GRANT
FORTY
I wake up hard.
My eyes aren’t even open, and I can feel the jut of my cock pressing against my boxers. I grab a pillow and smother my face with it.
You cannot touch yourself while you think about Amelia.
She’s here because you’re going through a hard time, not because she’s in love with you.
But… what if she’s touching herself while thinking about me?
I yank the pillow away and stare at the ceiling.
My hand rests on my stomach, above the waistband of my boxers.
I curl my fingers into a fist, trying to stop myself, but I can’t.
I fucking can’t, because she’s feet away from me in a big T-shirt and sleep shorts that show off her legs, and I’m rendered useless by the thought of her.
I pull my boxers down and spit in my hand before wrapping it around my dick.
Stroking myself up and down, I picture Amelia and what it would be like to have her next to me.
Her head on my chest, her mouth on my neck.
I bet she’s soft everywhere, from her hips to her breasts.
I stifle a groan when I imagine her climbing on top of me, a long leg on either side of my body.
A smirk, a coaxing smile. You can do better than that, Everett, she’d say.
What kind of noises would she make? Would she be loud? Does she like to take control? Would she be okay with being in charge? With teaching me the best ways to make her come?
Fuck.
My grip tightens. My strokes turn messier. I’d love to have her while she was wearing one of her old jerseys. Pressed up against a wall, my hand in her hair while she rode my fingers.
And sinking inside her? Fucking her even though I wouldn’t have a goddamn clue what I was doing?
It makes my eyes roll to the back of my head. I want to learn. I want to be the one to get her there, and I want her to say my name. I want to watch her smile when she comes, breathless and exhausted from how well I’m taking care of her.
Her curves come into focus. I’d drop to my knees and run my hands from her calves to her hips, holding her in place while I tasted her. I’d make sure to say thank you after. I’d make sure she knew how happy I was to stretch her out while I listened to her moan.
An orgasm starts at the edge of my vision. Each jerk of my hand fuels me to the satisfaction I’ve been craving while I think about her.
Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Amelia. Amelia. Amelia. Amelia.
I reach the tipping point, and my body seizes as I spill in my hand. A stuttered gasp follows the burst of pleasure, and I slow my movements. The rough strokes turn half-hearted and lazy, and I drop my head back on the pillows.
My fingers and stomach are covered in cum. My skin is bright pink, my limbs heavy. I’ve jerked off plenty of times in my life, but I haven’t made a mess like this since I was sixteen.
I’m not sure what that says about me, but I am sure I’m going to hell. I have a one-way ticket to damnation, because I just got off to the thought of my best friend while she’s asleep down the hall, and I don’t have a single regret.
A long shower helps to get rid of the evidence that a spiritual awakening jerk-off happened in my bedroom. I find Amelia in the living room, sitting on the couch with a mug in her hand.
Coffee first, then breakfast.
A new addition to the notebook.
“Morning,” I say, and she looks up at me.
“Hi.” Her smile is brighter than the sun. “I’m awake first today.”
“You win this time, Green.” I sit on the other side of the couch and do my best to not remember our positions last night in these same spots. “How did you sleep?”
“Good. Makes sense that when I finally get on East Coast time, I have to leave.”
“Speaking of leaving, I can drive you to the airport in the morning. My life is meaningless without hockey in it.”
“And becoming a chauffeur will give you purpose? I guess it’s good to have goals in life.” Amelia squeals when I launch a pillow at her. She lifts her mug to keep it out of the strike zone. “Don’t make me spill! This coffee is the only thing keeping me going!”
“And here I thought you ran on spite and kicking men’s asses.” I pluck the mug from her hands and set it on the table. “When the answer was caffeine this whole time.”
“I definitely run on those things. Coffee is just a nice addition.” She grins and leans back. “What’s on the agenda today? You better do it up big, Everett. I won’t see you until October at the earliest.”
I try not to let that get me down.
Four months is too long to go without hearing her laugh.
“Kayaking on the Potomac then grabbing a pizza from Andy’s over in Foggy Bottom.” I rub my jaw to chase my frown away. “There’s also a surprise at the end of the night.”
“A surprise?” Amelia tips her head. “Are you going to give me any hints?”
“Nope. You’re going to have to be patient.”
“Fine.” Her sigh is dramatic and cute. “Are shorts okay?”
“More than okay. It’s going to be in the upper eighties today. If you wear anything else, you’ll suffer from a heatstroke.”
“That would be a terrible way to end the trip.”
“Minus the whole spiraling into depression blip, we’ve been doing pretty well,” I joke.
“Best to quit while we’re ahead,” she says.
“Is an hour enough time for you to get ready?”
“More than enough time.” She reaches for her mug and takes a sip of her coffee. “Let me finish my caffeine lifeline, and I’ll get dressed.”
“I’m going to grab some cereal and find the sunscreen.” I stand, stretching my back when I do. “There’s a thermos in the pantry if you want to take your coffee with you.”
“You think of everything, Grant Everett.”
Don’t I fucking know it.
“That couple is going to be divorced by the end of the year.” Amelia rests her paddle over the edges of the kayak and points to the boat ahead of us.
They’ve been arguing for the better part of twenty minutes about steering, and I’m exhausted having to listen to them.
“They can’t navigate a body of water. How are they going to make important life decisions? ”
“What if we tip their boat? It might knock some sense into them, and we won’t have to hear him talk about his sailboat that is more luxurious than a vessel he has to steer himself.” I crack open a water bottle and pass it to her over her shoulder. “Are there a lot of lakes in Colorado?”
“Tons, but I’m more of a mountain girl. There’s a ranch about two and a half hours outside of Denver that Lainey, Sienna, and I visited for the weekend.
We got to ride horses on beautiful trails.
We sat under the stars where it was so quiet, I swear you could hear a pin drop.
I’m not a big fan of skiing, so I stay on flat ground during the winter. ”
“Some of the guys and I were thinking about taking a ski trip during All-Star break in February. Assuming none of us make the team, of course.”
“You don’t think you’ll go back and do another Skills event?”
“Nah.” I shake my head. “I know when to stop, and it’s after I collected my trophy. Gotta end with a win.”
We split a protein bar and start for the dock, synchronizing our strokes and cruising along with the current.
It’s afternoon by the time we get to the boathouse, and we head to the next stop.
Armed with a pepperoni pizza and two glasses of lemonade, we find a table under a large tree for some shade.
I hand Amelia napkins, she opens the cardboard box, and we dig in.
“Most underrated topping?” she asks, pulling a long string of cheese from her mouth.
“Green peppers,” I say. “Or pickles.”
“Pickles on your pizza? That is disturbing.”
“Okay, Miss Perfect Pizza Topping. What’s your pick?”
“Mushrooms,” she says, defiance sparking behind her answer.
“You can’t be serious.” I gape at her. “Of all the things in the world, you’re going with mushrooms on top of a delicious pizza?”
“That’s better than pickles! Pickles belong on sandwiches!”
“When you fold the slice in half”—I demonstrate what I mean, bringing the two ends of my pizza together—“it makes a sandwich. Voilà. Pickles.”
“You probably think tacos are sandwiches, don’t you?”
“The fillings are literally sandwiched between the tortilla. Tacos are most definitely in the sandwich family.”
“And hot dogs?”
“Same goes. Meat and bread? Condiments? Come on.”
“Oh my god.” Amelia laughs. “I don’t think this friendship is going to work.”
“All those years gone over the definition of a sandwich and pizza toppings.” I sigh and toss a pepperoni in my mouth. “We had a good run.”
We grab soft serve after we finish our pizza, sitting on a bench while the ice cream melts down our hands.
“I’m afraid to ask this given your pizza topping answer, but what’s the best ice cream flavor?” She wraps a napkin around her soggy cone. “Please don’t tell me it’s pistachio.”
“Cookies and cream,” I say. “But we read a dark romance for book club that kind of ruined the flavor for me, so I’ve ventured over to peanut butter cup.”
“Cookies and cream is my favorite too, but I’m concerned by the book you all read.”
“Probably best if you don’t ask questions.” I flash her a grin. “It was a great book, by the way. I’d recommend it.”
“Give me the title later, and I’ll look it up. We can be virtual book club buddies.” Amelia licks the soft serve, and I look at the ground instead of her tongue. “Fuck. I love food.”
“Talk to me about cheese curds. Are they worth the hype?”
“This might get my Midwest residency revoked, but no. I don’t think they are.”
“Amelia Green.” I drop my voice low. “I’m telling everyone that you’re a phony Wisconsinite.”
“That’s not even a word.” She nudges me with a giggle. “And I’ll deny everything!”
We stroll around the neighborhood after we eat dessert and find an outdoor flea market. Amelia stops at a table with matchbooks, sorting through hundreds of them until she picks out three.
“A hobby of yours?” I ask after she pays.