Page 10 of The Four Leaf

A flash of resignation appears in Adrian’s eyes before he steps back, chuckling. “You should have seen your face, Bambi. Like a deer in headlights. I was messing with you.”

My stomach turns with his words. Embarrassment and naivety swirling around in my gut.

When I don’t say anything, he yawns. “I only came down to tell you I’m done, and I’m going to take a long shower. We still on for drinks?”

I manage to nod a quick yes, and the smile slowly fades on his face.

“Look, sorry about earlier, and now. The flight really must have done a number on me. I think I need some rest.”

His slight admission to the clear shift is slightly reassuring. It informs me I’m not losing my fucking mind with what I’ve been feeling this afternoon. “No worries. Probably jetlag.”

“Yeah. Probably. I’ll let you get back to your Tinder.” Like my sister, he doesn’t wait for a response and exits the ballroom.

For the first time in my life, I want to slap myself on the forehead. I’m a grown-ass woman. Adrian is my closest fucking friend. We talk about everything from the day-old yogurt I found in between my couch cushions one time, to that one occasion he had film in his belly button.

Yet I can’t open my mouth and be like,“Hey, I like you more than a friend. Want to fuck me?”

A horrific grunt burns my nostrils as I return to the piano bench, shame coating my insides in something grimy. In an attempt to forget about it, I open Tinder again and lose myself in the slew of men it matches me with.

After a few more minutes of scrolling left on the app, my eyelids grow heavy. I’ve done a lot, and with the influx coming tonight, I know I’ll benefit from lying down, even if I don’t get to sleep long. By now, I suspect Adrianis probably already in the shower. They are notoriously thirty minutes long, which is actually the perfect amount of time for a power nap.

Heading back up to the spare room, I talk myself off a ledge.

Things are fine.

It’s been a weird day.

A long week.

I haven’t seen him in a while, and we’re both pretty tired.

Everything is normal.

I just need a few minutes of sleep.

When I unlock the door, I open it with my redundant thoughts still playing on a loop. I don’t notice the bathroom door wide open. I don’t notice the tan muscles moving under the stream of water. Nor do I don’t notice the grunts of pleasure.

Until I do.

Holy shit.

Adrian is facing me, one hand above his head, clasped on the top of the glass shower door, while the other is down low, gripped around his massive erection. My body responds immediately, tightening and tingling, as I take in his form. His clenched abs. His flexing muscles. His dick. Fuck, why is it so damn thick?

Stop it.

Somewhere deep, my consciousness is able to scream above my arousal and tell me to turn around. To have some freaking decency and let my best friend masturbate in peace. To leave and just wait for him at the bar.

But the little voice in my head is fading. She’s drowning under the steady slaps of water as he works his hand up and down his thick shaft. It’s fading into the background the moment his groans of pleasure reach my ears.

The muscle in his jaw tics as his hand moves faster, his head falling into the crook of his arm with the increased speed.

My pussy aches, clenching around nothing as I bear witness to the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

I should leave.

I shouldn’t be turned on.

My hand sure as hell shouldn’t be lingering at the waistband of my pants, my fingers trailing along my lower stomach, sprouting goosebumps in their wake.

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