by Johnson, Cat
Cole is wearing a silky blue lace negligee. I wonder if he put it on to fuck with me. No, Cole’s not like that. He doesn't actually care how people react to him. He's so unapologetically himself. He wears dresses and skirts when he feels like it. He’s beautiful, in an ice-cold, supermodel kind of way.
My calm, cool, aloof, very beautiful, and very gay friend.
Mmm, curious. I hadn't thought much about his sexuality before, not even after the first time we danced together at a wedding—I’d mistaken his gender—and I felt him hard and pressed up against me.
I slide my hands down under the covers, grumbling, closing my eyes, and pretending I'm going to roll over to go back to sleep. I’m naked.
Fucking hell, I’m naked.
It’s fine. Everything’s fine. It’s just Cole. Fuck, I can’t remember last night at all. I slowly open my eyes again and look cautiously at Cole. He’s still smiling, clearly satisfied.
It’s. Fine.
Whatever happened last night was most definitely influenced by alcohol and unresolved feelings about my bitch of a girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend. Cole was a warm, willing body. A warm, willing male body. It’s not like I’ve never thought about it in the abstract before, being with a guy. Fuck. It’s so freaking fine.
All I can do is brazen it out. “Was I any good?” I purr, exaggerating the smarmy one-night stand feeling fizzing through my blood. Cole laughs.
“Yes, you were very good. The best I’ve had in this bed.”
“Didn’t you just get this mattress delivered last week?” I ask suspiciously.
“Yep.” His cheeky grin gives him away. He’s fucking with me. Bastard. I can’t help but laugh with amusement and relief.
“Fuck, man, you should see your face.” Cole laughs at me, not with me.
“It’s not funny.” I close my eyes, pretending he’s not there. I’m not mad, and really, it is kind of funny. I just know I’m not going to come out on top with this one. Ha, come out on top. I snort at my own juvenile, hangover induced joke.
“How has this not happened to you before now?” Cole asks, sliding back down beside me so we’re lying next to each other, watching his ceiling fan slowly spin.
I turn my head to see if he’s being serious. “What? Ending up in bed with a guy, thinking I might have had an alcohol-induced bisexual moment and slept with him?” I ask incredulously.
“Well, no,” Cole mutters sheepishly and pauses, “but also, kind of yes.” I don’t quite know how to answer.
“I mean, you flirt with everything,” he blurts out.
“Ye-ah,” I say slowly. I’m comfortable with myself and how I conduct my business. “I do flirt all the time, but I’m a personal trainer, it kind of goes with the job.” I smile as I think about my clients. They’re all beautiful in their own way, interesting and unique. I don’t mind flirting with any of them. They all appreciate a great looking guy helping them with their workout. I have it, and I’m not ashamed or principled enough not to use my looks to get where I need to.
“So, how come you’re flirting now? You know, because you’re not at work.”
“Huh.” I choose not to say anything else.
“Aaaand…” Is he reluctant to say whatever it is, or is he gleefully thrilled at being able to challenge me in this way? “It’s not really part of the business, is it? I mean, Max is just as popular as you on the gym floor, and he’s a total arsehole.” I bark out a laugh because it’s completely true.
Cole sits up, and I’m once again treated to his lean muscled form under the lacy silk. I can definitely appreciate the work he’s put into his body. I wonder where he’s going with this. I sit up to mirror his position, although I’d rather leave. Unfortunately, I can’t kick him out. It’s his bed, after all, and I’m still naked. In his bed.
Fuck.
Cole opens his mouth to say something, and I’m pretty sure I don’t want to hear it. I lunge forward and press my hand over his lips. His ice-blue eyes widen in surprise over my hand and his breath quickens. His nostrils flare and an odd expression, both challenging and yielding, crosses his face just before he opens his mouth and licks my palm. It’s not disgusting. The slick caress sends a shiver through my body, and my cock twitches with an echo of pleasure. Before I can second guess my actions, I slide my hand to his cheek and lean in to kiss him. Cole’s lips are soft but closed. He tenses, pulling away, but I bring my other hand to his shoulder and hug him to me. A sighing shudder runs through his body, and his lips part, his tongue licks gently into my mouth. My actions are not quite as gently tentative.
The warmth of his tongue and sweetness of his mouth, the unexpected slide of silk over firm muscles as I stroke down his neck to his chest, unable to resist pinching his nipple. What the fuck am I doing?
Cole moans into my mouth, and I hear mine echo at his pleasure. I pull away, both desperate and terrified to continue. Cole sits in front of me, his normally translucent white skin flushed pink; his normally composed, aloof expression confused; his normally cold eyes wide, pupils blown with lust. Shit, he’s so beautiful.
I grab the sheet, drag it off the bed, wrap it around my body, and tell myself I’m not running to the bathroom to hide.
Ten seconds in the bathroom, and I immediately regret my retreat. I step into the shower and turn the water on hot. I know we didn’t fuck, but did we do something in bed last night? I skim my hand over my dick, still hard from Cole’s teasing grin, and that hot as fuck body hiding in plain sight under the intricate lace top. With my other hand plastered to my mouth, I desperately try to stop my grunts of pleasure from escaping with every slide of my hand from the base of my cock to the tip. I lean my forehead on the tiles, the water cascades down my back, its tickling path making me conscious of every single nerve and its potential for pleasure. My fist moves faster, and a deep groan pours out of me as I picture Cole in the bed we slept in together. He wanted me, and I wanted him. I come, the orgasm rolling over me with surprising speed. I stand panting, wanting to do it again, but with Cole.
2
Cole
Well, that went exactly the way I planned it, right up until the moment it didn’t. I sit in the bed with the sheets surrounding me. What the hell was I thinking when I hopped into bed with Phil? I know exactly what I was thinking. Phil, my fucking gorgeous straight friend Phil, who I’ve crushed on since the moment we met, was naked in my bed. I wonder exactly how straight he really is.
He thought I was a woman the first night we met. I’d pressed into him on the dance floor, grinding my cock into his hip, sure he’d freak out. He’d just laughed and kept dancing. I think I fell a little bit in love with him right then. Every time we catch up, go out, hang out, I fall in love a little bit more.
Yeah, I know what I was thinking. I tried to push him over the edge, admit his true feelings about being in bed with a person with a cock. I thought he would freak out. He did freak out. And I laughed even though my heart was breaking.
And then the bastard kissed me.
Lifting my fingers once again to my lips, I try to chase the feeling of his mouth on mine. That press of lips, the slick delving tongue, his strong fingers sliding over my chest, an unexpected but oh-so-important squeeze on my nipple under the silk. If not for that pinch, I could pretend my self-destructive self kissed the wrong man, but he did that. He pinched and squeezed, causing a tiny sting of erotic pain in my bed the morning after we slept alongside each other.
“Fuck,” I say under my breath at the sound of the shower turning off. I scramble out of bed and pull on the pair of skinny jeans I’d left on the floor last night. They are tight, but I manage to get them zipped before Phil comes out of the bathroom wearing low slung, loose jeans with his collared shirt hanging open, rubbing his hair dry like a model in a shampoo advertisement. Damn it. I don’t need my friend to look any hotter than usual.
Phil looks up from under the towel, his long dark eyelashes still wet and his usual exuberant smile on his face. “You wanna go for breakfas
t?” he asks me like nothing strange just happened in my bed. Do I ignore it too?
“Ah, sure—you aren't going to bitch at me when I don’t order a vegan spinach protein breakfast shake or some other health food crap?” Phil laughs, and the sound punches me in the chest. Fuck, this stupid plan to push him into showing his true colours has backfired so badly. Phil’s grin turns maniacal, and he cackles with evil glee as he slips around the bed to stand next to me. He slides his arm over my shoulder, pulling me in for a one-armed bro-hug.
“Don’t worry, my bacon-grease addicted poppet, I’ll take you somewhere that will fulfill every one of your dirty little breakfast desires.” The flush racing up his cheeks as he realises what he’s just said to me would have made me laugh if my cock wasn’t so damn hard. And the fabric of my slinky negligee wasn’t caressing every inch of my now overly sensitive skin. I thought he’d pull away, but he squeezes me tighter, and I can’t help the tiny squeak that escapes.
“Lemme just finish getting dressed. Wait for me in the kitchen?” I can’t tell if it’s an order or a plea. Whatever it is, it doesn't matter. He goes, and finally, I can breathe again. I press the heel of my hand into my cock. I don’t have time to jerk off, but the skinny fit of the pants leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. While I don’t usually have a problem with that, this morning’s kiss has left me feeling vulnerable. I sit down on the bed and shimmy them off. This breakfast date/not date with my gorgeous friend calls for some armour.
3
Phil
My shower replays in my mind as I sit across from Cole at the little breakfast cafe in Paddington. I picture those few minutes after I left the bathroom when I’d put my arm around him, determined that my fantasy and our kiss would either mean nothing or something really fucking great. He’d looked startled and vulnerable. Cole had pushed me out of his space, then ten minutes later had stalked out with the cool couture of an heiress or a red-carpet actress, commanding the attention of the room.
Cole’s aloof demeanor was back in place, reinforced by his ridiculously high heels and slick cream pinstripe suit. His hair smooth and immaculate, his eyeliner dramatic and smokey, both adding to the impression he readied himself for battle. I wish he’d kept his skinny jeans and lacy top on and just slipped on a pair of shoes and shoved his hair in a scruffy man bun. Casual Cole is hot as fuck, and I get the feeling not many people get to see him that way.
Cole’s breakfast arrives, and he moans like he’s about to have an orgasm. I roll my eyes. “Really, Cole?” My egg white and veggie omelette with chicken breast arrives, and I try very hard not to glance enviously at Cole’s big breakfast special.
“I’m a growing boy,” he replies, picking up a piece of crispy bacon and crunching it between his teeth. I ignore him and pick up my fork.
“I was thinking,” Cole starts, and my abdominal muscles tense. In the last six months, I've worked out that nothing good ever comes from Cole’s sentences starting with those words. “I know some great women at work. I think you’d really get along with one of them. I’m going to set you up on a date.”
I look up from my breakfast, tilt my head, and just stare at him. His gaze is fixed on his meal like it's the most fascinating thing in the universe. I want him to look at me so we can have that moment where I say, Hey, Cole, remember the kiss we had in your bed? Let's see where that goes… but he doesn’t. He just keeps eating. I open my mouth and close it again. I don’t know how to do this, and even the thought feels wrong in my head. I normally never worry about teasing or flirting with anyone—guys or girls. But the stakes for this are much, much higher than a harmless exchange with a client in the gym.
“U-Um, I guess so,” I agree, my brain on autopilot after stuttering around, unable to make a decision about how to speak to someone I actually fancy. “Sure, that would be great.”
Cole looks up from his breakfast with an overly bright smile that looks like it hurts, and I wonder if I’ve just made a terrible mistake.
4
Cole
I’ve made a terrible mistake.
I organised for Jessie Paynor to go on a date with Phil tonight. As soon as I said the words, offering to set them up, I wanted to take them back. And, of course, when I went to organise a date for my crush, I had to choose the nicest, most beautiful, and most generous person in the office. It wasn't as if I could even hate her.
I feel sick every time I think about them together, but I couldn’t help myself. My mouth would rattle off information about her, making her out to be perfect every time I was with Phil. It was like I was trying to self-sabotage. I know Phil likes girls. Jessie is a girl. Phil will like Jessie.
I pull on my heavy satin shortie pyjamas with the dark green jungle pattern and deep purple lining, then slip the matching kimono over the top. The ridiculous fluffy animal feet slippers add the comfort I need, along with the large tub of vanilla ice cream softening on the side table waiting for my binge. I turn Netflix to some old-school Buffy the Vampire Slayer reruns and grab my spoon.
A text comes from Phil just as the credits start to run on the first episode.
Phil: Look alright?
He follows it up with a selfie taken in the mirror. He’s pulling a hilarious face, his tongue out with his eyes and cheeks bulging. He’s ridiculous and beautiful in his distressed jeans and a dark maroon patterned shirt.
Me: Wind might change—you’ll be stuck in those clothes ;)
The tiny dots indicating his response make my heart rate speed up. I shove another spoonful of ice cream in my mouth and force myself to look away from the phone to the TV screen. The buzz of my phone tells me he finally responded. I’m proud of the fact that I don’t race to check it.
Phil: Ha ha! I'm fucking awesome. Favour?
No, no, no. I don’t want him to ask me for anything. No, that’s a lie. I want him to ask me for everything. I close my eyes and take a deep breath before opening them and texting my reply.
Me: What?
Phil: Be my rescue call?
Fuck, fuck, I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to know it was the perfect date, or worse, he genuinely likes her, if he doesn’t text for me to rescue him.
Me: Yep ok. U won't need it
I grit my teeth.
Me: Gotta shower. Message if u need
I check to make sure the phone isn’t on silent, then throw it to the other end of the couch. The runny slush of half-melted vanilla ice cream doesn't hold any appeal anymore. I turn the TV up and press play on the next episode of Buffy, ignoring the pull of the phone off to my left.
5
Phil
The woman sitting across from me is exceptional. Beautiful, elegant, intelligent, and friendly. She’s honestly perfect. She looks up from her plate of steak and chips—which had frankly surprised me when she'd ordered it—and gives a sweet, enquiring smile. I have to shake my head to clear my thoughts of Cole. It’s not fair to either of them that I’m thinking of him while I’m out with her. It’s not fair that I’m comparing them, and this beautiful and very special woman is coming up short. My eyes glaze over as I remember the way he'd looked in the bed with me. Was that only last weekend?
I look up at, Jazzy? Jessie? Shit, I can’t even remember her name. She’s looking at me curiously. What did she ask me? Nope, not going to be able to wing this one.
“I’m so sorry, I was distracted for a moment. I didn't quite catch the question,” I confess.
“No worries. I was just asking how you know Cole?” she replied with the same gorgeous smile she’d had all evening.
“He didn’t tell you?” I wonder what he did tell her. I wonder what I’ll tell her. The truth? Am I brave enough?
“Not really. Only that you met through friends.”
Oh. Well. I shove a forkful of grilled salmon into my mouth, chewing slowly to buy time to decide what to say. All too soon, I’m swallowing. I take a deep breath.
“I met him at a wedding.” Her face lights up, and I return her smi
le before continuing, “We were dancing together, and I thought he was a woman.” I feel myself flush, but I’m owning this. If I want Cole, I have to.
Jessie—I’m sure that’s her name—grins again, then her expression softens, and there’s something knowing in it. I relax as I continue. I’m okay talking about this with her.
“We kissed,” I blurt out. I can see her surprise, but her smile doesn't disappear.
“You like him?” she asks. She’s not mad. At least, she doesn't seem to be. I feel bad having her here on false pretenses.
“Yeah, I’m sorry. I really like him.”
Jessie shakes her head. “Why, sorry?”
“Because I’m on a date with you, and I’ve been thinking about him the whole time.”
“It’s a first date. A blind first date. I kind of didn't even expect to have a decent conversation, let alone find the love of my life. It’s okay.” I like her more with every word and feel guilty I’ve come on the date without the intention of even giving her a chance.
“That makes me even more sorry.”
She shakes her head. “You can buy me dinner to make up for it.” She picks up a hot chip and nibbles on the end, sending a speculative glance my way. I narrow my eyes in a mock glare, and she laughs and points the chewed end at me.
