16. BFFs?
16
BFFS?
W hen I wake, it’s with great effort. At first, I keep my eyes closed as I try to process why the hell my body feels like I took a two hour intense hot yoga class the day before. I stretch my limbs to measure the full extent of my soreness and almost hiss. But while it hurts and I’d love to pass out again to sleep another hour or ten, it’s the kind of satisfying soreness that comes after doing something really, really fun. Like sex with an incredible man.
It’s delicious.
And it’s right then that I remember what happened, and my eyes fly open to double-check whether Will is in bed beside me or whether it was all just a dream. To my surprise, when I turn on my side, I find him asleep and naked, lying on his back, about an inch away from falling off my queen mattress. While the bed is certainly big enough for me, it appears we’re both the sprawling kind of sleepers, making it nearly impossible to fit in the bed with room to spare. Not that I mind, if I’m being honest. Will smells incredible, his skin is soft yet hard, and his body heat is more than welcome on this cold, February morning. I really don’t hate having to share my bed’s real estate.
As if wanting to make things more difficult, Ginger hops on the foot of the bed, jostling the mattress. She looks between me and Will, her unwanted guest, with an annoyed look.
He took my spot. Am I supposed to share now? she seems to ask.
“We have a guest. Be nice,” I whisper back to her.
It’s been so long since a man has been in bed with me, I wouldn’t be surprised if she forgot about the existence of other humans. It’s not like I bring many friends over here, either. Where would I even put them?
Eventually, Ginger settles at the foot of the bed, curling up into a big, fluffy ball by our feet, accepting that she’s been relegated. Meanwhile, I go back to staring at Will’s peaceful features as he sleeps. Except?—
“Is she mad at me for taking her spot or something?” he asks in a sleepy voice that has me grinning like a goof. Will’s eyes are closed, an adorable lazy smile attempting to spread across his face.
There’s officially no doubt in my mind that I’m going to want this every day from now on.
“You’re awake?”
He yawns and stretches a bit. “Yeah.”
“You heard that?”
His laugh is low, groggy. Will’s eyes are still closed, but he wraps an arm around my waist to bring me closer. “Yeah. But it’s not a surprise that you talk to your cat.” He doesn’t have any morning breath. How is that even possible?
I place my hand an inch away from my mouth as I speak, just in case I have some sort of fire breathing dragon level gnarly thing going on. “Is that a bad thing?”
He shakes his head in my neck before dipping it in my neck and inhaling deeply, filling his lungs with my scent. “You smell incredible. Like you and sex and me and shampoo.” His arms slink around my waist, evolve into two massive snakes I wouldn’t mind being constricted by. Once again, Will is predator, and I am hopelessly devoted prey.
Irritated by our bed takeover, Ginger gives up and heads back to her chair for her morning nap (the first of three). Will notices and laughs with me, muttering something about having to win over my jealous roommate.
My grin is wild, the butterflies in my stomach are in a frenzy, and if he pressed his ear to my chest, he’d hear the impossibly loud and fast tempo of my heart while my brain processes his words. Thank god he can’t see my face. Would he think I was crazy for the wild blush?
I press my cheek against his soft hair, relish in the feeling of his hard, yet soft arms around me. Close my eyes so I can let the way I feel burn into my brain. Pray I never forget it. Because oh my god, this feels so good.
“How do you feel?” he asks into my neck.
“Fine.” More like joyous. Elated. Safe. But I don’t want to go and wax poetic over how last night was one of the most incredible nights of my life if we’re not on the same page. Call me a coward—I’ll admit it—but I don’t feel strong enough to be able to take the initiative here. Not after what happened at work. Not after having been clobbered in such a way by something I was beginning to care so much about, left feeling betrayed and hurt. If I felt so bad over something that happened at work , I don’t know whether I’d be able to come back from his rejection. After all, just because we had sex, doesn’t mean he has feelings for me. Will said it himself: he hasn’t dated in a while, but he isn’t celibate. He clearly doesn’t believe sex and feelings are mutually exclusive. For him, this could’ve just been two good friends scratching an itch. A casual hookup. Maybe even a pity fuck after the horrible day I had.
God, my stomach drops at that last one. Please don’t let it have been a pity fuck. Anything else but that.
Will pulls away, his brow furrowed in disappointment. “Fine? That’s it? I thought it was…”
“I didn’t mean fine as in, like, it didn’t mean much or anything or that it was bad,” I rush to correct him. Sure, I don’t want him to know just how into him I am, but I guess I also don’t want Will to feel like it didn’t matter. “I feel good. Great , even. Just a little tired from the… er, overexertion.”
His grin is lopsided and sly. “Yeah, I definitely feel like I did over a hundred sit-ups last night. And I regularly work out.”
I snort and cover my face in my hands, trying not to laugh. When I settle, I feel his hands wrap around my wrist, so I let him pull them away gently.
“You’re so fucking beautiful. Especially in the morning. Especially after I’ve fucked you.”
The fire is back and it’s spread all over my body. From my now-crimson cheeks, to the instant growing ache between my legs, and the way his words make my toes curl.
His thumb grazes my cheeks as he stares at him. “Freckles,” he whispers. But he says nothing else. My cheeks heat even more.
With every ounce of strength I have left in my body, I fight the urge to let myself fully go. It’s such a good alternative to what needs to be done—talking about last night—that I almost cave. But I know that if we fail to define what’s happening here, it could end badly for us both.
“So…”
“So.” He grins.
“We had sex last night.”
“ Ooh. That’s what that was?”
“Will.”
“Bridge.”
“C’mon.”
He sighs, his smile wistful. “We had sex. And I thought it was amazing. Didn’t you?”
I have to bite down on my lip to stop from smiling like a goof. “It was… bananas.”
He takes my hands to his lips, kisses them. “I love it when you say that.”
This makes me laugh. “You like it when I say that something is bananas?”
“Yeah. It’s cute. You’re cute.”
“And you’re cheesin’.”
“Only a little.” But he kisses my hands again. “So besides it being bananas, as you say. What did you think?”
“Performance wise? You did great. Solid nine out of ten would recommend. Though I gotta say it’s not really attractive behavior when someone asks for a review.”
“Bridge, you know that’s not what I meant. I meant— Wait, nine out of ten? Why a nine ?” He squeezes his eyes shut. “No, you know what? I’m not gonna let you distract me. I know exactly what you’re doing.”
Shit .
I hate this. I hate that he’s putting me in the position to make the call. For the first time since meeting him, I feel vulnerable and exposed with Will in a bad way. This is far from the comfortable yet open situations which we put ourselves in when sharing stuff we wouldn’t otherwise share with anyone else. “You first,” I tell him.
He huffs out a laugh and nods. “Alright. I’ll be a gentleman about it and take the first hit.” He takes a deep breath and stares deep into my eyes. “I’m not going to deny that I want to do it again. Like I said, I thought it was amazing. And fun.”
Fun . But is it just that? I bite back all the questions I want to throw at him, all the things I want to say. If it were any other guy, I wouldn’t care. I’d prioritize my mental health and time—I’m not gonna go ahead and waste it on another asshole—and make sure to get all the nonsense out of the way. But I’m on unstable ground, risking losing Will altogether.
“Fun. Totally.” Even though I’m putting every ounce of effort I can manage into this, there’s no way of hiding the flatness in my voice.
“You didn’t think it was fun?” He frowns. “I thought you just said?—”
“God. We’re going around in circles,” I say with a groan. “We both said we were fine and we both agreed it was fun. What we keep avoiding is the question of what now. So… What now?”
He takes a beat to think the question over—finally. When he’s done considering it, his answer comes out in a very rational tone. “We’ve agreed it was fun. And we agreed that we’re both okay. And seeing as those two feelings are positive things, I don’t see what the problem would be in repeating said activity. Like… would it be so horrible if we did it again?”
My heart plummets. Does he mean do this casually? Like fuck buddies? “Oh.”
Now his face falls. “Unless you don’t want to. Which is also totally okay. I mean, it’s fine if you want to just stick to being friends who do not fuck.” As opposed to just friends who do, I assume?
A sharp stinging behind my eyes begins to build, my throat constricting itself tighter than the grip he had around my waist just moments before. So this is it for us, then? It’s fuck buddies or nothing? Friend zoned all the way?
I want to cry. I want to gently kick him out of my apartment so I can sit in my shower and cry my heart out under steaming hot water. Because I’m an idiot. What did I expect? That he would just fall for me the way I fell for him over a few emails, texts, and video calls? Stupid Bridget. He’s a normal person, and you clearly are not. You’re delusional and ridiculous and will only ever be his friend. People who fall for strangers they meet on the internet usually end up on a TV show while viewers stare at the screen, begging the person to see the countless red flags.
It’s me. I’m that girl. Though, other than the fact that he doesn’t want to see me romantically, he has no red flags. At least, none that I can see.
I search my brain for a joke, something to relieve the tension. To distract him—and honestly, myself, too—from noticing how much this news affects me to my core. Because I am absolutely devastated. I was just given one of the best nights of my life only to be told I can’t have any more of it. Or rather, I can—so long as I skip the emotional component my heart would need in order to enjoy it.
“I mean, yes, last night was great. But I’m concerned about what it would do to our friendship, you know? I guess we’ve already had this conversation. After the sexting, remember?”
“Bridge, if you think I’m going to cut and run—” He shakes his head, eyes wide with panic. “That’s not me. I told you that?—”
“That you wouldn’t. I know. And I believe that’s how you feel— now. But we’re just getting to know each other. And I think that’s what we should be prioritizing, right? Making sure we’re good, not letting ourselves get caught up in silly things like being fuck buddies. What if we can’t survive this if we decide to keep it casual? I don’t think it’s worth running the risk of it getting messy and losing this.” I point back and forth between us. My comforter is pulled up almost to my neck, and I know he can’t see an inch of skin, yet I’ve never felt more exposed.
His expression falls, but I’m not surprised. We had good sex last night. Amazing sex. Eleven out of ten, and would not want to recommend because I want to keep him all to myself sex. So I get his disappointment. He’s a guy, after all, and he’s no stranger to keeping things casual, apparently. But I can’t let the people pleaser in me or my feelings for him let me make the stupid mistake of sleeping with him ever again.
“So, what you’re saying is…”
“That we should just be friends. Who do not have sex. Ever again.”
He blinks once. Twice. Another time. “Okay. Heard, chef. Friends it is.” And without another word, he gets out of bed and to his feet, searching for his clothes, buck naked.
“Where are you going?” I can hear the clear panic in my voice, even with the sound of my heart beating a drum in my ears. When he hears my tone and sees the distress in my eyes, Will kneels by my side of the bed. Naked again. And his dick is there and perfect, and his chest is strong and defined, but I said no. And no is no. And I’ll never get to see those parts again once he puts his clothes on.
“Hey, don’t freak out. Everything’s fine.” He smiles when he reaches out to hold my hand, but I know better than to believe it’s fully genuine. He’s disappointed. I want to tell him I am too, but it’s for different reasons. Reasons that will probably end with us never speaking again. Reasons better left unsaid.
“I’m just looking for my clothes, okay? Then maybe I thought we could go to breakfast? I can get you a bagel and we can start with you making uncomfortable jokes about what happened and I can pretend like nothing is awkward until we get lost in conversation—because our conversations are even better than that mind-blowing sex we had last night—sorry, that’s the last time I’ll bring it up—and then everything will be back to normal. Okay?”
Mortified, I realize I’m near tears. “I don’t want to lose you,” I admit.
“Lose me? Bridge, you’re stuck with me for good. No matter what. If the only way I get to be in your life is by being your friend then consider me your BFF, alright? We can even make friendship bracelets for each other and everything.” I snort and wipe my nose with the back of my hand. So ladylike . “I’m not going anywhere.”
That’s what they all say right before they leave.