Page 2 of Butter My Biscuit

He glances at the brown leather couch that’s seen better days, and even I know his six-foot-three body will not fit on it comfortably.

“We used to share beds all the time when we were kids. We can go back to that,” I explain.

Harrison shakes his head. “Nah, it’s fine. It’s just for a couple of days. The couch will work … if I even come back after hittin’ up downtown.”

Him going home with someone after a night of fun isn’t anything new. Considering his reputation, if he didn’t, I’d be shocked. But that’s just the way things are, the way they’ve always been. He’s a wild mustang, at least for now, and whoever he ends up with will be one lucky lady.

He continues, “Plus, I don’t want your boyfriend gettin’ jealous.”

“For the last time, Joey doesn’t care about us. But how about this? What if I promisenotto fart on you and swear that I won’t try to snuggle?” I hold out my finger for a pinkie promise.

He makes a face and playfully slaps my hand away. “Okay, but what if I like your farts?”

I snort. “See, and this is why we’re friends. You’re only here for the toots.”

“You know it. But honestly, I probably won’t see you once you’re withJoooeeeeey.” He says his name in the high-pitched voice he uses when he’s trying to impersonate me.

“You’re right because, once I’m there, I don’t plan on leaving his house—or rather, his bed. Especially since I got waxed from front to backjustfor this weekend.”

“Thanks for sharing with the entire class. We all learned something today.” His sarcasm is on point.

“It just shows that I care about personal hygiene. A girl has to landscape.”

“Was happy, livin’ my best life, not knowing your butthole is silky smooth. Remember that talk we’ve had a million times over the years? There are some things I absolutely, one hundred percent donotneed to know.” He holds up his hand and counts. “That includes menstrual cycles and sex shit. And, no, I don’t want to guess dudes’ dick sizes either. Some things areoff-limits.”

I notice how he says the last word. “Just remember,you chose meas your best friend. Now, you’re stuck with me, and you’re kinda forced to listen to me talk about all the things I want to talk about, including Aunt Flo and butt plugs. BFFsforever,remember?”

“And somehow, you made our friendship sound like prison.”

“Well, being with meisa life sentence.” I glance out the back patio door into the backyard. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, there’s a hot tub. We should get in it tonight.” I reach forward and grab my suitcase.

“I’d be down for that. Lucky for you, I packed my swim trunks.”

He gives me his signature boyish grin, the one that melts panties and snatches phone numbers from thin air, and I fully understand the allure. Harrison Valentine is like a mythical creature because men like him don’t exist. But I’m the lucky one who gets to call him my BFF.

“Wouldn’t have mattered. You’d have just skinny-dipped.”

“You’re fuckin’ right about that.” He shoots me a wink. “So, what’s the plan tonight?”

When his ass hits the couch cushions, it sounds like he plopped down on pure plywood. “Shit. It’s hard as a fuckin’ rock.”

“We’re sleeping together. And it’s not up for discussion.”

“Gracie, if you want to share a bed with me, all you have to do is ask. You don’t have to come up with these big, elaborate plans like this just to get me between the sheets with you. You know what I mean?” And the devil smirks again.

I playfully swat at him, missing because he predicted it. He’s always predicting my moves like we’re playing a game of chess.

“That’s it. You’re absolutely getting all my snuggles tonight. I don’t care how much you complain or say you hate it.” My voice lowers to a dangerous level as I threaten him. “My leg is getting wrapped around yours, and there is nothing you can do about it other than take it. You’refucked.”

“So help me God, if you even think about crossing that invisible line in the middle of the mattress, I’ll tickle you until you scream bloody murder and piss your pajama pants. And I won’t apologize for it either.”

I shrug. “I’m more than willing to take my chances.”

“You’ve been warned,” he says. “Not to change the subject, but I’m starving. Wanna order in? I’m getting hangry.”

It’s just past six, and my stomach is growling too. “Yeah, that’d be great. Whatcha in the mood for?”

Before he can answer, my phone buzzes in my back pocket, interrupting the conversation. I pull it out and see the name flash on the screen.

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