Page 33 of Both Sides Now

“You do?” I manage, my throat constricting.

“God,” she groans, covering her eyes with her hands. “Are we still friends?”

Friends. What a safe, sad and terrible idea. “Absolutely,” I lie, forcing a smile in her direction.

Springing out of the chair, Calli begins her incessant pacing once again. My poor rug doesn’t stand a chance. “Suzanne cornered me into going out with a therapist she knows from work. I don’t know why I agreed.”

“Maybe because you like the guy?”

“I don’t know him, Keegan. I was so mixed up after the other night with you, and how you ran off. I felt certain I must be the worst kisser in the world?—”

“You’re not. Trust me.” Is she kidding? She’s on the opposite side of the damn spectrum.

“Are you saying that to placate me?” Those gray orbs hold me transfixed, the storm brewing in them nothing compared to the tempest inside me.

“I told you the other night. I don’t say things I don’t mean. You’re an amazing kisser. Your mouth—” I rub the back of my neck as my pants tighten from the memory of her lips working me over. Giving as good as they got.

“Yours, too.” Another whispered admission. And now, the air in the room is stifling. Thick with desire.

I want to kiss her again. This time, I won’t stop until I’m buried inside her, branding every inch of her as mine. But we both agreed that despite the obvious attraction, what happened the other night was a mistake.

And one I’m dying to repeat. Ad infinitum.

“You might have fun on the date, right? It’s been known to happen.” It’s the best I can offer. That’s what a friend would say, right? Tell her to go out and have an awesome night, not cancel the stupid date and spend the evening with me.

That is a bad idea on so many levels.

So many delicious, delectable levels.

I shift in my seat, my dick screaming for release and my mind warning me I’ve got about thirty seconds before my last shreds of willpower disappear.

“That’s just it. I’m not going to have fun.” The woman looks like she’s headed to an execution instead of dinner.

Again, an opportunity to kill her plans before they happen. But that would make me a crap friend. An honest friend, but a shitty one, nonetheless.

I hate this role.

I force a smile, returning the computer screen to its original position. “Have a little faith, Calli. He might turn out to be just what you’re looking for.”

Calli: He is absolutely NOT what I’m looking for.

The text arrives at half-pasteight, and I can’t hold back the smile. I may be a bastard, but I’m thrilled her date isn’t going well.

Calli: I’m at the Drunken Dog. It’s a terribly scary dive bar. Come join me? I’ll buy you a drink. Hell, I’ll buy you ten.

I should say no, politely decline and then go work out for two hours until exhaustion forces me to sleep. Jerking off in the shower provided a minor reprieve—for about twenty minutes—until my mind started replaying the feel of Calli’s skin and the taste of her lips.

That’s another issue. Every time I see her, the urges grow more primal.

This is why men and women aren’t friends.

My phone flashes, this time with a sad-faced emoji.

Calli: Bollocks, I’m likely interrupting a fun-filled evening for you. You, no doubt, never leave a woman wanting more, and I’m killing the mood. So, so sorry. Bottoms up.

I can leave it like that, let her think I’m balls deep in some gorgeous woman, any memory of what happened between us long forgotten.

That’s the safe route.

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