Bend (3 page)

My best friend, who I really want to fuck.

I swallow hard and answer, “Probably not.”

He sighs. His lips curl. Yup, he’s still angry. “I’ve got a long day at work tomorrow. I’ll text you.”

I keep the door open with my shoulder as he jogs down the stairs and strides away on the paved walkway, disappearing in the darkness. It’s humid out there tonight, and it smells like rain—a sweet and pungent aroma that we don’t experience a lot in SoCal, especially with the drought of the past few years. There’s a nip in the air, and it’s too cold for the tank top I’m wearing with my short jean shorts. Goose bumps start at the back of my neck and spread down my arms.

Come back.
The words become a chant in my head.
Come back, come back, come back.

Come back and kiss me.

Come back and tell me you want me.

He doesn’t, though. Of course he doesn’t.

Now, what?

I wake up with a start and lift my head off the pillow, squinting against the gossamer light filtering in through the blinds. The sun’s up, but just barely. Which means it’s too early to get up.

Closing my eyes again, I let my head drop back onto the pillow, then turn away from the windows and tug my covers up to my chin with a happy sigh. Saturdays are great. No alarm. No work. No appointments, and no one expecting anything from me. I can do whatever I want.

And what I want is to sleep some more.

I go limp, wrapped in the cocoon of my bamboo sheets, my breathing even and slow. My brain is still foggy, ready to slip away again—ready to dream, to recharge. Life is good. Life is great. I have no worries, nothing to keep me awake…

Jay.

It feels like a lightning bolt striking my gut. I pop my eyes open, wide open, and with a thump, my pulse starts to race.

Right. Life is great, my ass. Sure, except last night I might have ruined the best friendship I’ve ever had.

I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling. Why the hell did I do it? What did I expect to happen? That Jay would say,
Yes, Mia, I’ve wanted to fuck you ever since the day we met
…? And then we’d tear each other’s clothes off and have mind-blowing, earth-shattering, life-changing sex? Right there on the couch. Mario Kart forgotten.

Jay has made a regular appearance in my fantasies for a long time, and even before it was deliberate and while I was still with Matt, he showed up in some involuntary nighttime dreams, too. For some reason, that memory always makes me blush.

And in daydreams, sex with Jay is always amazing. Maybe he actually sucks at it, though. Or maybe, in reality, after all this time being so comfortable as only friends, I’d feel like I was screwing my own brother?

No. Definitely not. I thought Jay was cute from the moment my boyfriend introduced him to me as his roommate, but I was so crazy in love with Matt at that point—even though I’d known him only a couple of weeks—that it didn’t mean anything.

And while Jay was around a lot the following year and a half, we didn’t connect and become friends until after Matt dumped me. Something just…clicked. I guess, without even really noticing, we bonded. In a strictly platonic way, of course, and that’s been great. I’m lucky to have found him.

So why, why,
why
did I decide to ruin all of that last night?

With a groan, I roll over on my stomach and bury my face in my pillow. I don’t want to feel like this. Don’t want to think about it. I start to bang my face into the cushiony surface, trying to knock the negative crap out of my head.

It doesn’t work. So I reach for my nightstand drawer instead, digging around until my hand closes around the familiar, oblong object. I’m awake early and have nowhere to be. Might as well take care of business.

Isn’t that what your vibrator is for?

That’s right, Jay.
That is what my vibrator is for. My vibrator doesn’t do complicated. It doesn’t judge. Doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t need anything from me except batteries. It exists only to make me feel good. Maybe I should rethink who I call my best friend, because my vibrator is a pretty amazing friend.

I flop over onto my back and shimmy out of my panties, leaving my lacy sleep tank on. When I press the power button and the buzzing starts, my muscles go liquid and all is right with the world again. It’s as if I have a Pavlovian response to that low hum—instant pleasure just at the sound of it.

Now nothing exists except the pulsations on my clit, the slow build, the pressure I keep light to make it last. Just me, making myself happy. Closing my eyes, I try to make my mind go blank. No thinking, only feeling.

But my imagination has different ideas. Suddenly, I can feel his lips on my skin, an open-mouthed kiss right where my neck meets my collarbone. He moves down, draws in a nipple, and my shuddering and gasping for breath is very much real.

The fantasy takes over, swallows me up. It’s not the purring head of the vibrator that’s rubbing against me, it’s Jay’s tongue. In my thoughts I’m looking down to where my knees are spread wide, where Jay is watching me intently while he’s mouth-fucking me, glacier-blue eyes locked with mine. My lower body is off the edge of the bed, and he’s kneeling on the floor, my feet braced on his shoulders. His biceps are flexing as he supports my legs, his fingers digging into my thighs—and
oh, God.

I’m coming harder than I usually do like this. The climax shudders through me, shocks of electricity bursting from one nerve ending to the next, and I arch my back off the bed as it goes on and on…and on.

When the orgasm finally subsides, I release a shuddering breath and roll over on my side. Closing my eyes, waiting for my heartbeat to slow.

Okay. So yeah, I don’t need a guy to get off. This way is definitely easier.

So I’m jeopardizing our friendship for what, exactly?

I just don’t know.

Somehow I manage to get out of bed without picking up my cell phone where it’s been charging on my nightstand. I need some coffee before I check and confirm that he didn’t text me in the middle of the night with an apology and a change of mind.

It’s probably not going to be a great weekend.

It’s 10:37 p.m. Is Jay still at the hospital? I have no idea. His shifts end at nine o’clock, but he never leaves until he’s wrapped up all his cases and written the reports. Which means the twelve hours he’s supposed to work often turns into fourteen or fifteen. Residency sucks.

My day was pretty uneventful. Went grocery shopping. Cleaned my apartment. Hit the gym in the late afternoon, and when I got home, my sister, Paige, called, so I talked to her for a while. My big sister is an attorney who’s married to another attorney, and this lawyerly relationship has spawned two kids so far, with a third on the way.

And that’s why she called me, to tell me they found out my nieces are getting a little brother. Which is, of course, really exciting. But for some reason, Paige didn’t sound that enthusiastic. I guess by the third child, finding out the gender of the baby’s not that thrilling anymore?

That doesn’t sound right, though. In my job, I see women in various stages of pregnancy every day, and when a patient is clearly less than eager, it usually means she got knocked up on accident. There’s no way that applies to my sister, however. She only ever does things on purpose.

After saying good-bye to her, I shot off a text to ask Grandma what she was up to, since I had my phone out anyway and hadn’t talked to her in a couple of days. As usual, she answered almost right away. She’s highly tech savvy, Lily Waters, especially for a woman who’s turning eighty in just a few weeks—a birthday my family is throwing a small surprise party for, despite Grandma having declared she doesn’t want one.

We messaged each other for a while, and she told me she’s had a cold all week but that it wasn’t that bad and she was still going to play in her poker club’s big Spring Fling tournament tomorrow. Which made me smile. Guess I know where I got my competitiveness from.

After that, I heated leftovers for dinner and watched Netflix while I ate. I briefly considered watching
House, M.D.
without Jay, even though it’s a show we’ve been watching together. That’d be appropriate punishment for the way he ran out of here yesterday and how he’s ignored me today, right? But in the end I decided not to be that petty and immature.

I spent some time trying to figure out what to get my grandma for her birthday. Technically, we’re not supposed to give her gifts. She’s told us she prefers that we donate money to the Alzheimer’s Association instead. It’s a cause that’s been near and dear to her heart ever since my grandfather died of early-onset Alzheimer’s when I was eight.

Still, it’s a big birthday, and I want to get her something. Nothing extravagant. Just something…special.

So that’s where my mind is at as I’m lying on my couch, staring into space with the latest Liane Moriarty novel open on my chest.

I actually would call it a good day if I hadn’t been waiting—waiting, waiting, and freaking
waiting
—for him to text me. Like he said he would.

Waiting impatiently, getting more and more antsy, like I’m his girlfriend or something. Waiting impatiently, even though he’s been at work all day and possibly too busy to even eat or take bathroom breaks.

Texting me
should
be low priority. I know that. Really, I do.

I haven’t sent him a message, either. Resisting was about as hard as holding your pee after chugging a pitcher of brew. But I did it, and I’m not going to cave now. I’m not like a nagging girlfriend, after all.

Yay, me.

So instead I’m lying here, pondering and agonizing over why. I want Jay, have wanted him for a long time, but why am I suddenly acting on it?

Maybe it’s because I feel safe not expecting too much from him. He won’t be around that much longer. Two more years of residency, and then he’s leaving to go work with his uncle Warren at Relief International, a global humanitarian organization that provides aid in conflict and disaster areas.

That’s been Jay’s plan since high school and he spent a summer with his uncle in Ethiopia. He intends to be gone not just for several years but maybe indefinitely, and that’s why he’s avoided any serious relationships. At least I assume that’s the reason he said he’s not looking to meet anyone right now.

Or maybe that’s not why I couldn’t stop myself from bringing up this topic with him. Maybe, with just two years left, I’m finally realizing that I’m running out of time. Running out of time to find out if being that close to my best friend is as amazing as I’ve imagined. I want to touch him, to feel him, to know all of him—while I still can.

But the thought of Jay not being in my life anymore is one I can’t dwell on for long without feeling like I’m starting to suffocate. So I push it away, put my book down, and get up off the couch to get ready for bed.

I brush my teeth on autopilot. Change into sleepwear, crawl in bed, plug in my phone, and switch off my bedside lamp.

I lose my sense of time and have no idea how long I lie there, my eyes wide open in the darkness. Two minutes? Ten?

To hell with this.

I fumble around on the nightstand until I find my phone, tap the power button, and enter my passcode. Then I find my messaging app, select his name, and type:
I’ll be at Three Oaks tomorrow morning at nine if you want to join me. Parking near the restrooms.