Chapter 18
SAGE
AUGUST
Soft lips brush behind my ear as fingers run through my hair, rousing me from sleep.
“Hmm.” I hum an approving sound as I arch my neck into the touch.
The fingers move down my curves, skimming the side of my bare breast, teasing me as they ignore where I want them to go.
I groan in complaint, turning fully onto my back to give them easier access to my peaked nipples.
My eyes are still closed as a warm wet tongue teases the sensitive bud before full lips wrap around my nipple, sucking it into their mouth.
I shift my hand into their hair to hold them in place, concerned they’ll revert to teasing me again. But instead of meeting the short strands I’m expecting, my fingers tangle with long, soft curls.
I jolt awake, my eyes flying open. I sit up in my bed, disoriented that I’m alone. I blink a few times, looking around to make sure Aspen isn’t in here. It seemed so real. But obviously she isn’t.
Despite the fact that I’ve been having a lot of dreams similar to that one, Aspen wouldn’t actually be in my bed, waking me up with soft, teasing touches.
Even if the part of me that wishes she would is getting harder to ignore everyday.
“What do you want to watch?”
Aspen is staring at me expectantly from her spot next to me on the couch.
We’re waiting for the guys to update us on when they’ll be done with work to order dinner.
I look between her and the TV, and I know there’s a streaming service pulled up on the screen, but I can’t focus on any of the options.
“Whatever you’d like,” I say with a shrug.
It’s been almost two months.
Two months of feeling like I’m going crazy. Because I seem to be the only one who thinks that things have changed.
No. I don’t think things are different now, I know they are. At least, for me, they definitely are.
The night of the truth or dare kisses changed everything for me. I’d tried to laugh it off, thinking that maybe I was drunk and overreacting to how explosive both my kiss with Aspen and the make out session between Oakley and Parker were.
But the dreams haven’t stopped, and the daydreams that pick up where the actual dreams leave off have been consuming more and more of my waking hours.
I’m smart. I’m a fucking doctor for god’s sake. I’m not afraid to face the truth of how I’m feeling, and I’m done trying to explain away what happened.
It’s time to admit that back in college, I never took the time to properly examine my feelings surrounding kissing Aspen.
I was more focused on having fun and loving that I had genuine friends for the first time in my life.
Aspen was the first female friend that I’d ever had who didn’t try to compete with me over who was prettier, or smarter, or dating the most popular guy.
I was thrilled to feel so accepted and supported by someone who I liked and admired so much.
But it’s been over ten years since we became friends. I’ve had other friendships, people who I would consider myself to be close with.
And no one has ever compared to Aspen.
When I examine my feelings now, I know that I was wrong before.
Those kisses were a big deal. It wasn’t us putting on a show when they were the best thing I’ve ever experienced.
It wasn’t casual when I would spend my entire week looking forward to going to another party, thinking of every excuse that I possibly could to kiss Aspen again.
I insisted on calling every little thing we did in Paris a date.
I was hurt when Aspen laughed it off, when she questioned why I’d want to lock our initials onto a bridge symbolizing our eternal love for each other.
At the time, I wasn’t focused on what type of love I felt, platonic or otherwise.
I just knew I loved her, that I always will.
I’ve thought a lot about the summer we spent apart recently. How depressed I was. How jealous I’d been that she had other friends. I hated that she was spending all her time with Anna. Why would I even remember her name all these years later if my feelings for Aspen were so innocent?
It’s been almost two months, and I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to kiss her again.
I feel guilty about it, of course. I have a boyfriend. But I’ve had boyfriends who didn’t care if I kissed Aspen in the past, and Oakley obviously didn’t mind that night.
That’s what I told myself a few weeks ago—maybe Oakley wouldn’t care and we could do it again.
But the more I’ve thought about it, and of all the ways I could suggest we do it again, another question has demanded more of my attention: Maybe I shouldn’t have a boyfriend at all if I want to kiss my best friend this badly.
I should probably break up with Oakley sooner rather than later.
I’ve almost done it plenty of times now. But it’s complicated; Aspen is with Parker, and the four of us spend a lot of time together. I don’t want drama between Oakley and me to cause problems in their relationship.
I wish I knew how she felt. If she wants to kiss me again as badly as I want her to. If she would want to do more.
I wonder what Aspen is like in bed. I shift my position on the couch, crossing my legs and squeezing my thighs together in an attempt to find some relief for the sudden throbbing in between them as I picture her in her expensive lingerie with her nipple piercings demanding my attention.
Unlike me, she’s always been so private about her hookups.
I have no idea what she’s into, so my imagination is running wild.
Being with Parker now is the first serious relationship she’s ever been in, and I don’t think I’ve even seen them kiss; that’s how modest she is. He can be pretty quirky too, so maybe he’s even more private than she is.
But… that doesn’t seem right either. He wasn’t very private when he was grinding into Oakley, trying to take control that night.
Their kiss was intense.
I gasp suddenly.
Loudly enough that Aspen obviously hears, since she turns to me, asking, “What’s wrong?”
Have I really never seen them kiss? I scan my memory of all the times Oakley and I kissed in front of them, all the double dates, and all the nights we’ve spent hanging out in our building.
Holy shit.
I’ve never seen them do more than hold hands, and even that’s rare.
“Do you and Parker kiss?” I blurt out, turning to face her fully now.
Her eyes go comically wide and her mouth falls open for a moment before she blinks a few times and smiles awkwardly. “What kind of question is that? He’s my boyfriend,” she says, but her voice is shaky, like she’s lying.
Oh my God. Are they even together?
“Is he, though?” I hear myself asking in an accusatory tone, and she startles away from me a bit.
“Shit, sorry that sounded angry,” I rush to add, reaching out to gently put a hand on her arm.
“I was just thinking about how I’ve never seen you two kiss, but he was so passionate with Oakley…
” I trail off as I realize I’ve brought up the night we’ve never talked about.
“Are you jealous? Are you worried that he might have feelings for Oakley?” she asks, taking my hand in hers now.
“What? No.” I dismiss quickly.
But she must not believe me. “Because if you are worried,” she continues, “you should know that I asked Parker directly and he denied—”
“I wasn’t even thinking about Oakley!” I interrupt.
I feel my cheeks heat at my outburst. Aspen is staring at me now, brows furrowed as her gaze searches my face.
I’m not sure what she’s looking for, but I take a deep breath to try to gather some courage.
We’ve already gone this far. I can’t continue to obsess over every interaction Aspen and I have ever had without telling her the truth about what I’m feeling.
Maybe it’s time I admit that I don’t really give a shit about who my boyfriend kisses, because I’d much rather kiss her instead.
“Sage, what is it?” she softly asks, giving my hand a squeeze.
“I…” I try to get the words out, but my throat is tight. I need to know one thing first. “Are you and Parker really together?” I ask again.
“Sage,” she begs, holding my hand tightly now, like she’s afraid I’ll pull away. The way she says my name is an answer in itself, like she’s pleading with me not to make her say it.
“Why pretend?” I whisper. And she lets out a choked sob, shaking her head as blinks away tears. “I thought we told each other everything,” I add.
“Sage, I’m so sorry, I should have told you years ago,” she says, still gripping my hand.
Years ago? They’ve only been dating for a few months. What would she have told me years ago?
But Aspen not dating isn’t new.
She’s never had a boyfriend.
But it’s not like she’s ever had a girlfriend either. Right?
“Anna?” I question, not needing to explain my entire line of thinking as Aspen nods apologetically. “Anyone else?” I ask, wondering how I could have been so blind.
“No one else,” she confirms.
“Why not?” I choke out. I’m heartbroken that my best friend felt like she had to hide such a big part of herself from me.
“I think you know,” Aspen whispers.
I can understand her concern with privacy from her family, but me? I’m her best friend, she should know I would have never judged her. Was she worried that I would? Or maybe that it would change things between us? “Why didn’t you tell me?” I question desperately.
But maybe I already know that answer too.
I might have taken over ten years to examine how I felt about my best friend, but as I look at her now, staring back at me with so much fear in her eyes, like she’s on the edge of heartbreak waiting for me to put the final nail in the coffin, I have the horrible realization that I might have been the only one who was so clueless.
“I think you know,” Aspen repeats as a whisper.
All this time, all the kisses, the late nights sharing our secrets and wildest hopes for our futures. Every hour we spent supporting and encouraging those dreams to help turn them into our reality.
It was never just for fun. Nothing has ever been meaningless between us. How could I have ever thought those things?
Every moment that I’ve ever spent with Aspen has been fun, but that doesn’t make it meaningless. It means… everything. Because Aspen means everything to me. She’s been the center of my world since I met her. The person who makes me happier than anyone else ever could.
I’m not wasting another second.
I bring the hand that she isn’t clutching up to cup her cheek, wiping away a tear that escaped with my thumb.
And then I lean in to kiss her.