Page 43 of Friends Don't Kiss

“Well…”

“I did you a favor. That’s what friends are for. No?”

I blink several times. An idea forms in my hazy brain. “So are we like, friends with benefits?”

He pauses to think about that. Or maybe it’s just that the jeans he’s attempting to put on have a sock stuck somewhere in one of the legs, and he seems utterly puzzled by this. He doesn’t answer.

“Colton?”

“Huh?”

“Are we, like, f—”

“Not sure about labels, grasshopper,” he interrupts, seeming suddenly upset. “Are you gonna get ready or what?”

Why the mood change? This is not like him. “Ready for what?”

His features soften as he puts his hands on his hips and tilts his head to me, a small smile forming on his lips. “The brunch. We don’t have to go. Your call.”

Oh shit. I forgot. I jump off the bed, trying to hide my intimate parts as I look for my jammies.

Colton rolls his eyes, shakes his head with a smile, and plops on the couch, grabbing the remote, his gaze away from me.

I gather some clothes, get in the shower, and think this through.

Despite how physically attracted I am to Colton, how my body craves his and a part of me is obsessed with how he feels and makes me feel, I can’t let myself fall for him. I won’t let another man I care deeply about come into my life only to disappear from it.

While for me, giving fully into my attraction for Colton would mean forever, it wouldn’t for him and that’s okay. It’s understandable. His sudden mood change after…what he didproves my point.

I can rationalize that. Colton is a very masculine, sensual,sexualguy. He never was attracted to me physically, until he made the mistake of fake-kissing me. For a guy like him, that would have awakened the desire for more. It’s a mechanical chain-reaction. Guy kisses girl, guy wants more, guy pursues girl until he gets what he wants, then guy moves on to next girl. It’s the way of the world, and what happened earlier is proof of that. Colton won’t stop until he gets what he wants from me, and I can’t in all consciousness fault him for that. It’s how men are wired.

But what if I could control the outcome to our mutual benefit? He wants me. I’ll admit, I want him too. It’s the heartbreak I can’t deal with. We both want to remain friends after.

The solution to our predicament presents itself to me in its beautiful simplicity. One time is all we need to both get what we want. Well, to be fair, Colton will be on the winning end of that bargain. Because I’m certain I could have an infinite number of other times with him. It’s the breaking up that I’m not okay with, and I understand it’s unreasonable of me. Going in knowing it’s just one time guarantees I never have a breakup with Colton.

I’ll let him scratch the itch he has with me, and I’ll get to be entirely with him without any further expectation to shatter. One time with me is all Colton will need to move on. And since I’ll go in knowing this is what I get, I’ll be perfectly fine with it. I’m actually looking forward to imprinting every last detail of him in my memory forever. It will be our mutual little gift.

It really is a win-win situation.

Now all I need is to get Colton on board. I’m expecting some resistance if I open with the assumption that he’ll be done with me after one time. He’ll think I see him as superficial. Truth is, I’m being realistic. But I don’t want to hurt his feelings.

So instead, I’ll use Colton’s passion for fixing things. I can be his little project.

I think it’ll work. Hell, he might think it’s genius.

fourteen

Colton

I’mproudofmyself.She needed an orgasm—badly—and I gave her one.

She doesn’t want to be my girlfriend, so I didn’t try to take advantage.

God knows I could have. It wouldn’t have been taking advantage at this point. It would have been giving her what her body was screaming for.

I’d never really understood the meaning of the expression “hungry eyes”. I do now, having seen how she looked at my cock that was threatening to break free of my briefs.

Thinking back to what happened minutes ago, I grip the remote so hard I might break it. Spending four hours in the truck with her is going to be pure torture. I tried to scrub her scent off me in the shower, but the memory is stronger. It won’t let go. I knew it wouldn’t, but I’m a glutton for punishment, so I dove right into her sweetness and fed on it, drank from it, inhaled it, studied it. I can map her from memory if I need to, from her perfect perky tits to her hipbones to her center. From the way she shivered when I kissed her earlobe and the way the shake went straight to her spine when I licked my way down the side of her neck. From the way her fingers clasped on my head when she finally let go—let all her troubles disappear and gave in to me.

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