“It’s your fault you kept us up so late,” he said, his lips moving against the nape of my neck.
“You can’t get me started on an RPG and only expect to play it for a short while,” I countered, wanting to turn and argue with him about inconsequential things, because I was mad I couldn’t have him, and he was making it difficult shelving my fantasies. “We needed to find the golden key before we went to bed. Now we can get into the castle and discover what turned all the servants into animals.”
“Nerd,” he mumbled good-naturedly and let go to turn onto his back. The sudden absence of him was curious and more than a bit depressing. “Food? I’ve become quite the sandwich artisan lately.”
“You do make good sandwiches,” I said. “It’s the extra meat you pile on them.”
He got up without a word and left the bedroom.
As a chill crawled up my back, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and proceeded to mope. While going off to Cambridge and then living in Chicago, I’d missed Jere something fierce. It was a phantom kind of pain that clenched my heart from missing him, like a limb recently severed. Over the years, it came in beats to varying degrees, sometimes as a floating memory, others as a full-blown, make you want to cry longing.
The few times he’d visited Chicago had been nice, but I wanted my best friend back—I wanted us to hang out and bicker about unimportant things like how good the recent Spiderman movie was, or why Chicago both sucked and was the most amazing place in the Midwest. I supposed I’d never returned to our hometown because I was afraid of digging up old attractions. I thought if I kept Jere at a distance, the ember of attraction would burn out. Maybe after a while, and settling down with someone, I could re-enter his life and be the best friend he deserved without yearning for him. Also, Mom moving to Chicago to start a new job when I’d left for MIT gave me less of a reason to return to Pleasant Grove.
But things weren’t going to plan. I had no significant other to lust over, and the years we’d spent apart had donenothingto douse the flame that burned only for him. But that was on me. Our friendship shouldn’t suffer because I had the hots for him.
I glanced at the dark, drawn curtains, imagining all the colors of the morning sky over Lincoln Park. I had no idea what time it was, but imagined the sun was somewhere overhead. For a brief moment yesterday, when he’d held me butt-naked like it was nothing as we watched the sunrise, it was as if we were a real couple doing coupley things. It was cliche, sure, but I envisioned being in love with someone involved a lot of sunrise watching.
It made sense to be in love with my best friend. Jere knew me better than anyone and I knew him like no one ever could. But there was one problem—he liked women. What I wouldn’t do to be able to call him boyfriend. Lover. Husband. Time must have passed me by because he returned with sandwiches made the way I liked them. Heaps of meat, light lettuce, tomato with mayonnaiseandmustard.
“You’re spoiling me,” I said as he sat down next to me.
“You deserve to be spoiled,” he countered and set a wedge into my hand, making sure I had a good grip on it. “Do you want to watchLegally Blonde?”
I shrugged, giving him a non-answer. He knew how to take care of me, didn’t he? I add that to the list of all the reasons to be in love with him. We ate in silence, but I could feel something hanging between us.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked. “Bad stuff?”
I shrugged, refusing to neither confirm nor deny it.
He poked the side of my stomach. “Stop it. You need to think of good things.”
“Easy for you to say when you don’t look like hamburger meat and feel like roadkill,” I hedged, that unfamiliar anger nipping at my ankles. In the back of my mind, I heard Margot say—I know you’re upset about this, but can’t you just take a Percocet?
He made a sound of contemplation as he bulldozed through his sandwich, killing off the wedge in two bites. He set the plate on the bedside table and got to his feet.
I was treated to a close-up view of his amazing abs as he lifted his shirt up unexpectedly. I nearly dropped the sandwich as I ran my eyes over the smooth hills and valleys of his chiseled stomach. He was so swollen and ripped I suspected he might be hiding paint rollers under his skin and cantaloupes in his arms. He worked hard on his body and deserved someone to appreciate it. Preferably with a tongue.
Were all my dreams suddenly coming true?
Jere pointed to a pale mark above his belly button. “Remember how I got this scar?”
I grinned stupidly, and almost swallowed my own tongue. “You were thinking about trying out football. Made me watch you practice tackling metal barrels at the abandoned paper mill.”
“I ran into the chain-link fence and one of the links was sticking out. Stabbed me right in the gut. Decided I didn’t care about the sport,” he said, puffing his chest out. “And how about this one?”
He pushed his joggers down his thighs and I nearly fainted as I got a good look at his package. His cock nestled in black briefs provoked more excitement than a loaded Christmas tree. Jesus. How is it possible foroneman to be this hot? The urge to bury my face in his crotch and inhale his manly scent made me swoon. When had I become such a slut?
He propped his foot on the bed and pointed at his knee. “How about this one?”
It took me a moment to realize he’d asked me a question. I managed, “You fell on a nail in the alley.”
“Yeah, that one hurt. I think it hit the bone.”
“Really? We’re comparing scars? You’ve got nothing on this,” I said pointing at my skull.
“Exactly. Which makes you extraordinary. Not many can boast about having the kind of scar you do.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. All I could do was stare at the perfect male package in front of me. The fact this was a completely normal thing for him to do would be hilarious if I weren’t hot for him. And the idea that he thought my scar was some kind of badge of honor and deserving of a bar-table story was both endearing and amusing.
