My pulse stutters. My eyes fly open. The bedroom is cast in a muted gray light creeping through the slats of the blinds. It’s overcast outside; the sky is heavy with cloud cover. But still giving enough light for me to see Chase clearly. His face is relaxed in sleep, lips slightly parted. That chiseled jaw with the shadow of unshaved stubble. He’s still only wearing loose basketball shorts. His torso bare. My eyes skim down the hard lines of his chest and arms, the sculpted definition of his abs.
Not for the first time, I wonder how much easier life would be if my best friend looked like a normal human instead of a Calvin Klein model crossed with a golden retriever superhero, looking one step away from causing mischief or running into a burning building to rescue kittens. An ugly best friend would’ve been so much easier. Or even a female one. Anyone but this man I’m currently wrapped around. But every time I think that, I remember how the world seems to quiet down when we’re talking. How we just… fit. And somehow, that makes everything harder.
I should move.
I need to move!
If I’m careful I can do it without waking Chase. Pretend I didn’t fall asleep in his bed, that I didn’t find my way into his arms while we slept. Except, it isn’t just my body pressed against Chase; my leg is hooked possessively—traitorously—over the solid muscle of his thigh, and Chase’s strong arms are wrapped around me, anchoring me in place.
I draw in a slow breath, catching the lingering scent of sandalwood and vanilla and something manly underneath. Something all Chase that reminds me of my teen years and late nights on the ranch, lying on a blanket in an empty paddock, staring up at the stars, making plans and dreaming big. Chasetalked of being the best quarterback in the NFL. I talked of leading the cheer team onto the field, secretly dreaming of that star quarterback seeing me as more than a friend one day.
And here I am in his bed. Heat spreads through my body. A want that leaves my mouth dry and my core aching. Last night’s conversation rushes back. My confession about mediocre sex, about never feeling that mythical fire. Over the years, I’ve convinced myself that kind of passion doesn’t exist. It’s easier to pretend that the films and books exaggerate and lie, than face the reality: I’ve never had a real connection with anyone I’ve dated. Sexual or otherwise.
I’m twenty-eight and have never had an orgasm courtesy of anyone but myself. Never been in love with someone who’s loved me back the same way. Never even come close to finding my happy-ever-after. And I’m terrified to admit that the reason for my pitiful track record might have something—everything—to do with the man sleeping beside me right now. That maybe, no matter how much I’ve shoved all those feelings I once had into a box, buried it so deep it no longer exists, I’ve still been measuring every man I meet, not just against my own standards, but against my best friend. And no one has ever measured up to him.
Chase’s breathing changes from quiet breaths to a long sigh. His hand moves down my back, and for a moment I think he’s going to cup my ass, but then he freezes like he’s realizing that it’s me. I shut my eyes, pretending I’m still asleep. Like I haven’t been lying here admiring every inch of his body. But my cheeks are burning and it’s useless to pretend, because I’m certain he can feel the rapid thud of my heart drumming in my chest.
“Morning,” I murmur.
“Morning, princess.” Chase’s voice is rough with sleep, and I can feel the rumble of it in his chest where my hand is still pressed.
“We’re still doing ‘princess,’ are we?” My laugh sounds all wrong as I pull my leg back from where it’s draped over his thigh. “Sorry. Must have gotten cold in the night.”
He chuckles, but it’s awkward, too. His arm tightens around me for a second before he seems to realize what he’s doing and lets go. “Yeah, me too. Sorry if I crushed you.”
Sorry if I was humping your leg in the night.I keep the thought to myself and shift away from him. His smile is lopsided, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes when he looks at me. I look down and realize my tee has twisted and is pulling against my breasts, showing the clear points of my nipples.
“If you need to warm up some more,” he quips, flashing me a wolfish grin and opening his arms.
I force a laugh, swatting at his chest. “Shut up.” I’m half dying inside, but grateful he thinks my nipples are pebbled because of the cold and not because of how hot I am for him.
“Hey, no judgment. I mean, who wouldn’t want to cuddle with this for warmth?” He gestures dramatically at himself, and I can’t help but laugh again.
“Come on,” I say, standing up and padding to the door. “You promised me a shopping spree.”
He groans, deep and long, and I swear the sound does something feral to my body because suddenly I’m squeezing my legs together. “Or we could watch a movie and eat junk food?”
“No way. You promised candles and throw pillows,” I reply, waving a hand around the bedroom. Like the rest of the apartment, it’s bare. A bed, a nightstand. A closet and drawers. No pictures, no chair, no lamp even.
“I’ll let you choose the movie,” he says, voice sugary-sweet.
“No way.” I shake my head. “I’m taking a shower. You make the coffee.” I’m halfway back to the spare room where I left myclothes—where I should’ve slept last night—when I call back. “And remember I like?—”
“Caramel syrup in your first cup of the day,” he cuts in before I get the chance. “I remember.”
“And yet you still can’t remember that I hate it when you put ketchup on my fries for me.”
“Oh, I remember,” Chase calls from his bedroom. “I just like watching you freak out about the ketchup touching your fries.” The deep boom of his laugh follows me into the bathroom.
The room is large with gray slate tiles, a rainfall shower, and a mirror over the sink. I strip out of my clothes and let the steam envelop me as I step under the spray. The hot water prickles over my skin, pebbling my nipples again. And suddenly I’m not thinking about coffee or Chase’s teasing. I’m thinking of the heat I swear I saw in his eyes when he noticed my nipples pushing through my tee. I’m thinking of how it felt to press my body against his. The feel of his hand trailing down my back.
I close my eyes. Allowing my hands to roam over my body, slick with soap now. I linger on the swell of my breasts, my stomach, then down to the ache between my legs. I bite back a groan as Iimagine the door opening. Chase stepping in. Naked. Joining me under the water, his hands on my hips, his mouth claiming mine. Fire pools low in my belly. I tip my head back, imagining his mouth?—
A knock on the door jerks me out of the fantasy.
“Coffee’s ready,” Chase calls.
“OK,” I manage, voice breathy. “Thanks. Be out in a minute.”