Page 43 of The Best Friend and the Shortstop

Her hand trails down the center of her chest, down her stomach, and over the thin trail of hair until she touches herself. I lick my lips, seeing exactly what I fantasized about. My cum dripping from her, soaking her fingers as she rubs it over her still swollen pussy.

“Suck it,” I say, and she drags her fingertips back up her body, drawing a line of our pleasure up and over her tit, being sure to coat her nipple in it before holding out two fingers and pushing them between her lips.

She tastes us. And it’s the fucking hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

“Let’s go again,” I say, and she raises her hands back up the door.

13

nikki

I knew we would be like this physically. At least, I knew I would be like this with Alex. I trust him with my life. He may piss me off sometimes, but he would also walk through fire to protect me. And he would never hurt me.

I have never been so open before, so uninhibited. There was my first time, in high school, which I only admitted to Alex because he teased me about being a virgin. It was awful. The guy, our quarterback at the time, was a complete loser, too. He ended up getting an extreme DUI on his way to prom a week after we slept together. He was supposed to meet me there. Thankfully Alex was going with a group of friends, so we ended up sort of going together.

My mom obsesses over those photos still. If I weren’t mortified at telling her what’s transpired, she would probably throw a party and burn incense to somehow woo Alex into proposing. That’s always been her dream. Both of our moms’, actually. They’ve been photographing us as if we were a couple since we were babies.

I hope we make it. For them.

For me.

I wasn’t worried before. But with everything Alex is going through, I can’t help but fear that I really am simply a distraction. We need to carve out space for a friend session simply because that seems to be how we are most honest. As friends. And I need more reassurance than I thought I did. I’m not backing out now, but if Alex does, I’m not so sure I can go back to looking at him as simply the boy who sometimes gives me a ride home.

I broke the rules for my job, too. Technically, at least. I snuck in at six in the morning Sunday, and at least one girl on my floor saw me. And she knew. Oh, she knew.

I have a head of hair that tells no lies. When I’m confident, it rocks. When I’m sick, it looks lifeless. And when I’ve spent the night doing really naughty things with the guy I’ve imagined doing them with for years, well, my hair told the story.

An hour-long shower and a six-hour nap put me back together, and the rest of the day was spent catching up on assignments. I sent my movie score in early, accepting that Chris, our teacher’s assistant, wouldn’t lead me astray. I’m sure it sounds right if he says so. And the fact I can’t tell for sure is why I’m here.

“Nicole Thomas?” A young physician assistant peeks her head out from behind the student health waiting room door. I gather up my backpack and the clipboard with my paperwork.

“Here,” I say, rushing over to her.

I hand over my paperwork as she ushers me to the scale. I step on backward, a trick my mom taught me so I don’t have to see the number. Numbers demand to be thought about and I’m happy with my body not knowing what number goes along with it. I hush the PA before she can tell me the result.

“I’m going to get some of your vitals really quick. Relax your arm,” she says, hooking me up to take my blood pressure. That number, I’m all right knowing. Maybe because it’s normal.

“You’re here for an ear issue and headaches, is that right?” she says as she enters some of my stats into her computer.

“Mmm hmm. And I think maybe my hearing has been off.”

She glances up at me but keeps typing.

“Okay. We’ll take a look. Dr. Davis will be in shortly.”

She tucks my folder in the basket on the door then leaves me alone in the tiny, sterile room. I swing my legs back and forth as I lean back on my palms, the paper sheet crinkling under my weight. I’m not good at waiting in places like this. My mind travels down its own path of worries. I don’t even need the help of Google or WebMD to spiral. And I did a little looking on my own as it is, so those initial diagnoses are lodged in my head.

My body starts to warm, so I sit up straight and pull off my sweatshirt so I can pull the bottom of my T-shirt away from my body to fan myself. The fact I can feel my pulse in my right ear only helps eliminate some of my hypotheses while strengthening others. And when I hear the rapid knock on the door, I jump where I sit and clutch my chest.

“Sorry. There’s really no easy way to surprise people like this,” the doctor says.

I titter nervously.

“It’s all right,” I say.

She flips through my paperwork as she smiles, then slides over a stool so she can sit at the computer and review her assistant’s notes. She’s older, and somehow that puts me at ease—both that she’s a woman and that she’s hopefully seen whatever I have happening.

“When did the headaches and dizziness start?” She gets to her feet and moves to stand to my right.

---