“You stress bake?” I bought her the mixer for her birthday because I knew she liked to bake, but I didn’t realize it was something she did when the world got too much to handle.
My arm comfortably rests on the back of her couch, my fingers tracing the bare, sun-kissed skin on her shoulder.
“It distracts me. I find it calming, but the place ends up looking like a tornado has run through it, and I’ll be honest, I’m not in the mood for a giant clean up.” She laughs, her eyes still focused on the tv, and I shudder. “Also…I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you for my gift.” She tilts her head to the side and kisses my hand.
“Don’t get me wrong, baked goods are some of my favorite things in the world, but doing anything in a kitchen stresses me out. I’ll stick to eating whatever you bake, and cleaning the mess that comes with it.” I tuck a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear, and she nuzzles the side of her face into the palm of my hand. “And you’re welcome.”
“Cole?” She pauses the TV.
“Yeah?” I give her all of my attention.
“Thank you for spending time with me last night and this morning. I didn’t realize how much I craved the comfort and company of a friend. It’s exactly what I needed.” A lopsided smile crosses her face.
Friend.
No benefits.
Craved the comfort and company of afriend.
And while I’m grateful she holds me in such a high regard, I try my best to not show my cards, because for some fucking reason, disappointment is coursing through my veins, and I don’t know how to stop it.
“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” I tell her, and it’s the honest truth.
She rests her head on my shoulder, and we end up watching two more episodes before calling it a morning.
I rise from the couch to leave, but she reaches for my hand. “Where are you going?” she asks, fingers threading through mine as she gently tugs me back toward her.
“I didn’t think you’d want me to sleep here,” I tell her honestly, my eyebrows pinching together as I stand in front of her, our hands still fused together.
“It’s late—early?” She corrects herself quickly. “And I know you don’t have far to travel but, just…go with it, okay?” She stands to meet me, her nose an inch away from mine. “Besides, I don’t plan on seducing you. I’m using you for your friendship, remember?” She steps away, and I already miss the warmth of her closeness.
I laugh out loud. “Right, my friendship,” I tease. “You’re not at all using me for my dick and all the orgasms you know he can give you whenever you want them.” I follow behind her to the bedroom.
“Added bonus. Besides, you use me for sex just as much as I use you.” She turns the light off in her room. The sun is rising, and I can make out her figure in the light that slices through her blinds.
She’s right, but God, is she also very wrong, and I’m only just beginning to realize it now.
She whips her dress off over her head, gliding bike shorts down her legs, and throws an oversized t-shirt over her head. She crawls from the edge of the bed, all the way to the head of it, before getting comfortable underneath her comforter.
Shecrawls.
Her t-shirt is hiked up ever so slightly, revealing the bottom of her bare ass cheeks, and I groan so loud in an attempt to not touch her. How I’m supposed to sleep next to her when I know she’s not wearing any underwear, I’ll never know.
“You’re killing me, Snow,” I tell her with a shake of my head, my fists clenched by my side as a smile spreads wide across her face.
“You climbing in or what, movie star?” Her voice is low and enticing, and I know she knows what she does to me.
“You seem to forget this is my first movie.” I climb onto the bed to join her, keeping the distance between us almost nonexistent. I would love nothing more than to bury my head between her legs or let my cock snake his way inside of her. But tonight isn’t the night.
I’m just glad the light is back in her eyes.
“You’ve been calling me ‘Snow’ since the night we met. I want to call you by a fun name.” She teases, inching closer to bridge the gap. “Before I realized who you were, my friends and I called you Mr. GQ, because you looked like you could’ve been on the cover at some point.”
“Iwason the cover. It was my last shoot before I called it quits on modeling,” I state, and she rolls her eyes. I like that I was a topic of conversation between her and her friends, even before she knew who I really was.
“Of course you were.”
After a little argument, we settle on ‘Mr. Big,’ for obvious reasons. She protested, telling me all the reasons it was the ‘dumbest nickname ever’, but she eventually came around.Though, I think she agreed to it for reasons totally different from why I suggested it in the first place.
