8. Faye
8
FAYE
The alarm screaming right by Faye’s ear was the devil’s own personal banshee.
Six a.m on a Tuesday morning in December and she’d had a total of five hours of undisturbed, and strangely deep, sleep. Any ordinary person who ran their own business might’ve been kind to themselves and closed their eyes for an extra hour before deciding they absolutely had to leave.
But not her.
Faye tortured herself with these pre-dawn starts every day, seven days a week, because if she didn’t then who was going to finish decorating the day’s doughnuts? Or prepare online orders for shipping? Chandra usually handled the packaging and courier side of the latter conundrum, and as far as bakery assistants went she was damn good at her job.
But Faye needed to be there. Baked By The Dozen was her bakery; her business. If something went wrong or a customer was unhappy then it was her who forked the responsibility.
Groaning into her pillow, she slapped her phone on the nightstand and made the god awful alarm shut up. It’d done its job – she was awake. It didn’t need to scream on and on .
Pale pre-dawn light gave an eerie, fog-like haze around the edges of her curtains as Faye peeled her eyes open. She didn’t know when exactly she’d rolled over in the night, but she woke staring at the small crooked bookshelf tucked against her wall and?—
A weight pressing down around her middle shifted, pulling her in tighter. Rough skin against her softness.
Whether she was awake now wasn’t a question. Every fibre and sinew in her body screamed ‘good morning’ as the pieces of only a few hours ago slotted together in her mind.
Slotted. Together …
Bash .
He was behind her, wasn’t he?
Awareness creeped in and Faye strangled her yelp at the rock solid something pushing between her bum cheeks. Some part of her best friend shifted the tiniest inch, but with his entire length curled warmly around her, Faye felt that tiny shift like he’d taken a rolling pin and rammed her with it.
This hadn’t ever happened before. Not with Bash.
All of her nerve endings sent off currents and sparks. Her body had clenched and she realised she squeezed the length of his?—
“Oh god.” Faye’s entire circulation rushed to her face.
She forced her muscles to relax, and in the most mortifying thing to have happened to her in this last year, she let the hard length of Bash nestled between her buttocks go . Though her pent up frustrations put up a protest. Any form of sexual release with a man had been zero for too many months in what Sienna considered to be a crime.
It’s a perfectly natural thing. Faye tried to calm her mind down next. His body is functioning as it should. Like a mantra, repeating over and over again. She’d never believed in meditation, but fuck it, she was desperate. Then she scolded herself for basking in the thought – knowledge – of how Bash’s morning glory felt against her .
This was so wrong.
Was he still asleep? Had her alarm woken him? Please let it not have. She’d have a better chance of escaping this situation with a modicum of tact and forgettability if it hadn’t.
The hoodie – Bash’s orange hoodie that Faye quickly debated never wanting to see again – in its massiveness, had wriggled up her body overnight and evidently given Bash’s hand exclusive access to her midriff. Her vest top had betrayed her too, since his thumb and at least two fingers sneaked under the cotton.
Damn her, she liked the feeling. She liked it too much; the roughness of his fingertips from years of racket sport curling against the soft skin of her stomach. The lean, honed, wide planes of his chest against her back. He touched the bump beneath her belly button and Faye didn’t feel the instinct to breathe in.
A betraying wave of pure desire slithered straight to pool in that recently vacated space between her thighs.
For her own sanity, she tried to extricate herself away from the really lovely but severely inappropriate warmth cocooning her. There wasn’t much space between the edge of her bed and the wall for any graceful escape, but she could twist her legs out from under the covers if she planned her movements slowly. A few more inches and she would be free.
“ Stay .” A dazed, low plea halted her, steady breaths warming down her neck.
So the banshee had done its job two fold this morning; Faye scowled at her phone on the nightstand.
Fingers stroked beneath her vest top and she knew Bash was completely unaware he even did so. Because he would never, consciously. At least, she didn’t think that he would …
Little meaningless touches here and there weren’t uncommon between them – were friendly even, in the manner that Bash searched for her attention when he spoke and gave gentle reassurances he was listening, but that tactileness didn’t extend to his hand casually sliding under her vest .
“I have to go to work.” Her voice came out smaller than she would’ve liked. What else was she supposed to say?
“No y’dont,” Bash mumbled against her hair and Faye learned then what genuine delight felt like. How it took a molten shape and filled up all of her chest.
No. No.
She needed to untangle herself or else she would stay here forever. And when Bash became lucid, he would be horrified and leave her flat and they would never speak to each other again. That was dramatic, yes. Worst case scenario? But it was the reality that Faye was desperate to avoid.
“Yes, I do.”
Stirring awake, Bash released her with what was apparently a lot of effort.
She needed to just play it cool. This is no big deal. Of course her mind would make it so, but Bash didn’t need to see that on her face.
When she rolled out onto her feet, it was a mistake to turn back and see what her heart had always longed to see: Bash with his hair crumpled and his dark waves untamed from sleep, his white t-shirt riding up his toned stomach, arm still draped over the space where she’d slept. The duvet was bunched between his knees and barely covered over his hips, though hid enough for Faye not to witness the hard mass she’d felt up against her with her eyes.
Her gaze wandered down him regardless and she ripped it away before she crossed a line. Ogling her best friend’s crotch was not going to be on the cards this morning if she wanted a chance at being able to concentrate today.
Blearily, Bash roused himself from his grogginess, shifted and stretched out his legs, then halted mid groan. Yep. He’s figured it out. Faye caught the exact moment on his face when he realised what his body had done, likely still did, and then she couldn’t quite look at him .
She distracted herself with gathering the pair of black trousers she’d discarded on the floor after work last night while Bash pulled himself up to sit against her headboard. He rearranged the pillows around him, one notably finding its way to his lap.
“Sorry,” he said in an un-Bash-ly level of quietness. Embarrassment thick in his rough morning voice.
Play it cool, Faye.
“For what?”
Bash went quiet, and Faye wondered if he second guessed whether he should bring up the fact his erection had tried to invade between her thighs as they slept. His silence obviously debated if she’d noticed. How could she not have? His … was very hard to miss. Even more so when this hoodie surrounded her in the spring-forest-esque scent of him. It was masculine yet sweet, and the undertone of something spicier spun Faye’s thoughts back to the bed between them, and how exactly he might be something spicier too if they were in it.
For gods’ sake. That thought surprised even her.
“For harassing you in your sleep,” Bash eventually answered.
Faye rolled with what he gave. “It’s natural. Don’t worry.” At least he had the courage to acknowledge the moment and apologise.
“Yeah … but I shouldn’t when—never mind. I’m sorry.”
Shouldn’t when what? When it was her that he’d been spooning?
Faye knew she was a solid six-out-of-ten, a seven if she was in a good mood – she’d accepted that. But the part of her brain that was still in that university art room wished she was enough for him to look at her and want her.
Bash had zero interest in her. Nothing. Nada. His sleeping body had felt the warmth of a woman pressed against him and decided it was time to procreate. His hard-on had nothing to do with her whatsoever .
And she wouldn’t think about any hypothetical baby any kind of procreation with Bash might produce – not since the night where their friends had taken pictures of each other and used an app to predict what the babies of various couplings would look like. According to the app, a Whittaker-Phillips-Dumont baby would be adorable. And sometimes, when Faye thought about what she wanted in her future, that image sprang forwards and danced across her eyes.
She didn’t know what compelled her to cross around the room and take Bash’s stubbly face into her hands.
“Thank you for apologising,” she said, his devastating eyes blinking widely up at her. “Though for you and me, I think it’s more awkward than harassment. I know this wasn’t on purpose so don’t worry.”
Under his rumpled t-shirt, Bash’s shoulders inched lower. “Are you sure?”
“Mm-hm.” She ruffled up his hair, the sibling-like gesture sure to cool his body down.
Bash grumbled as he dragged his fingers through his hair until it sat relatively normally, and Faye backed through her bedroom, trying to hide her smile at his cute, semi-annoyed frown.
“You’re rather calm about this,” he mused.
If only you knew. Years on since they’d met, and Faye had learned how to hide her feelings well.
“I think I’ve had too much stress for one night to be freaking out about anything right now.”
Peeling herself out of Bash’s hoodie – which there was no way to do gracefully – she caught the quick flick away of his eyes and movement of his throat before she tossed it towards him. He was still embarrassed of his situation down below and Faye had no idea how to help. Lend a hand, perhaps?
No, Faye. Stop it.
She plucked a white, button-up blouse from her wardrobe, one of several she alternated beneath her apron at work, and hesitated in front of her underwear drawer. Bash hadn’t moved from within her bed and she didn’t need to ask why. She planned on grabbing her underwear discreetly and disappearing to her bathroom to give him a minute whilst she got dressed. But since they were apologising to one another …
“I’m so sorry about last night. I just … panicked.”
“It’s okay, Peanut. Seriously.” Bash looked at her with such tenderness in his eyes, the awkwardness in her stomach melted away. “I meant what I said. You can call me whenever you’re scared and you know I’ll always answer.”
He might always answer, but he wouldn’t always be there, would he? What if he found that person who he wanted to spend his life with? How were they going to feel if he rushed out in the middle of the night to sleep in another woman’s bed? And what was she going to do when she was two hundred miles away?
When he said things like that … all Faye felt once the warmth in her heart had faded was scared. Scared that one day those sweet words would stop coming – directed to someone else instead. How much her heart wished he’d stay single forever was entirely cruel and she battled those feelings each time their eyes locked. The feeble ‘pick me’ attitude she despised so much.
Somehow, and relatively soon, she would have to learn to live without him. She was moving away to a different city entirely, so even if Bash did want a romantic relationship with her, it wouldn’t be fair to start one now when she couldn’t logistically keep it going.
Faye stood with her trousers bundled up against her body and her shirt hanging from her fingertip, openly staring at him. The angry bruise on his cheek had darkened overnight. Perhaps her hormones had kickstarted some primal need within her to take care of the wounded, rugged man, but his attractiveness hiked up a notch with that blue bruise and his wild bed hair.
Her inhale sharpened.
She needed to say something .
“My stall at the Christmas market is tomorrow and I need to work on some new recipes.”
Bash looked stunned for a moment. Maybe her change in topic was too far? “Would you … like some help?”
“No - no. I’ve taken up too much of your life for one day anyway. I’ll be fine.” Her thin smile, Faye hoped, was reassuring.
It was now or never to grab a fresh pair of underwear from her drawer, since Bash still firmly held the pillow in his lap and looked as though he wasn’t going anywhere soon. If she delayed her morning any further then she was going to be late.
She didn’t give herself a second to overthink this and half turned from him, grabbing whatever underwear was there on top when she snapped the drawer open and shut again. Words might distract him from the embarrassingly old and plain knickers and bra she tried to tuck beneath the bundled trousers.
Distraction.
“Thank you for being here.”
Lips pursed, Bash nodded. He met her eyes and only her eyes, and something in Faye’s brain popped up to wave a white flag saying ‘retreat’ before this got more awkward.
How was she supposed to ask her best friend to leave her bed when he was … incapacitated, as such, without sounding like an idiot?
She inched backwards towards her doorway. “I’m going to get changed in the bathroom. You can leave if you’d like or you can wait and have breakfast with me?”
That got Bash moving. “No, no, I’ll get out of your hair.” He raked his fingers through his own, then he and the hoodie shuffled out from under her fluffy duvet, saying, “I should probably go home and shower anyway.”
“Right … ” Faye’s lower lip slowly curled between her teeth. The hems of his trousers were still turned up, keeping the flecks of dirt he’d gathered running over here away from her bedding.
Why was the tiny detail of consideration so adorable ?
Bash drew himself up to his height and inhaled. “I guess I’ll see you in two days then.” At her crinkled brow, he added, “To pick you up.”
Right. Christmas. Four days away from London with Bash and his family.
“Bright and early.” Faye beamed. “I’ll be ready.”