by Nikki Ash
Not to mention that wink... that had parts of my body heating unbearably.
I opened my mouth as if I were actually going to tell my best friend—finally—how I felt about him. But I snapped my jaw closed and shook my head to myself.
“Oh yeah, so I’m actually in love with you, Jameson. I know it’s weird since we’ve always just been friends and I never said a damn thing, but I can’t see myself with anyone but you.”
Yeah... I didn’t see that going over very well.
The reality—and not what my fantasy was about—would be me saying that to him and he’d blink a few times, clear his throat, then tell me that… no, we were just friends. Then I’d have successfully put this weird wedge between us, which was the last thing I wanted to do.
I internally grimaced and then sighed in exasperation.
But I was in love with him. That was the absolute truth. I wanted to tell Jameson that I saw him as a hell of a lot more than a best friend, and had for quite some time. I’d actually played it all out in my head so many times, a part of me had convinced myself that maybe—just maybe—things could work out.
I’d known Jameson for years and years, both of us going to the same middle school, then high school. We’d gone different directions as far as college went, with him getting into a prestigious one and me heading off to the local community one. But we’d still seen each other, still kept in contact. And I’d never been happier for that in my life.
He was all I had, and he told me the same thing. I knew that was the truth. With his family life shit, his ultra-rich parents cutting him off because he’d refused to go into the family business and wanted to become a doctor. Apparently, that hadn’t been good enough for his folks. But fuck them. They could leave him, but I never was.
My life wasn’t as shitty as that, but I certainly didn’t have some kind of happily ever after story either. My mother had been a single parent, working two jobs while I grew up so I didn’t see much of her. My father was unknown and she refused to give me a name because she said he hadn’t wanted anything to do with her or me. And although I knew my mother loved me, because she was so busy worrying and trying to keep a roof over our heads and food in our bellies, she was… absent, distant, and didn’t have enough time or energy for me.
And it was fine. It was what it was. Life and all that.
Then life, fate, hell, bad luck that seemed to hang around my mother, took her from me in the form of her being somewhere at the wrong place, wrong time, drunk driver hitting her kind of thing.
And I'd been alone, an adult by then, but still now… alone.
If not for Jameson, I truly would have been in a dark, deep hole with no one to help pull me out.
I scolded myself for even going down that depressing road, but sometimes shit just popped in your head and refused to leave. Kind of like having a wound so deep that you forgot about it at times, but then every once in a while it poked its ugly, infected head up and said, “Peekaboo… Miss me, bitch?”
I shook my head at where my thoughts had led, and said “fuck you” right back to them, burying them deep again and focusing on this one moment in time.
Jameson was leaving for a year. A. Year. Tonight was about celebrating, and then I’d count down those twelve months until he returned… until I felt whole once more.
Jameson looked over at me with a furrowed brow, as if I’d spoken all that out loud, or maybe he just knew me well enough he sensed it.
The present. Stay in the present.
I cleared my throat and looked at the alcohol bottles again. He came over with the shot glasses and started mumbling to himself what to make. I trusted him to either mix us some drinks, or decide what nastiness I’d be consuming. He’d tended bar for a couple years while he went to school. I, on the other hand, had worked at the local diner. So unless he wanted Shirley’s secret apple dumpling recipe, I was no help with this.
I watched him silently, which I shamelessly did a lot. A lot.
God, I wished I would have told him how I felt so long ago. At least I would have had more time to fix things if it would have caused problems. Yet with life, it always seemed like the timing wasn’t right, like there were just more important things that I needed to be focused on. Then of course the whole “don’t cross any lines”.
But now it was clear I’d run out of time, at least for the next twelve months.
Jameson had become an M.D. four years ago. After his residency at the local hospital, then focusing on wanting to do the whole Doctors Without Borders, he decided that’s what he wanted to focus on... being a healer in every sense of the word.
I couldn’t actually pinpoint when it happened—when I realized that I was in love with him. I just knew that one day I looked at Jameson and something had sparked, surged, opened up, then caved in.
I felt like these emotions had always been buried deep down, and they’d stayed that way as some kind of defense mechanism. Protection, maybe?
But there was no ignoring them.
I breathed out as I remembered that day I fully realized what I felt for Jameson, and that it consumed me.
I stared into his blue eyes, ones that reminded me of the Caribbean. I couldn’t breathe all of the sudden.
“Are you okay?”
I blinked a few times, Jameson’s deep voice breaking through my shock. I rubbed my hands up and down my thighs, then transferred one of them to my chest, rubbing slow circles over my heart. I tried to gather my self-control, but was pretty sure I failed. I could feel him watching me, practically felt his curiosity and concern reaching out to me.
I felt like the world had just opened up and nearly swallowed me whole because of what I knew was the absolute truth in my heart.
That I was in love with him.
I was in love with my best friend.
That realization would’ve knocked me on my ass if I wasn’t already sitting down.
“I’m fine,” I murmured, waving off the situation because I was so damn confused and shocked and... woke, that I couldn’t form any more words than that.
Please don’t let him press. Please don’t let Jameson figure it out because the result could be disastrous.
I was pulled back to the present, realizing I must’ve been standing here thinking about that moment in time for a while because Jameson was grabbing the last two bottles on the kitchen counter and facing me, this expectant look on his face.
“Thought I lost you in thought there for a minute.”
I gave him a smile but I knew it probably looked forced as hell. “What, ugh, what’s going on with the bottles?” I gestured to the two in his hands.
He lifted them up. “I figured we might as well put them out in the living room, since that’s where we'll be drinking. I don’t want to have to be coming in and out to do a refill, especially if I am good and drunk.” He gave me a grin, then gestured toward the tiny living room for me to follow. And I did, on shaky legs and knees that threatened to buckle under me.
But I managed to follow him out, and prayed—prayed like hell—that tonight could just be normal. Because my fear was getting a little too loose in the lips and spilling my deepest secret that I was in love with him.
Chapter Two
Jameson
I knew I should have taken it easy tonight, but in my head this had all sounded like a good idea.
Get drunk with Lia.
Don’t worry about the fact I was leaving for the next twelve months.
Don’t let the thoughts that I couldn’t even contact her because I would be moving around so much, and in areas so impoverished there was hardly any food to go around let alone medical intervention.
But as I tossed back another shot despite being pretty drunk, it was really fucking clear this was a bad idea.
All around.
There was a movie playing on the TV, but I couldn’t tell anyone what the fuck it was about. I was too focused on Lia, staring at her profile, memorizing it over and over again because it would be
what would get me through the next year. Yeah, this had been my choice to go across the ocean to help those in need, to heal and protect, to try and make the world a little better for someone, but it was all because of the goal to come full-circle and be the male Lia deserved.
I wanted to be wholly good, wanted to have this moment in time under my belt so that when I came back home I could start my own business, do non-profit work, and donate my time, show Lia that I was the perfect man for her.
But with the thought of leaving in less than forty-eight hours looming over me, leaving Lia sounded like the worst fucking idea imaginable, and now drinking just made my emotions for her even that more intense.
I lifted my hand and ran it over my jaw, trying to look at Lia inconspicuously.
I’d first felt a tingling of awareness about my feelings for her back in high school, but I pushed them away, burying them deep because our personal lives had been so up in the air. Both of us had been struggling in different ways—what with her mother hardly home because she worked so much, and the relationship between me and my parents becoming unbearable.
I hadn’t wanted to add more confusion and conflict to the mixture.
But then as the years passed, I felt those feelings start to push their way to the surface once more, becoming stronger. I grew jealous of any attention a guy gave her. It was when I saw guys look at her, I became enraged if they thought they had the right to speak to her. It was a good thing she never dated—at least not that I ever knew about—because the jealousy would’ve been so monumental it would have sucked the life right out of me. That, and I would have hurt the bastards.
And that’s when I knew that what I felt for her wasn’t fleeting. It was so deep inside of me, another entity so strong that it rivaled my own consciousness. There was no going away from it, no dodging it, no trying to push it back down. It just kept growing until it consumed me, until the only thing I could think about was making a life for myself because then I could show Lia what I had to offer her.
Keeping my focus on her, I watched as she brought the shot glass to her lips and tossed it back, a drop of amber colored liquor sliding down her bottom lip. I felt my eyelids lower as heat cooked deep in my body. She dragged that perfect pink tongue out and ran it over the droplet, and I heard this low growl leave me. Thank fuck whatever scene was playing drowned out the primal noise.
She reached across the table and grabbed a length of red licorice, and fuck me I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the sight of her eating it. She was so engrossed in the movie that it made watching her easy because I didn’t have to even try to hide my reaction.
Increased breathing.
Body tight.
Muscles clenched.
Cock so fucking hard the length ached something fierce.
I was vaguely aware of parting my lips, the image of Lia having her lips wrapped around something else that was long and hard. Another groan ripped from me, and this time the movie didn’t muffle the sound. She glanced at me and lowered her brows, the red licorice still in her mouth. She slowly slid it out, her lips perfectly formed around it.
Jesus Christ.
I was pretty sure I came a little in my jeans at the sight alone.
“You okay?” Her brows were still low as a look of concern crossed her face. “You getting sick? Is that why you made that sound?”
I opened my mouth but nothing came out. I was buzzed really hardcore, and I knew even if I stopped drinking right now, the amount of booze I’d consumed would keep rising in my bloodstream until I was slurring like an asshole.
And all I could do was stare at Lia during this whole inner monologue, knowing that I was about to open my mouth and insert my foot right in there.
Chapter Three
Lia
I felt his eyes on me, had for a while now, but I’d kept stuffing my face with licorice--the red kind cause the black kind tasted like medicinal shit to me--and trying to act like I was watching the movie plastered across the TV screen. But I didn’t want to look over at him because I was feeling loosey-goosey, you know, the kind that was caused by alcohol. It was the kind that made you think that “hey, why not just tell your best friend you’re in love with him”, ‘cause now seemed like the perfect time. Not to mention I was hot, that being this close to him had me very aware that he was all male and I was all female.
I swallowed and promptly started to choke on a piece of licorice, my eyes watering. I reached for the drink closest to me, which wasn’t water, but more alcohol… and that in turn had me coughing even more.
Once I had my composure, I wiped the tears under my eyes and exhaled. Then I went back to trying to act like he wasn’t still staring at me. I grabbed a piece of licorice and slipped it between my lips, tasting the artificial cherry flavor and idly thinking who came up with creating these fake flavors and trying to pass them off as cherry, strawberry, or even grape. Not to mention the blue raspberry flavor.
I focused on the TV even harder, all the while sucking on that licorice.
And then I heard him make a sound. At first I wondered if a wild animal was right beside me, the noise gruff and harsh, more of a growl than anything else. I looked at Jameson.
My breath caught.
My heart stuttered.
And the world faded away.
All because of the way he looked at me.
It was the way I’d always wanted him to see me… with longing in his eyes because he wanted me.
God, he really was looking at me like he… wanted me.
“You okay?” I felt my brows lower as I stared at him, concern coming up thick in me. “You getting sick? Is that why you made that sound.” I had pulled the latter out of my ass because the way he looked at me told me he was feeling just fine. “Jameson?” Was that my voice, all thready and thin, all breathy and filled with desire? Yeah. Yeah it was, and it was all because of the combination of the alcohol and the way he watched me.
He had yet to respond, but the hooded look in his eyes had my breath catching all over again. Although I could smell the liquor we’d consumed bouncing through the air between us, the strongest scent of all was Jameson and whatever cologne he wore. It had deep and dark notes laced in a very masculine aroma. And it made me uncomfortably wet.
“I always wanted to see what it would be like to kiss you,” he murmured, his voice slightly slurred, his eyes locked on my mouth.
Yeah… we’d just totally gone down this rabbit hole.
I didn’t know how long I sat there, just letting his words really sink in. I inhaled, wondering if I’d been holding my breath this entire time.
Okay, so I was drunk. Not so trashed that I was seeing double or couldn't walk a straight line. Well, the latter was debateable, but the point was I was with it enough that I could see the way Jameson stared at me, and most certainly heard him clearly enough.
I replayed what Jameson had said so many times in these past few moments that nothing else was penetrating by brain.
“I always wanted to see what it would be like to kiss you.”
He had? Or was he just drunk that he thought he did, or this sounded like the best thing to say at the moment?
Either way, I really didn’t care because my body was humming and singing and doing a little jig.
“You have?” I finally said after what seemed like far too long of us sitting here in silence. He was still looking at my lips, but after I spoke he slowly lifted his eyes from my mouth and looked directly at me.
“I’ve thought about kissing you so many fucking times it’s become this obsession.”
Well. Okay then.
His brows were pulled down low, his focus on my lips for only a second before he looked back in my eyes. I should have said something, anything, but I was struck silent by his words… ones I’d longed to hear for so long.
And the longer we stared at each other, the more I felt that electric heat bounce between us.
“Jameson?” I whispered his name, wondering if he’d hea
rd me or if I’d spoken that word in my head only.
He glanced away, breaking the spell, only to run a hand over his jaw and glance back at me right away. It was so damn hot in here. Why was it so hot?
His eyes lowered back to my lips and I forced myself not to lick them.
A part of me said this was a bad idea--whatever this was. But a way bigger part of me… the part that wanted Jameson and only him, told that other voice to back the hell off and sit down.
I was drunk.
He was drunk.
He admitted to wanting to kiss me.
And I wouldn't stop him.
But had anything ever felt righter than this very moment? No, no I didn’t think so.
I didn’t know how long we stared at each other, but I felt the arousal heighten, and knew my pulse was pounding rapidly in my wrists, at the base of my throat. I could feel it.
The way he looked at me was full of heat, need, the booze making everything in the peripheral seem hazy, distorted, as if I could almost imagine this wasn’t real life.
Maybe I’d passed out and I was dreaming, having this wonderful fantasy where I finally got the one person I’d always wanted.
God, could something happen between us right now in this moment?
I watched as Jameson lifted his hand, and a second later he was cupping my cheek, his fingers big and masculine against my skin, his flesh like fire on me.
“Lia,” he whispered, still staring at my lips, his cheeks tinged pink, his pupils fully dilated. And then he leaned in close, so close I felt how warm his breath was, smelled the whiskey he’d been taking shots of all night.
I should stop this. But I won’t.
He hovered so close yet so far away, maybe rethinking this, maybe trying to talk himself out of it.
Kiss me.
And then as if I’d screamed those two words out loud, Jameson growled and slammed his lips on mine. He kissed me hard, feverishly, as if this feral animal had broken free, had been unleashed inside of him. He gave me it all, and I accepted him with open arms and a greedy body.
