Page 8 of Claimed By my Best Friend

There is shuffling behind me as I hear her quickly clean up and get dressed. Christ, I am such a fucking asshole. Paula is my best friend before anything else, and her feelings matter more than mine, but at the moment, I have nothing to give her.

I have no fucking idea what to say to her.

“Do…um, do you regret it?”

Her voice is strained, and finally I turn around to face her. She’s already dressed—hugging the front of her shirt closed since I tore off all her buttons—and there is a sad scared look on her face, and vulnerability fills those beautiful eyes that I adore. I open my mouth to assure her that I don’t regret a moment of what happened between us, but nothing comes out.

I don’t regret it. I’ll never regret a moment I share with this girl, but she’s introduced a new emotion in me that I haven’t experienced in a while. Fear. Of losing her. Of what will happen now that we’ve crossed this line.

I come from a fucked-up world where relationships don’t work. Marriage doesn’t matter and love hurts. I could rely on our friendship. I could depend on it to last.

A barrage of emotions must cross my face, and Paula seems to draw her answers from that because her expression crumbles. She presses her teeth into her trembling lower lip and spins away from me. Before I can take a step forward and attempt to explain myself, she’s gone.

I watch helplessly as the door swings closed behind her.

Chapter Four

Paula

Tears sting the back of my eyes as I run out the door, my heart pounding in my chest. The cool air hits my face but does nothing to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside of me.

I can’t breathe. I need… I have to get away.

I glance back at the building I just left and feel my heart clench painfully. His shop and home is just as charming as the man himself. It’s a cozy two-story building with a brick exterior that is adorned with colorful murals and graffiti art. In a charming little town like Valor Springs, it stands out like a sore thumb. Unique and different, like the man himself.

The entrance has a vintage neon sign that reads “Nord Tattoo Studio.” Inside, the first floor is his studio space, and his living area, where we spend the majority of our time together, is upstairs. Anyone would think us a couple if they saw us cozied up together on one of our many movie nights. Heck, I almost thought of us as a couple. I convinced myself that there was only one last line to cross and everything would be perfect.

The neon light flickers with his name like a warning sign, and I quicken my pace, my feet pounding against the pavement. Each step away feels harder, but I force myself to keep going.

Darrell was right. Tattoos hurt. God, they hurt so bad.

I somehow make it to my car without dropping to the pavement and sobbing. I fumble with my car keys, my fingers trembling as I struggle to find the right one, but before I can, they slip out of my fingers and fall to ground.

“Shit,” I mumble, staring at the keys as if expecting them to jump right back into my hands. “I can’t deal with this right now!” I drop my forehead against the cool metal of the car. It feels cold and foreign, a stark contrast to the heat I felt moments earlier when the man of my dreams touched me. His hands were like a furnace as he traced them down my body, and his lips burned a trail of heat everywhere they touched.

Moments ago, I was warm. Both body and soul. I thought…. I figured that all it would take was one kiss, and the man would have some kind of epiphany that he’s been in love with me all this time. A part of me expected it to be easy. A kiss and a touch, and everything would fall into place.

I was wrong.

With a heavy sigh, I lean down and grab the keys. I manage to unlock the door and slide into the driver’s seat, slamming it shut behind me, hoping the noise will be loud enough to scatter my thoughts, but they stay. A part of me wants to drop my head on the steering wheel and sob, but I need to get away from here. I’ll cry in the comfort of my room, and later, when I have no more tears to spill, I’ll question what will become of me and Darrell now.

He doesn’t want me. Not the way I want him, and I will have to find a way to work past that so I don’t completely lose my best friend.

He doesn’t want me.

I start the engine, the roar echoing my tumultuous thoughts, and pull away from the curb. It’s only a ten-minute drive from his studio. I’ve always liked how close to my place his is. Close enough that I could come over at odd times of the day and stay the night. Watch a film and sometimes cuddle up to the man while pretending I didn’t want to climb him like a tree. Stay the night and pretend I was aching for him but…

He doesn’t want me.I saw it in his eyes. The regret.

The drive home happens in a daze, and the walk to my apartment is an even bigger mystery, as the next thing I know, I am standing outside my door with no idea how the hell I got here in the first place. I sigh, letting myself into my place, tempted to kick the door closed, but I don’t want to bother my neighbors with the sound, so I slowly push it shut, which offers me no satisfaction whatsoever.

I drag my feet to my room and stare at the bed longingly, wanting to climb in and just forget about the day. Maybe when I wake up tomorrow, this will all have been a nightmare. It’s a good thing tomorrow’s the weekend, or I would have had a hell of time hiding my emotions in front of a bunch of eight-year-olds.

I have two days to drown my sorrows in ice cream and forget about possibly imploding the most important relationship in my life. Forget that in a moment of insanity, I almost had sex with my best friend. I can only hope the shower washes away the feeling his touch that still lingers on my skin.

***

It stays.

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