Page 45 of If It Can't Be Us

Hesitantly, I walk to the chaise and sit next to her, folding my arms, giving her closed-off body language…just friendsbody language. We can sit here next to each other on the couch, no problem. We cannot intertwine, no body language suggesting we’ll be getting physical at any point during the movie.

She doesn’t seem bothered by my standoffish behavior. She sits next to me, her shoulder nestled into my arm, and extends her legs out long, crossing one over the other. She sets her arms on her lap. It’s comfortable. It’s appropriate. It’s friendly. I’m hanging with my friend.

My gorgeous fucking friend.

* * * * ** * * * *

I try to focus my attention on the screen, where Alan just found a tiger in the bathroom. Vivian is laughing. We’ve been laughing together for a while, but now I’m no longer laughing. She just readjusted us, and all I can focus on is her body touching mine. She said she needed a new position to get comfortable, taking my arm and wrapping it around her shoulders so she could lay her head on the inside of my shoulder. Her knees are knocked together and leaning toward me.

Five minutes later, she shifts around. “Sorry, I can’t get comfortable,” she says, falling into the position of doom. Her body turns inward, tangling her legs with mine, and her arm now rests on my torso and chest. The problem with this position is that our hands do not stay idle; they start to wander… to explore… taking a little test drive on each other. She starts this time, the little game we seem to play more and more, where innocent touches become something more, testing the boundaries of our friendship.

She slowly starts drifting her fingers, softly at first, up and down my torso, tantalizing me as she splays her hand across my chest and caressesmy pecks, like she’s trying to feel the muscles.Fucking tease.She knowsexactlywhat she’s doing. Two can play this game.

She should know by now that when I play games, I like to win. And you better believe I plan to win this game. She will break first, giving in before I do. I don’t even bother with over-the-clothes tickles; I go straight for the jugular and slide my hand under her cropped, loose sweatshirt. Wondering if I’ll find a bra, I glide my fingers over her smooth stomach, feeling her inhale sharply, hoping to make her squirm a little, like I have been for the past three damn months. She matches my movements with equal intensity, proving she’s just as determined to win. Her hand glides under my shirt, brushing the outline of muscles on my abdomen, dipping her fingers ever so slightly into the waistband of my pants, provoking, taunting me. I let her.

I’m fully hard now, my cock tight against my boxers, but I will not back down, and I will not lose. Suddenly, I’m back in time, playing chicken with my junior-high crush—a game of daring where neither of us wants to be the first to back down. Except this time, I’m not sure what the rules are or what the end game is, and I don’t know if I care because I’m enjoying the game too much.

She shifts her body, scootching herself farther up mine and grinding her groin into me. My pulse quickens with the motion, and I slide my hand farther up her stomach, wondering if I’m really going to go in for the kill. Normally, I never wimp out or feel hesitant with women, but Vivian is different. For some reason, she makes me second-guess myself. I pull my hand to her side and up to the edge of her breast. She’s wearing a bra, but it’s smooth and feels practically naked. I trace the side of her boob, letting my fingers graze the top of her flesh. She takes a sharp breath and boldly moves to straddle me. She’s being reckless, putting herself in this position. Is this what she meant bygame on? Or is this her sultry side? Because if so, I am fucked.

My craving for her intensifies, like an alcoholic savoring a sip of whiskey. She slowly runs her fingers through my hair as she drops her forehead to mine and closes her eyes. She stills, breathing shallowly, and whispers, “Leo.” I can practically feel my cock pulsating in my head, a poundingthat makes me feel drunk, drunk on her. My hands move to her delicious ass, and I stare at her beautiful mouth, begging me to taste it. She went ninety; I’m supposed to go ten. Isn’t that how this works?

I slide my hand to her thigh, guiding it up the curve of her body to her clavicle, grazing her neck as my thumb brushes her bottom lip. I caress her cheek, tucking her hair behind her ear as she bites her bottom lip seductively. “Damn you, Walker,” I mutter, surrendering as months of pent-up desire surge through me, and I crush my lips to hers. I lose the game, but I feel like I’ve just won the goddamn lottery.

Her soft, supple lips against mine ignite every nerve in my body. I’m lost in the kiss, savoring every moment. My hands slide under her shirt, roaming the smooth skin of her back. I grip her hip and ass firmly, feeling the heat of her body against mine. My hands move up the curve of her body, exploring every inch. When my fingers brush the side of her bra, it takes all my willpower not to grab her tits, knowing that even this kiss is more than I should be doing—I’ve already crossed a line. We move in sync, as if we’ve done this a thousand times before, yet each kiss feels new and electrifying.

Her tongue dances with mine, exploring, teasing, as her nails gently rake through my hair. The world outside ceases to exist; it’s just the two of us, wrapped in this intoxicating embrace. Each kiss grows more fervent, more desperate, as if we’re trying to make up for lost time.

I trail kisses down her jawline to her neck, feeling her pulse under my lips. She lets out a soft moan, a sound that sends electricity down my spine and spurs me on. I return to her lips, capturing them again in a kiss that’s both tender and demanding.

We break apart only for a brief moment to catch our breath, our foreheads resting together, eyes locked. Her breath mingles with mine, and for a moment, we stay like that, foreheads touching, sharing the same air. The desire in her gaze mirrors my own, and it’s all I can do to keep from diving back in immediately. When our lips meet again, it’s with a renewed intensity.

Time seems to blur as we kiss, minutes feeling like seconds. Her lips, her touch—it’s all I can focus on, and I’m lost in it. It’s not just a kiss; it’san unspoken confession of everything we’ve been holding back. But then, reality hits me like a freight train.Shit. This isn’t just some random hookup—this is Vivian, my friend. The one person I can’t afford to fuck up with. I’d never want to hurt her. She wants things like love and marriage—things I can’t give her. This is a goddamn mess waiting to happen. I know I need to stop, but my body is screaming to keep going.

Summoning all my willpower, I drag myself back—my breath ragged, heart hammering. “Vivian, fuck… I’m sorry, we shouldn’t be doing this,” I manage, barely holding onto my self-control. “I got carried away.”

I know I should have stopped sooner, but I couldn’t. I try to get a grip, my cock’s hard and my pulse is pounding. “Maybe we should talk about this,” I say, but it comes out more like a breathless mess than the calm and collected conversation I’m aiming for. I can barely think straight with everything that just happened. “Figure out what we both want, set some boundaries… before we fuck this up.”

She looks at me, a mix of surprise and disappointment in her eyes. Her expression stings—she didn’t want to stop either. I reach up and gently trace her jaw with my thumb, our foreheads still close. The tension in the air is thick between us—both of us harboring a load of shit we’re not saying.

“Fuck, as much as I want you, Vivian… you’re too important to me.”

She nods slowly. “You should probably go,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

“Yeah… you’re right.” I hesitate, hating how this feels.

“Yeah,” she manages, wiping at her cheek quickly. “Let’s not talk about this right now, okay? We’ll deal with it later.”

I nod and stand, feeling like a teenager caught doing something I shouldn’t. Everything feels off now, awkward as hell. We walk to the door, neither of us knowing what to say.

At the door, I turn to her. “You still want to drive with me tomorrow?”

She forces a smile and nods. “Yeah, I’ll meet you in the parking garage at noon.”

She hugs me quickly, a shadow of the warmth we usually share.

“Goodnight, Viv.”

“Goodnight. See you tomorrow.”

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