Page 22 of My Best Friend's Bully

My skin flushes hot. I slide over to the next app, the one with text messages from Cole with a few pictures he took from the hike today. One of them is Tyson alone, sitting on a boulder, his face illuminated by the sun. It could’ve come out of an outdoor catalog, the way his clothes cling to his muscles, and the relaxed, confident way he’s sitting. I can imagine myself there in front of him, stepping between his legs and feeling his arms wrap around me. He’d pull me close, one hand in my hair to draw my lips to his while his other hand worked at the zipper of my jacket.

I let my fingers trail down my body to the waistband of my shorts. I really, really should not be thinking about this. From the way he kissed me, I can imagine what kind of lover he’d be, the kind that would take charge and lead me through every step. His hand would tug down my shirt and cup my breast, rolling my nipple between his fingers before taking it softly in his mouth. I’d arch my back, begging for more, but he’d take it slowly, teasing me every step of the way.

I let my fingers slip between my waistband to rub softly over my panties. I can feel the heat and wetness soaking through the fabric before I even start stroking there. His mouth would move down my body, kissing his way to the top of my pants. He’d linger there, looking up at me with those dark eyes, waiting for me to beg him for more.

And I would. Beg, if I had to. I couldn’t resist him, not again. I close my eyes, my fantasy more vivid even than the picture on my phone as my fingers tease and rub the way I wish his fingers would. I’m close, so close, to the edge when there’s a knock at my door.

“Fuck,” I groan, just one more minute. I keep going, faster and faster, but the knock comes again louder this time.

“I’m coming.” The irony is lost on me. I get up, pull my shorts up and take a minute to try to look presentable, but there’s nothing to be done for the sheen of sweat on my skin or the tousled state of my hair. Wrapping my cardigan more tightly around myself, I open the door, wondering if maybe Cole sent some takeout my way, since I hadn’t ordered.

It’s not takeout. It’s Tyson.

“Oh, hey.” The warmth rising in my cheeks now having nothing to do with how hot and sweaty I am.

Oh my God. Is what I was just fantasizing about written all over my face?

“Hey.” He looks me up and down and that crooked smirk appears. “Why are you so sweaty?”

“Rude.” I push the door open and gesture for him to come in. The last thing I need is for my nosey neighbors to see him out here. “I was… in the middle of a workout. That’s what took me so long.”

He looks around, taking in my attire and the lack of any sort of workout equipment in the apartment, and nods. “Uh, huh? I see. Well, I’m sorry to interrupt what I’m sure was a vigorous workout, but I brought you something.”

Tyson lifts a brown paper bag that looks promisingly greasy around the bottom and sets it down on the countertop. The smell of buffalo sauce fills the air.

“Is that something fried, Tyson Reynolds?” He’s so close to me in this tiny apartment, I feel like I can’t breathe.

“There’s salad, too, which we’ll eat first.” He opens up the bag and takes out the plastic-topped foil bowls. “Because I’m hungry, too.”

My stomach drops when I realize what’s lying on the couch still — my phone, with Tyson’s face clear as day across the screen. I try to edge my way over to the couch without drawing his attention but he looks up, following my gaze to the telltale phone.

“Is that… me?” He laughs and steps in front of me, picking up my phone before I can stop him.

I die inside, wishing I could melt into the floor, but I snatch it out of his hands like I’m more offended than mortified. “God, you’re so rude. Yes, it is. Cole sent me pictures from your hike today, and like any good friend, I was scrolling through them. That’s all. You wouldn’t understand how friends do things.”

I lock my phone and toss it onto the couch, daring him to say anything more. He holds up his hands in a calming gesture, smirking in his insufferable way. “Whatever you say, Jordan.”

“Come on, let’s eat. I’m starving,” I beg. Thankfully, he lets it go and we turn to the food. I reach for the container of wings, their sour vinegary aroma making my mouth water, but he slides it behind him and out of my reach.

“Salad first.” He hands me mine.

“Why do we have to start with rabbit food?”

“Because otherwise, you won’t eat it,” he retorts. He’s not wrong.

“You and Cole have more in common than you think, you know?” I force down a few bites of salad to appease him. Actually, it’s not too bad, as long as it’s swimming with ranch dressing.

He rolls his eyes and the levity I saw there a moment ago vanishes. “Jeez, I hope not.”

I don’t know what it is about him that draws me to him, but I know I cannot succumb to it. Fantasies are one thing, but acting on them would be an entirely different problem. As much as I want to pry, and dig deeper into his issues with Cole, I switch to a safer subject.

“How’s your Dad doing? Will he be out of the hospital soon?” I eat the last bite of salad and reach for the wings.

Tyson peers into my bowl, nodding with approval. “Good work. Here’s your reward.” He nudges the container of wings my way.

My first bite of chicken wings makes me moan. “And you thinksaladcan beatthis?”

“I think salad ishealthierthan this. Health is important.” But he bites into the chicken wing with a vigor that tells the truth of his tastebuds. “And my father is doing better, but it’ll be a few more days before he’s out of there. It’s really wearing on my Mom.”

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