Miller
Iwas slowly dragged into consciousness as bright spots danced behind my eyelids and noises assaulted my senses. A constricting weight settled on my chest, vibrating as I breathed, and someone outside thought using a chainsaw was an appropriate activity for a Saturday morning. Didn’t HOAs have rules against this shit?
Groaning, I used my elbows to sit up, only for the pressure to mount on my chest. When I opened my eyes, blinking several times to get used to the dim morning light, the pressure stopped its insistent vibrating, and I came face to face with Emma’s cat. The white, long-haired furball with blue eyes and an ancestry that could be traced back beyond mine stared, slow blinking like my mere presence annoyed her.
I flexed my stomach muscles, and the purebred Turkish-something-or-other tilted her head before stretching, digging her claws into my shirt, then turning around to give me a close-up view of her butthole. I rolled my eyes as she jumped off the bed and pranced to the door as I rubbed one hand over my face to scratch my day-old scruff.
Emma fell asleep within five minutes of us getting here last night, wrapping her lithe little body around me and burying her head into my chest—but sleep eluded me. I stayed as still as I could so I wouldn’t disturb her, but my brain switched between counting sheep and remembering every bad decision I’d made since sixth grade. It was embarrassing how many I thought of before crashing into a fitful sleep.
I dug a knuckle into my eye and glanced at the slit between her curtains before slowly swinging my feet over the edge of the bed so I could sneak out of the room. Emma needed the sleep, but I knew once my eyes were open, there wasn’t a chance I’d be able to doze back off.
Fifteen minutes later, I was showered and digging around in her fridge for something other than American cheese. My breakfast skills were well above par, but nothing ruined scrambled eggs and crispy bacon more than processed cheese squares wrapped in plastic.
Minerva—whose name sounded more like a Scottish spinster than a Greek goddess—watched me from her pink cat bed in the corner of the kitchen as I found a half-eaten block of sharp cheddar behind a head of broccoli.
“Ah ha,” I exclaimed, yanking the cheddar from the fridge and holding it above my head like I just pulled Excalibur from the stone.
Minnie McGee was not impressed.
“Nobody asked your opinion, prissy princess,” I scoffed as she flexed her front paw and proceeded to give herself a bath.
Green and red peppers came next, and I turned the front burner to medium and tossed a pat of butter in the pan before chopping the veggies. The oven beeped, and I slid the cookie sheet of bacon inside, setting the timer for thirty-five minutes.
“That’s the secret, your royal spinster,” I said, bowing low and then flourishing a pink silicone whisk in her direction. “Bacon is superior when made in the oven.”
Emma never appreciated the names I used, so I wouldn’t have to call Minerva, well, Minerva—and her royal chunkiness seemed to agree. Not that I cared—the white marshmallow in the corner could look as annoyed as she liked that I’d interrupted her morning routine. I’d still be her favorite human and have her eating from my hands once the smell of bacon filled the kitchen.
Chocks kept silent on the matter, choosing to sulk in the corner and evaluate my cooking skills.
She narrowed her eyes and observed me, as befitting her royal station—and several first-place blue ribbons—as opposed to, say, how a cat might observe two mating praying mantis’ moments before the female ripped the male’s head directly from his thorax. I ignored her patronizing glare and grabbed a loaf of sourdough from the bread box beside the coffee maker.
Emma was one of those weird people who took her coffee black—blah—but she normally had a bottle of sweetened creamer on the fridge door. Or at least sugar in the pantry. I grabbed two mugs from the cabinet along with her lactose medicine as I heard the shower down the hall. Perfect timing.
By the time she made her way here, the bacon would be crispy and the bread toasted. Hopefully, the water and tablets I left beside the bed would curb some of her hangover symptoms. In the meantime, I’d finish breakfast and my battle of wills with the smushed-faced creature that passed judgment from the corner.
When the timer beeped—like Pavlov’s experiment—my mouth watered, and I slid on the matching pink oven mitts to take out the bacon. Cinnamon and sugar from the coffee, mixed with the sizzling scent of bacon, made the kitchen smell delicious, and snuck a bite of the bread as a throat cleared behind me.
“I didn’t realize you stayed until I smelled the coffee,” Emma said, leaning in the doorway. Her hair was damp, and she wore a skimpy pair of pajamas. She dragged her bottom lip between her teeth and tilted her head before pushing off the frame and padding her way into the kitchen. I grabbed her fresh mug of coffee from the counter and passed it over, watching as she wrapped her hands around the unicorn mug and breathed in the aroma.
“Oh my. That hits the spot. Thank you, Miller.”
“You got it, baby. Sit down, and let’s eat while everything is still hot.”
She nodded, grabbing my plate and portioning out the eggs and bacon while I buttered the bread and added more creamer to my coffee. We worked around each other like we’d done this dance a thousand times, and I watched her from my peripheral vision, humming something tuneless as she salted the eggs and pushed the hot sauce toward me. This whole thing was oddly domesticated, and I rubbed my chest, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar feelings.
Sure, we’d had sleepovers. Hell, when I got the flu last February, she willingly exposed herself to my snot and other unpleasant bodily functions for the better part of seventy-two hours, so I wouldn’t have to be alone. My own mother wouldn’t set foot in my place—and at the first sign of a sniffle, Magnum high-tailed it out of there quicker than a cat lapping chain lightning. But that was different, right?
This was well past the norm of our friendship and directly into something dangerous. I couldn’t pinpoint why this was strange, weird, and a dozen other adjectives I wasn’t awake enough to think of, but it was.
“Thank you for leaving the ice water and medicine beside the bed. I didn’t realize how carried away I got last night.”
She let out this breathy little huff, causing the damp locks framing her face to rustle. My eyes focused on the half-dry golden curls the color of a sunrise, and I furrowed my brows, agitated. My foot bounced under the table, and I took a gulp of coffee, relishing the way it burned my mouth. I focused on the pain, pushing down whatever was bubbling and gurgling in my chest.
“And for breakfast. And the coffee, of course,” she continued like I wasn’t having a crisis of unknown origin about why I felt so weird.
Weird? Was that the right word? Probably not. More like windblown or off course. Whatever this was, I didn’t like it. I had no problem going with the flow down easy street, but I needed to know at least the general direction. Emma and I were always clear on the direction—friends. It worked. It was right. It was easy. But this? This new morning after adventure, my brain decided to veer left onto a track bound to be intercepted—or derailed.
“I should text the girls and then figure out my next steps.” She picked up her phone from beside her plate, then huffed again and placed it face down, pushing the last bite of bacon away from her and laying her head on the smooth wood of the table.
“What next steps?” I asked, swallowing and pressing my tongue to the roof of my mouth to stop it from burning.
“Oh, gosh. That’s right. It would be too much to hope that yesterday was a dream…” Her voice trailed off as if she hadn’t figured out where her thoughts were going.
It wasn’t like her to measure her words, so I waited with a piece of sourdough partway to my mouth.
“Ah. So, there was a reason for last night’s overindulgence?”
“I wasn’t—”
“Come on, Em. Everyone knows you are a two-drink kind of girl.”
“Yeah. I guess I did overindulge a bit, didn’t I?”
She turned her head to look at me, and although she got a decent night’s sleep, I could see purple smudges underneath her eyes and a tightness to her features now that the giddiness of alcohol was missing.
“Well, I had a not-great conversation with my boss that sent me into a spiral of not-great decisions and an abundance of subpar alcohol.”
Hearing her boss might have done something to cause her distress had my hackles rising, and that feeling in my chest spread across my body like wildfire. Who did that guy think he was to put her in such a position? I was halfway to my feet, unaware of my actions except for the intense clenching of my hands when soft fingertips grazed my arms.
I followed the movement, watching with rapt attention as she glided the appendages along my shoulder and back down—as if it were something she did every day.
“Have I already told you how much it means to be that you get all defensive and huffy like this? Like the thought of someone taking advantage has you all in a tizzy.”
She smiled, squeezing my arm as some of the tension melted away.
I swallowed. “Of course. Especially after. Well. You know. And we’re… We’re friends.”
She cocked her head, and it took me a second to realize I’d left the conversation hanging while I searched for the word friend.
“What’s going on with you? Sit down and talk to me.” She tugged on the sleeve of my shirt, and I sank into the chair, pushing back from the table and slinking down until my ass was on the edge.
What was going on? If that wasn’t the multi-million-dollar question. I tried to compartmentalize my thoughts as she piled two more pieces of bacon on my plate and buttered another slice of sourdough.
Was it her words last night about me only wanting sex? Was that why I stuck around today and made her breakfast? Was it the fierce rage I felt when that douche at the bar was touching her? Was it the fear I felt down to my very bones when I thought about a superior taking advantage of her? Again?
The benevolent overlord from the corner meowed, rubbing herself shamelessly on my leg like a wanton little minx. I rolled my eyes and snapped out of whatever stupor this was before letting her munch a small piece of bacon from my fingers.
“I don’t know. Maybe that shot disagreed with me after all. What happened at work? Do I need to text the guys and form a posse?”
She giggled, covering her mouth and shaking her head.
“Is that what you and your brothers would do to defend my honor? Form a posse and go riding off into the sunset, guns blazing?”
“Fuck, yes. Now, does your honor need defending, little lady?” My voice rumbled low as the giggle died on her lips. She looked down at her hands, where they gripped her unicorn coffee mug, and shook her head. A lone water droplet dripped down her cheek, and my fingers itched to brush away the moisture.
What in the ever-loving fuck is wrong with me?
“Nope. None of that chauvinist shit, please,” she said, finishing her eggs before launching into a story with wildly waving hands about her boss, boyfriends, and expectations. I was sure she threw her parents around in the rant as well, but I chose to focus on the things she wasn’t saying. Mostly, that she hadn’t disagreed with what her boss had said.
“Wait. Hang on a sec,” I said, interrupting her while scratching her royal fluffiness on the head. “You actually agree with the headmaster’s farce of a request?”
“Well. No. Not exactly. You don’t understand.” She sighed and tucked a curl behind her ear. “This could be the catalyst to jumpstart the next phase in my life.”
“Are you that unhappy?”
With me? With how things are?
I whispered the question, embarrassed with how pathetic I sounded and refusing to acknowledge the needling sensation that was back in my chest.
“It’s not unhappiness. It’s more like my life is stagnant, and this could be the push I need. Don’t you see, Miller?” She grasped my hands, and I tugged her closer until she had no choice but to stand and rearrange herself on my lap. Minerva took the opportunity to jump into Emma’s empty chair and put her front paws on the table, leaning closer to sniff the empty plate.
“Pspspsps,” I said, dropping two pieces of bacon on the floor so she’d jump down. The cat was cute, in a pretentious, sort of stuck-up way, but I drew the line at little paws that used a litter box also prancing on a kitchen table.
Emma tickled the hair on the back of my neck, scratching her nails along my scalp until I was practically purring in her nimble hands. “I’m not going to bitch and moan about this any more than I already have. I’m jumping in headfirst without a life jacket. I might have a meet-up request or even a date as we speak.”
I scoffed as she leaned over the table and grabbed her phone. My head rested on her shoulder as she opened the app and scrolled through her messages.
“See? This guy wants to meet up.”
A guy with a face like a ferret. All beady little eyes and a wicked smile filled the screen, making me scrunch my nose.
“Nope. Look here. It says, ‘Give me a chance, and I promise to show you a good time.’ That’s code for a booty call.”
“What? No, it’s not. How would you know that?” she asked, scrolling to read the rest of his profile. “You have to pay for this site. Why would he only want to screw?”
She shook her head and went back to the messages, pulling up a guy with long brown hair.
“What about him?”
“Are you serious?” I said, snatching the phone away from her. “This says, ‘Online dating has been one of the better ways I’ve met partners, so let’s try this again.’”
“What’s wrong with that?” She fidgeted in my lap, and I gripped her waist, knowing my cock was going to wake up and demand attention if she didn’t sit still.
“Plus, he has a ponytail. I mean, do you want someone whose hair is more high maintenance than yours? Give it here.” I held out my palm, and she rolled her eyes, placing the phone in my hand and standing to put the dishes in the sink.
“I cooked. You clean, and by the time you’re done I’ll have found you someone.”
“You?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips.
“Yep. Don’t worry, Emma. I’ll make sure he isn’t as handsome as I am.” I batted my lashes and straightened my shirt, puffing out my chest like I was a preening peacock. “After all, you’ll never find someone as amazing as me, but we’ll get you a nice runner-up.”
This time, her smile made her eyes dance before she huffed. “Sure am glad your mother taught you modesty, Miller, but fine. Just know, I’m only doing this because you don’t know how to load the dishwasher the right way.”
I chuckled and stood, refilling our coffees and heading to the living room. There wouldn’t be anything decent on television this early on a Saturday except cartoon reruns, so I switched to the Discovery Channel just in time to catch a program called Fifty Shades of Sharks.
Kinky.
The narrator droned on about the mating practices of tiger sharks as I backed out of her messages and checked her profile.
For research purposes and all that.
She was witty, funny, and her profile picture was hot as fuck. If she was going to do this—and I still didn’t agree with it—then I’d at least help her muddle through the idiots.
“Let’s see. An effective way to melt my heart is to always be up for lots of fun. Nope.”
I scratched my face and flipped through her messages and suggested matches. Yecch. There had to be a handful of respectable guys on here. Maverick tried online dating a while back and said he had met several nice girls, but he wasn’t ready to commit.
My roommate in college met his wife online, and they just had their second kid, so there had to be decent guys. Guys who deserved her.
Someone to spoil her and remember that she likes cucumbers but hates pickles. Chocolate and vanilla cake, but not marble. Raspberries but not blackberries.
“Find anyone?” she asked, sitting beside me and taking the mug from the coffee table. I made some sort of noise, hopefully, to express my displeasure with the entire situation, and she elbowed me lightly in the ribs. The air whooshed out of my lungs with the jostle, and I pinched her waist in retaliation before we both giggled, and I handed her back the phone.
“I suppose if I have to choose—”
“Hold on, now. Don’t act all put out when you were the one to offer to help. I was perfectly fine asking the girls when we meet for dinner tomorrow.”
I smirked, pressing my shoulder into hers, and she returned the gesture before pushing her thigh into mine. Satisfied she knew I was just messing with her, I passed the phone over and raised my brows, awaiting her judgment.
“Tyler?” she said, scrolling past a photo of him and to his bio. “Why him?”
“Look,” I answered, pointing to the screen. “He works at a law office, so you know he has a good job. He graduated with honors two years after you, so you know he’s smart. He posted a picture with him on a large back deck, so you know he makes decent money. And he’s not wearing Crocs with socks, like some of the jokers on here.”
“All right, then. Let’s give it a go.”
She clicked the big green accept button and shrugged, putting her phone beside her coffee on the table.
“Now, is there anything I can do for you to show my appreciation for last night and this morning?”
She drew her lip between her teeth, and her eyes flicked down to my crotch. Slowly, she dragged her fingers down my chest and to the waistband of my pants, tugging on the button and zip.
Damn. This girl.
My dick was definitely on board with her thinking, but I still saw the smudges under her eyes and the tightness of her shoulders. I didn’t go to the bar last night out of obligation. I went because I wanted to see her. Just like I wanted to make breakfast for her, and I wanted to veg on the couch watching television about the reproductive habits of sharks.
She didn’t need to repay me for anything, I’d do it a hundred times over for her. We were friends. That was what we did.
“As much as it pains me to turn down your sweet mouth, Emma, I know you feel like shit. So how about I take a rain check and you scoot a little closer and watch television with me?”
She smiled, one of those full-wattage Emma smiles that made all the darkness fade away to shades of gray. “As you wish.”