My balls were purple at this point.
I’d had longer dry spells than this, but never when the subject of my desire shared a roof with me. And never when said subject of my desire (rightfully) exercised her right not to wear a bra at home.
Layla looked more gorgeous than ever tonight. She’d washed her green hair dye back to its normal dark brunette and trimmed it to this new haircut with lots of bouncy layers. She was draped in a yellow flowery dress. Her tits understood the pregnancy assignment and were fuller than ever, and she sported the tiniest baby bump only I could detect if I stared really hard.
Which I did.
All the damn time.
I couldn’t stop myself. It was honestly a cry for help at this point.
“Is he having a stroke?” Chase pointed at me with a forkful of steak. “Or has he just joined civilization and didn’tget the memo that staring at his girlfriend all night is bad form?”
“I’m not his girlfriend.” Layla popped a piece of (thankfully cooked) chicken into her mouth. “And it’s totally normal to space out sometimes. Especially when you talk about giving your wife oral. Not everyone wants the details.”
Chase rolled his eyes in my periphery, waving her off. “You have sex together. Have a baby together.Livetogether. If it walks, looks, and quacks like a duck ...”
“It can still be a goose,” Layla said. “I dare you to claim you can tell the difference between the two.”
“We need to change the subject,” Maddie announced, and her elbow found my ribs. Her not-so-subtle way to tell me to stop ogling her best friend. “We’re making our guests uncomfortable.”
The rest of the dinner was spent talking about babies and parenthood and the stock market. I contributed very little to the conversation, mainly in the form of humming, clearing my throat, and agreeing with whatever Chase said without actually listening to him. I sincerely hoped he wasn’t in the throes of another rant about how Midwesterners cramped us, native Manhattanite’s style.
Since Maddie did the cooking, Chase, Layla, and I did the cleaning. I manned the sink, washing the dishes, while Layla stood next to me, barefoot, and wiped them with a towel. Chase was cleaning the table in the dining room. He was taking a suspiciously long time, and I had a feeling he’d orchestrated this in a way that would ensure Layla and I had some time alone.
“Do you ever wonder what it would’ve been like if I didn’t get pregnant?” Layla pierced the silence between us. While the quiet was comfortable, my raging hard-on was not. I couldn’t believe I didn’t get to touch her when she was ather hottest, carrying my child. If God did exist, He obviously loathed me.
“How do you mean?” I said, staying focused on the plate I was rinsing.
“If I didn’t get pregnant, you’d have probably met someone else soon enough and had a baby with her. Don’t you think about it sometimes?” she mused. “About falling in love like in a Hallmark film? Ticking all the boxes the way guys like you do. Engagement, wedding, honeymoon, baby?”
“Guys like me?” I bucked at the description.
“Traditionalists.”
“I’m not a traditionalist,” I said, realizing that, depending on what she considered conformity, I probably was. I definitely adhered to doctrines practiced by tradition. “And anyway, I never think about life in terms of whatcould’vebeen. I like to think about what’s possible. It’s both more exciting and more pragmatic.”
“And what do you feel is possible?” She smirked as she ran the towel over one of the Blacks’ glazed stoneware plates.
“You.” I flicked the faucet to turn it off, then rolled my shirtsleeves down. “Us. That’s still a possibility I’m holding on to. And while I don’t believe in fate, and soulmates, I do believe that we end up exactly where we’re supposed to be. There’s a reason we were brought together in this.”
She put the plate down, her gaze still holding mine. We were shoulder to shoulder. Something sparked between us. A live wire that fused us together, sizzling into an inferno. The tension was everywhere. In the air. In every atom of our bodies. Searing the floors, and the walls, and every object in the room. My stare dropped to her lips. They were slightly parted. I wanted to kiss her. I thought she wanted to kiss me too. But I couldn’t be too sure, and I didn’t want to mess up the trust we’d built over the last few weeks.
I’d worked hard on making sure she felt right at home in my apartment. I didn’t want to throw it all away by misreading this moment.
I was ready to step back and bash my head against the wall to calm myself down when I noticed Layla rising to her tiptoes, leaning into me. My breath hitched. It was happening. Her sweet, pink mouth that I’d been missing angled itself toward mine. I stayed put, letting her lead the way. Her lips were almost touching mine. The delicious taste of her mouth was within reach ...
“Settle this for me, lovebirds. Maddie says I can’t pull off a goatee—” Chase burst from the dining room and into the open-plan kitchen.
Layla gasped, immediately pulling back.
I was going to kill my best friend.
And I was going to make it look like an unfortunate, albeit extremely gory, accident.
The audacity of that asshole.
“No one can pull off a goatee!” Maddie chased after him from the dining room, tossing her hands in the air. As soon as they saw Layla, me, and my seven-foot erection between us, they froze in their spots.
