3. Danny
3
DANNY
W hen she ends the chat and her profile goes off-line, I exhale sadly. She has to be up early for work in the morning, but I still hate saying goodbye to her, even if we already have plans to game again tomorrow.
Parker and I grew up in the same small town. We went to the same high school, although I don’t remember her. I guess that’s not really a surprise, I was a senior and she was a freshman. If I hadn’t been friends with her sister Becca, I doubt our paths would have crossed at all.
Becca was one of the girls me and my buddies hung out with, but she and I weren’t particularly close. She dated one of my teammates on the football team the whole way through high school, and I think they eventually got married, but apart from a couple of the guys I was close with, I’ve lost touch with most of the kids I graduated with.
I’m not entirely sure how I got back in touch with Parker. That’s a lie. I saw her picture on a mutual friend’s page, then followed her on social media. After that, I kind of stalked her profile until I found a post of hers I could comment on. It just so happened that the post was about gaming. Before then, I’d never really been much of a computer game kind of guy—I’m more physical; I enjoy doing something rather than staring at a screen. But like the fucking desperate asshole that I am, I went out and brought a gaming system and the game she was talking about, just so I’d have something in common with her.
I might have slid into her DMs under the guise of asking her about the game. After that, online messaging became us playing games together, and then somehow that developed into us exchanging cell numbers and talking all the time.
Before Parker, I’d never had a platonic relationship with a girl before. I’m friends with my buddies’ wives, but none of my relationships with them have ever been anything like I have with her. We’ve never had a conversation face-to-face, but I wake up thinking about her and fall asleep hoping she’s thinking about me.
I’m not entirely sure what I want from her, but I know I want something. Unfortunately, no matter how much I flirt, she never responds, and it’s fucking infuriating. I’m a good-looking guy; I’ve never had difficulty getting any woman I’ve set my sights on…until now.
A part of me wonders if I want her simply because she doesn’t want me, but I don’t think so. I love talking to her. Gaming with her is the highlight of my day, and a text from her can brighten even my darkest of moods.
I like her, no, I more than like her, but I don’t want to ruin the good thing we have going by making this more than just an epic friendship. But what if this is meant to be more? What if she’s meant to be mine and I just need to man up and take the next step? She’s this perfect blend of my best friend and the woman that I really want to kiss, stroke, lick, and devour.
I have a vague memory of seeing her with her sister when I was a senior, and she was just starting high school. Back then, I don’t remember thinking she was anything special to look at, but since the very first time I saw her picture on social media, I’ve been desperate for more. She rarely adds photos of herself online, but when she does, I screenshot them all and add them to my secret stockpile of images of her.
Parker is understatedly beautiful. She’s not in-your-face stunning the way some girls are. Instead, she’s the kind of gorgeous that once you notice, you can’t ever unsee. And I see her.
More than her looks, she’s a beautiful person, and when I stroke my dick, it’s always to images of her and memories of her voice and laugh. Maybe it makes me a sick fuck for lusting over my friend, but I can’t help it. I want her in a way that’s kind of messed up, because for the first time, the girl I want doesn’t want me back.
I know that I’m not a god. Obviously there are plenty of women out there who have zero interest in me, but without wanting to sound conceited, it’s rare that I show an interest in someone who doesn’t feel the same way.
Until Parker.
For a while, I wondered if my continuing interest in her stems from the fact that she’s firmly put me in the friend zone. But the more time that passes, the more I realize I still want her. In fact, the longer I talk to her, the more times we talk or game or text just makes me want her more.
We started chatting over a year ago, and I’ve wanted her for at least nine months of that time, but it feels like the more I flirt, the more she reminds me that we’re just friends. We grew up in the same small town and both our families still live there. When I went home for the holidays, I hoped we’d be able to connect in person, but every time I tried to make plans with her, she said she was busy with her family, or tired, or she ghosted me until enough time had passed that whatever activity I’d suggested had ended. I’m not stupid, I know that she’s dodging me, but I just don’t know why.
I’ve never told her that I want her. I’ve never actually mentioned us ever being more than best friends. A part of me wonders if I should just give up and accept that the amazing friendship we share is all we’ll ever be to each other. But there’s something at the back of my head that’s refusing to accept that, because I know that we’d be fucking explosive together.
Don’t ask me how I know or why I’m so sure, but Parker is meant to be mine. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t seen her in person since she was fifteen years old. It doesn’t matter that she lives thousands of miles away from me. It doesn’t matter that she’s only interested in me as a friend. She’s mine, I know she is, and sooner or later, she’ll know it too.
After she logs off the game, playing without her loses all appeal, and I turn off my gaming console and sit back down on my couch. My house on the row is far too big for me alone. When we first got to town and I realized that the housing provision was a full three-bed house to myself, I was fucking ecstatic. In the past, when I’ve taken seasonal jumper contracts, the housing has been a room in a house that’s usually smelly and dirty but temporary enough that I don’t care.
Now that I’ve been rattling around this house alone for eighteen months, I almost long for the noise and mess that comes with living in a house surrounded by other guys. Before Nero and Tori got together, he asked if any of us would be interested in rooming with him, and I jumped at the chance, but then he lost his mind for his woman, and the whole idea of him moving out was forgotten.
I don’t know if any of the other guys hate living alone as much as I do, but if they do, they’ve never mentioned anything. Derek, one of the guys on the B team, mentioned sharing a place, but with him working the complete opposite shift, I’d be just as alone as I am now anyway.
My teammates, Warrick, Knight, and Anders, all seem to like living alone, and I don’t want to encroach on their space just because I’m a lonely fucking pussy.
It wouldn’t take much to find some company for the night. The bar in town is still open, and this close to closing time, the women that’ll still be there are the ones that will happily invite me into their bed for the night. But easy pussy lost its appeal months ago when I realized my fascination with Parker wasn’t going away.
That’s not to suggest I’ve been a monk this last year—I haven’t—but when I realized I felt nothing but a physical release once the sweat had dried, bar hookups just became a bit ugly.
Now that almost half of my team are wifed up, those of us who are still single seem less and less interested in the bar scene on our days off. Instead, we all spend a lot of time with our neighbors, the Barnetts. Their huge compound-style house is just over the hill and they’re always up for company, even when their house is packed to the rafters already.
Standing up, I walk to the front window that overlooks the street and the rest of the row. Buck and Knight’s houses still have lights on, Buck would totally answer the door if I called around, but he and James are trying for a baby, and I’m not going to be the asshole that turns up late at night to interrupt them just because I’m bored and lonely.
Knight doesn’t seem to sleep much, so I know he’ll be awake, but he’s not much of a chatty Cathy, nor is he much of a drinker. He’ll come to the bar with me if I ask him, but he hates the noise and all the women who think they can crack his strong, silent demeanor.
He’s a great guy and basically a brother to me, but he’s always been a bit of an odd duck. I like his eccentricities, but something changed about him a few months back, and since then, he’s been weirder than normal. I love the dude, but I have no idea what the fuck is going on with him these days.
Glancing at my wrist, I check the time. It’s barely eleven p.m., but I still push up out of my couch and turn off the TV, then check the doors and turn off the lights as I head upstairs. I don’t have to be at work tomorrow, but the idea of sitting alone for any longer, staring at the four walls of my living room, is just depressing.
I strip out of my clothes and boxers and drop them in the hamper on my way into the bathroom. Turning on the light, I brush my teeth, then stare at my reflection in the mirror. I’m vain enough that I can appreciate and like what I see. I’m ripped, toned, and in peak physical condition. I look good. I take care of myself, I wax, and when the sun’s out, I tan so my skin is a sexy warm olive color. My hair is neat, short, but with enough length on top to style. I wouldn’t say I’m gorgeous, but I’m a good-looking guy with genetics that have given me a square jaw and great nose.
Who am I kidding; I’m the complete fucking package, so why doesn’t she want me?
Turning on the faucet again, I scoop some water into my cupped hands and splash it on my face, trying to banish this pathetic uncertainty that Parker’s rejection has awakened in me.
Refusing to look at myself again, I ignore the mirror, grab a towel, and dry my face, then turn off the light and pad back into my bedroom. Lifting the covers, I slip naked into my bed, grabbing the TV remote from the bedside cabinet and turning it on.
Settling on a shitty reality TV show about social media, I stare at the screen, not really watching it, and instead pick up my cell phone and open the social media app. Just like I do every night, I quickly scroll through my notifications, then click on Parker’s profile, wondering if she’s posted something new. She hasn’t, she rarely does, but checking has become part of my nightly ritual, and as much as I try to stop myself, I know I won’t be able to sleep until I’ve looked.
Once I’m sure she hasn’t posted anything I could have missed, I click into her photos, then slip my hand beneath the sheets and grab my already hardening cock. The same way I do every night, I scroll back to the first picture I saw of her. It’s of a slightly younger looking Parker sitting cross-legged on the hood of a mid-restoration muscle car. She’s wearing denim shorts that cling to her thick thighs like a second skin and a tight, white, cropped shirt that clings to her sexy as fuck tits. Her hair is a wild mess of sexy curls, and she’s wearing the kind of smile that radiates happiness.
Biting my lip, I grip my dick tightly and start to slide my fist up and down my length.
Scrolling to the next picture, I stare at her face. It’s a photo someone else posted and tagged her in. This time, she’s standing in a group of people, slightly off to the side, like she’s part of the group but not the center of it. I recognize her sister and the guy standing beside her, but the only person I really see is Parker. She’s wearing a dress, and from the expression on her face, it’s clear she’s uncomfortable, but despite the awkwardness of her stance, she still looks beautiful. Her hair is sleek and straight and I hate it, but I still stare at the way her full lips are pressed together, her eyes bright, and her sexy, curvy body is fucking delicious.
Rubbing my thumb over the precum that’s leaking from the head of my cock, I use it as lube, slicking it over my length while I jack my cock slow and firm.
Moving to the next picture, I drag in a sharp breath as my eyes rake over the image. It’s a selfie, but she’s barely looking at the camera, like all her focus is on the car behind her. It’s the same one from the first picture, only this time it’s fully restored—the paintwork gleaming in the summer sun.
Parker looks sadder in this picture. There’s an air of melancholy in her expression that oddly doesn’t make her any less beautiful. I both love and hate this one. Her fragility makes me want to reach into the picture and drag her into my arms for a hug, but I wish that she never had to be this sad in the first place.
Her hair is pulled back, but there’re stray curls falling over the side of her face like her hair is trying to get free of its restraints. I can’t see what she’s wearing, only the curve of her full tits.
Pumping my dick hard and fast, I bite my lip to keep in the moans of pleasure that try to burst free from my mouth.
The next picture, then the next, I swipe through them as I jerk my dick, racing toward release that would be so much better if she was watching, or helping, or the one making my balls pull up tight while cum surges from the head.
When I come, I’m staring at my favorite picture of my girl. She’s smiling widely as she points at her TV, her game controller gripped tightly in her hand. It’s the picture I commented on, the one that started this all.
Once I’m done, I keep hold of my cell but let my hand fall to the comforter, sucking in air as my body slowly relaxes. The cooling cum on my belly and hand is disgusting, but I don’t make any move to clean up, still living in the moment of release when all of my thoughts are focused on her.
Closing my eyes, I try to imagine how it would feel if she was lying beside me right now, but my imagination only goes so far, and no matter how many times I try to make myself envision her here with me, it never feels real. I wish I knew how her soft curves felt or how perfectly she would fit pressed up against my body while I fell asleep toying with her nipples. But I don’t, and I never will unless I can get out of the fucking friend zone.
The sun is barely creeping up from behind the horizon when I wake up the next morning. I’ve never needed much sleep, but on the nights when I’ve spoken to Parker, my dreams are always filled with thoughts of what if that force me awake, angry, and alone.
Pushing off the covers, I stomp into the bathroom, then grab my running clothes and quickly get dressed. Shoving my feet into socks and sneakers, I’m out the door minutes later, the crisp spring air filling my lungs.
Jumpers Row was originally built as workers’ housing for the ranch just over the brow of the hill. Our landlord and the ranch’s owner, Hal, was more than happy to allow us to rent the full mini suburb of houses at a reduced cost in exchange for the agreement that we’d all pitch in on the ranch if he ever needed the help.
When I moved to Montana, I wasn’t expecting to fall in love with the picture-perfect mountain vistas or stunning forests as far as the eye can see. I live in the middle of rural paradise, and no matter how bad a mood I wake up in, running the trails that skirt the ranch always resets my unsettled thoughts.
I’m covered in sweat and breathing hard by the time I stride back into my house, it’s time to figure this shit out. Either I need to go to Vermont to see Parker, or I need to figure out a way to get her here. I need to know once and for all if there’s any chance of making her see me as more than just a friend or if I need to accept…nope, there’s no other option. I need to make her see me as her man, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen.