Page 26 of The Best You've Ever Had

“Like shit. And there was no spooning.”

“Must’ve dreamt it.” He throws an arm over his eyes to block the sunlight, and tacks on, “It was a crazy dream though. Mybigspoon felt odd since it was a little on the small side.”

I see his perfect, stupid white teeth smiling like this is highly entertaining to him. Half of me wants to join in the fun, while the other half is slightly mortified that I let my guard down enough to fall into this predicament. Because of this, I come up with a very responsible solution—smothering him with a pillow.

Lifting the pillow beside us, I toss it onto his face and pretend to hold it down. “That’s enough from you.”

From below it, he begins to laugh, the sound muffled through the stuffing. I lift it from his head, and he grins up at me. “The only thing that’s surprising about you trying to off me is that it hasn’t happened sooner.”

“I can’t help it. At times you make going to prison for murder look very enticing.”

I pretend as if I’m going to make another move to put it over his face again. But he grabs my wrist, those long fingers circling around so easily they overlap. “But who’s going to make you orgasm if you’re all locked up?”

“I’m sure I’ll find many willing participants in prison that would like to make an attempt. Maybe they’ll even be able to teach you a thing or two.”

This sets him off, his eyes flashing dark as he pulls me on top of him in one swift motion. “Do I need to remind you?” he asks, voice low in my ear. “That you said I was the best you’ve ever had? Or should I show you with my mouth again?”

As we lie chest-to-chest, I feel him grow thick and hard against my abdomen. I consider it for half a second…who am I kidding, I consider it for very many, painfully long seconds. Almost as painfully long as his dick.

Then I remember where we are. I remember our parents are probably getting ready for the day down the hall. And most of all, I remember that we’re us—Ben and Layla. Childhood frenemies with no chance of ever getting out of whatever is going on between us unscathed. Future holiday family dinners are about to get a whole lot more awkward for us.

His eyes lazily scan my features, as he waits for me to make a decision. He knows me, and he knows I’m analyzing every angle of this under a microscope. He sits there, patient, as he lets me consider all the possibilities.

The conclusion I come to however, is that we’re already playing a high-risk game of pretending to date each other. Sex is only going to make the stakes higher. On the surface level, I realize I can’t be physical with him again because it complicates things.

Deep down, buried under every thick and calloused layer of protective armor, I realize that a tiny part of me could easily do this everyday and never grow tired of him.

It’s the reason why I jump off the bed, and toss him his shirt. “Let’s go see if the snow has melted so we can be free of each other.”

He stands, a flicker of disappointment in his expression. As he tugs his dark shirt over his head, it’s as if the fabric has erased whatever feeling was swirling inside him. Now he’s right back to the Ben I know and am used to. The one with mischief dancing in his eyes, and a smirk pasted on his stupid gorgeous face, as he replies, “One can only hope.”

I stand staring at it. A thick pile of snow, creating a fortress of white around the house. This fucking weather was busier than Ben and I last night. While there’s a lot of it, I can at least see the tiniest possibility of digging out the driveway and car to leave. Iwillget through that wall of snow. And Iwillget away from him before my resolve breaks down further, and we do something else crazy.

When we woke up this morning, our families smiled at us over the rims of their coffee mugs, eyes brimming with all their hopes and dreams of me getting knocked up so they can finally be grandparents. I wanted to yell at them to knock it off, but we’re supposed to keep up this facade. This is what we agreed upon to make Mick happy.

With a borrowed pair of snow boots, two sizes too big, I open the garage door, snow shovel in hand. The news mentioned that the roadways were being plowed, but if they aren’t, I’ll shovel this entire fucking city myself if that’s what it takes.

The garage door slams shut, snapping me out of my thoughts. Ben stands there, looking far too smug and amused for the situation and hour.

Leaning casually against the door jamb, he grins. “Someone’s eager to get out of here. Already sick of me?”

I don’t even bother to turn and face him. God knows I’ll just want to sucker punch him, then jump his bones and demand another one of those earth-shattering orgasms no one else has ever given me. So instead, I decide to flip him off over my shoulder. Behind me, his laugh rumbles. He knows damn well what he’s up to.

Shuffling to the wall of snow in my too-big boots, I start clearing the driveway. I scoop shovel after shovel of this awful snow until every muscle in my body burns with the same intensity as my hatred for this horrible time of year. If I were back in my apartment in the city, I’d be curled up on my couch with a mocha, watching the snowscape from the comfort of my cozy living room.

But I’m stuck here—mind-boggled, horny, and frustrated that despite all those hours at the gym, I can’t even shovel snow for more than a few minutes.

Hearing the rough scrape of another shovel against the cement, I turn to see him on the other side of the driveway, clearing snow to create a path. My heart warms at the sight of him helping, but I quickly smother that feeling like the spark of a disastrous wildfire. Clearly, he’s not doing this for me, he’s doing it to get me the hell away from him.

Without a word, I get back to work. The sound of metal grating on cement and wet snow echoes between us as we dig from opposite sides. We’ve been at it for a while, shoveling in silence, when suddenly I feel the wet smack of snow hit me straight on the ass. I straighten up, pivoting to see where it came from, only to be ambushed by another snowball that hits my shoulder.

He laughs under his breath like this is the funniest thing ever, but he has no idea the hell he’s unleashed.

“You motherfucker,” I yell, grabbing a handful of my own snow.

Cupping the freezing powder between my hands, I pat it into a round ball and walk closer to him for accuracy’s sake. I launch it directly at his stomach. Those damn abs deserve to be punished for being far too perfect. A bit of frostbite might even the playing field.

His smile grows wider when the snow breaks apart upon contact with his body. “What? Afraid you’ll lose?” He’s enjoying the fact I’m joining in his little games far too much. He knows better than anyone that I’m evil with an overzealous need to win.

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