“I am.”
“I just learned I like sweat,” she whispers as she reaches for the bottom of my gray T-shirt.
Then my sexy friend yanks off my shirt, slides her hands up my chest, and pinches a nipple like she’s testing that out.
I draw in a sharp breath.
She bites the corner of her lips, then, keeping her gaze on me, she strays to the other side, pinching that one, too, then rubbing her thumb across it. I grit my teeth. She covers my pecs with her hands, lifting her chin, looking pleased.
Proud.
Excited.
“You like that,” she says, as if she’s discovered treasure.
My heart speeds up, right along with my dick, which is insistent and throbbing. “I do,” I say, then I lift her up, letting her wrap her legs around my waist as I carry her to the bedroom.
I learn two things—that she used the toothbrush and that she comes fast first thing in the morning.
Oh, and here’s a third—a run doesn’t get her out of my system at all.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, I’m making her a cup of espresso in the kitchen as she twists her hair into a bun. She’s fully dressed and about to take off.
But first, caffeine.
“You’ll be addicted to my coffee in no time. Monroe is,” I say, then hand her a little cup.
After a hearty inhale, she takes a thirsty sip, then nods approvingly. “You’re a badass barista,” she says, then sets down the cup and opens a cupboard.
“Help yourself,” I tease as I work on making another espresso.
With anI’ve got thissmile, she finds the cheese-grater mug, fills it with water and heads to the window to feed Jane.
That warm, buzzy feeling is returning to my chest once again. It feels like sunlight as I watch Rachel do this little thing for me—water a plant.
When she returns to the kitchen, she sets down the mug in the sink and checks the time on her phone. “I should get out of here. I’ll shower at home.”
I wiggle my eyebrows. “Because if you got in the shower with me, you’d want to ride me again?”
“Yes,” she answers with a smile. Not a smirk. Not a sly grin. Just a straightforward smile that doesn’t feel friendly. It feels borderline…romantic. For a second, maybe more, I imagine days like this. Her and me, here together in the morning.
But then, she blinks off the soft look, like she’s resetting.
That’s a reminder. I ought to do the same.
I clear my throat as I pour the next cup. “How are things going at the store? Any better?”
“Business is starting to pick up. I think maybe it’s the Date Night thing.”
“Nice! I’m seriously stoked that this deal is working out for you. I’ll be sure to get the new video up soon,” I say, and that gives me something else to focus on rather than these pesky feelings. Something helpful and productive for her.
“You’re the best,” she says with a friendly smile.
Friendly.
That’s what we are. Even if she flashes a romantic grin now and then. Even if we fuck like crazy. And even if mornings feel so damn good when we’re together. No matter how nice this feels, it’s ultimately just friendly for her. I might be craving more, but that doesn’t matter. It’s not in the plan.