Page 40 of Hot Doggin'
“Just alright?” He sticks his wet head out of the curtain again. “Come on, I was better than alright.”
Yeah, he was. He was fucking magnificent. “You’re killing me here.” I watch him disappear behind the transparent curtain, checking out his ass when he turns his back to me. “I mean, it felt great. But, we’re just two friends that were horny and needed to get off and what we did, it felt great,” I repeat, babbling now from nerves, “but we’re not gay or anything. And I mean, maybe it’ll happen again, and maybe it won’t. But maybe it will.”
Stiles laughs. “I’m really glad we got that figured out.”
I hop off the counter. “So, we’re good?”
“We’re always good. Grab me some Tylenol, will you? I've got a splitting headache.”
Grabbing the bottle of Tylenol from the medicine cabinet, I hand it to him before leaving. But minutes later, I return. Stiles is wrapped in a towel, trimming his beard over the sink. Damp skin and tattoos are on display, and I eat that shit up with my eyes. He meets my gaze in the mirror.
“I get that you like girls, maybe you still want to date. But I was thinking, if I can get you off, do you really need to?” Swallowing nervously, I add, “What I’m trying to say is, we could just keep doing this, and we wouldn’t have to date, you know? Just keep this going. As friends.”
“Agreed. Sounds good.”
“So like, no girls. Nobody but us. Right?”
“Right,” he agrees. “Are you done?”
“I think so.” I turn to leave but reach back to grab Stiles’s towel. My delighted cackle follows me out of the bathroom, followed by Stiles's cursing.
Layering the ham and cheese on my sandwich is like an art form. You have to fold the slices just right for maximum texture when you bite into them. Not too much mayo, but not too little. Anda touch of that brand new wasabi mustard I discovered makes everything that much better.
No more girls. No more dates. No more online apps. No more rejection and feeling awkward when I take my pants off. Just me and my best friend getting each other off and making each other feel good. No, incredible!
He sure did agree real fast. Didn’t put up one protest about not dating anymore. He also agreed that it didn’t mean anything, and we’re just friends, real fast. A little too fast! Is that really all he wants from me? A helping hand to get off? A warm crease to slide his dick between?
I only mentioned it because he’s been so quiet on the matter. I worried maybe he was hesitating because he’s struggling to see me as more than that. Reassuring him that nothing has to change between us, that we’re still just friends, minimizes the risk of damage.
But is it all that I want?
No. Fuck no. If I could have Stiles in all ways, more than just a friend, as the only person in my life? Sign me up in a hot fucking second.
Stiles comes out of the bedroom dressed for work in worn and stained jeans and a T-shirt with the logo of the shop. He grabs his keys.
“Where are you going?”
“To work.”
“You have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon.”
“What? When?”
I peel the sticky note off the fridge. “Dr. Sanders, twelve o’clock. Isn’t that your memory doc?”
Stiles reaches for the note. “Fuck, yeah. It’s like a semi-annual check-up to see if I’m getting worse or better. They’re supposed to discuss new treatments available but there never are any.”
“I’ll drive you,” I offer.
Stiles places the note on the counter with a sigh. “I’ll call James and tell him I’m not coming in.”
I hand him the sandwich I made for him and take a bite of my own, talking around a mouthful. “What would you do without me? Admit it, you’d be lost.”
“Fuck,” he laughs. “I’m with you now, and I’m still fucking lost. What does that say?”
“It says you need to spend more time with me.”
Stiles chokes on his sandwich. “I’m pretty sure that’s not what it says. The universe isn’t that cruel.”
