Page 39 of Charming my Best Friend

I sat up and reached for the glass of water next to my bed and drained it, desperate to sober up and calm my racing mind.

I just wanted to sleep.

But a fear was building up inside me, and that fear was that I would never be able to forget the way it felt to have him hold me like that, how it felt to be overwhelmed by his touch.

If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t have left.

If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t be so confused.

If it were anyone else, I would be lying here thinking about how soon I could do it again.

And worst of all, even if I could put the whole thing out of my mind, that was only half the battle.

Cause I still wouldn’t know what the heck he was thinking.

Or what he thought about the fact that I freaked out?

Was he angry? Relieved?

Did he think I did the right thing?

How far would he have gone with me?

All the way?

Could I seriously believe that after all these years of our physical contact never escalating past playful tickling and aggressive arm wrestling that he would stick his… oh my god I couldn’t even say it much less think about it.

And then just like that, it was too late, and I was thinking about it.

What would it be like to be naked with my best friend?

To have him kiss me in places he was never meant to see?

To have the weight of his body rocking over me, filling me up?

For him to hear the noises I made when I was overcome by pleasure?

Was he really ready for all that?

Or was he just drunk and curious to see what he could get away with?

Because for fifteen years, I’d always craved more time with him, but maybe time wasn’t the only thing he wanted with me.

And that thought alone was the most exhilarating, terrifying prospect of all.

What if he wasn’t sorry? What if he’d meant that kiss to feel exactly how it felt- crazy, unhinged, and delicious in its inappropriateness.

What if he was lying awake now, too, and nothing would ever be the same?

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