

  I hate having to retort, “As far as you can go with that cream on your hands.”

  Her tongue snakes out to caress her lips, and I lean forward wanting to chase after it.

  “How about I use something else to massage your cock? Like my mouth?”

  And here is the perfect example of how I want my woman’s sexual aggression to be shown.

  Using my clean hand, I free my dick from the cloth prison. The cool air is only allowed a single caress before it’s disappearing between her full lips. Lenny plants her grip firmly on my thighs and begins a barbaric bobbing. She lacks the erotic grace given by someone who does this regularly. However, her frantic movements are packed in a fierceness I find sexier than perfected skill. Heat from her hollowed cheeks sears my shaft, yet it’s the spit dripping down to my balls that has me possessively growling. My fingers bury themselves into the curtain of curls and clamp onto a handful. Lenny squeaking around the tip of my cock prompts me to pull her to me. The tip of my dick tickles the wet haven in the back of her throat and stopping myself from pursuing more of the forbidden territory is inconceivable. I viciously thrust into her throat, receiving a gagging sound I could spend an eternity jerking off to.

  “Relax those muscles, babe,” I immediately coach, not wanting to abandon the wet, hot paradise I’m in the process of claiming.

  Lenny grumbles her response.

  The vibrations only add to the pleasure, which spurs me want to dive deeper. “Don’t fight. Let my dick slide down your throat like it’s home base.”

  My analogy has the positive result I was anticipating.

  Her fingernails cut into my flesh for traction, yet her throat unconstricts to receive more of me. The invitation to fuck her face seems too good to be true. Too good to be real. Too good to fall into what must be some sort of dream trap. As if able to sense my apprehension, my best friend picks up the pace of her sucking once more.

  I groan at the way my shaft is suffocating in the soaking confines and return my stare to a stupefying sight. Lenny maintains a steady speed, the tip of her nose in a competition with itself to reach the base of my cock. Each time she shifts the slightest sliver closer, my balls curl up in anticipation of rewarding her with a well-earned prize. Choking sounds reverberate around the room in stereo. They evolve in intensity, and my growls match in savagery. Lenny’s cheeks work wildly to maintain the delectable suction while I cruelly push her to the breaking point. She unexpectedly peers up at me, brown eyes watery, mouth spread wide from my cock, and spit smeared around like game day face paint. A long, slow moan is offered up like a Hail Mary pass. The combination of the beautiful vision and even more beautiful sound shatters me.

  Powerful burst after burst rush down the back of her throat prompting me to say, “Swallow for me, baby. Swallow every. Last. Fucking. Drop.”

  Lenny gormandizes my cum, moaning louder each time she succeeds in following the command.

  My entire body trembles and shak
es through the lapping that proceeds my orgasm. Her tongue swirls around my shaft, searching for lost remains and sucking up lingering flavor that may have been left behind.