Page 51 of Boyfriend
“Do you, uh…” I realize too late that I haven’t planned what I was going to say. And I’m in uncharted territory here. “Do you think we’ll end up doing it again sometime?” Right now works for me, I almost add.
"That sounds glorious," she says carefully. "But I just assumed you didn't do repeats."
Well, ouch. Hearing my own behavior reflected back at me shuts me up for a second. She's right, but I didn’t know it was so obvious.
“I didn’t mean it as a criticism,” she says into the silence. “I promise.”
“No—I know you didn’t. But you and I are friends, right? And we’ll stay that way?”
"Of course." She gives me a tentative glance.
I curl an arm around her, and tuck her cheek onto my bare shoulder. “You already know why I don't do relationships.''
“You mean because your family is an advertisement for love gone wrong? Or because it's more fun to party your way through the female hockey fans of Vermont?”
I snort, although it's hard to argue with this assessment. "I meant the first thing. But I'm not ashamed of the second."
She reaches an arm up and ruffles the hair above my ear. “You shouldn't be ashamed. I'm just envious of your fun."
"We had a lot of fun last night, right?"
"We set the standard for fun," she agrees. "In the dictionary now there's a picture of our clothes on the floor."
"Agreed," I say, “And only because Merriam-Webster would never print a photo of the best parts of last night.” I run a hand down her bare ass and squeeze. “But that’s why I think—since we're both reasonable adults who enjoy our fun—we could just keep the party going. What do you say to that? It would be our special arrangement for fun.”
“Like friends with benefits?” she asks.
“Exactly like that. This would be casual. You're graduating in the spring, anyway. So our fun already has a sell-by date.”
“You're right,” she murmurs. “It totally does.”
“And there’s a bonus—your idiot step-stepbrother will see me waiting for you to get off work.” My voice drops in pitch as I stroke her smooth belly with my happy fingers. “I won’t even be acting.”
She laughs. “Okay, sure. But he got the message already, I think.”
“He'd better have.” God, how I still want to punch that guy.
Abbi finally rolls over to study me with her clear gray eyes. “Just because I don’t think I need your help anymore with the Price thing doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it. Thank you for standing up for me. It's been really nice of you."
“Anytime,” I say, my voice husky. And that's when my phone alarm finally goes off. “Oh, hell. I guess it's nine thirty already.”
“I should get up, too,” Abbi says, sitting up.
Our perfect night is ending, and I’m just not ready. “Should we shower together? And then I can take you out for bagels and a vat of hot coffee. Just to take off the chill in your room. How do you even get out of bed in the morning?”
She smiles down at me. “That sounds nice, and I won’t turn you down. But I do have a system for this. That robe”—she points at a flannel bathrobe over a nearby chair—"is strategically positioned so that I can reach it from the bed.” She leans toward the chair, yanking the robe onto her bed. “Extra layers are the only way to get out of this bed when it’s so cold in here.”
I put a hand on the soft flannel. “This is nice. Is it from that place where you have your internship?”
“Yes. My employee discount is super handy.”
“Will we both fit inside this robe?”
“No.” She giggles. “But I'll turn on the water and call you when it's warm.”
“Good plan.”
Eighteen
