Miller
Having a crush was way better than this weird, comfortable friendship Emma and I had going on. That was all this was—a crush, and here, on Crush Island, I got to live in my delusional world where everything was fluffy orgasms with sides of blowjobs. A simplistic idea that came from endorphins flooding the body after sappy conversations and peach-scented kisses.
Nothing changes. Right. I rolled my eyes, scrubbing my hand down my face as I remembered Magnum’s words from the other day at TriVolt. Everything had changed. My worldview had gone from a thimble-sized variety of activities to an entire ocean full of possibilities. The possibility of more. My brain was flooded with fantasies of what could be. Of lazy afternoons in a shared space, with a large rock on her left hand—our fingers entwined as I fucked into her slowly like I had all the time in the world.
I had to ask her out.
There were other thoughts, too. So many others. Of shared smiles between us where the wrinkles around our eyes stood out. Of her face when I walked in the door after a long day, rushing over to the couch to help her stand because her protruding belly was in the way. It was all those late-night fantasies you dared not speak out loud unless you were prepared to put them out into the universe.
It was all the things I never knew I wanted.
After all, wasn’t it better to live a life of remorse than regret?
I watched Emma from my spot on her couch as she opened a bottle of wine in the kitchen and chuckled as she tugged the cork too hard, then swore under her breath when it broke in half.
“Need any help, babe?” I called, tearing a piece of bread from the small Italian loaf that came with our takeout. I dipped the slice into the olive oil and spices and took a bite before opening her container with the eggplant sans cheese. She cradled the bottle under her arm and the glasses in her hands, and I stood, grabbing the wine and pouring generous servings into the long-stemmed goblets.
She smiled, settling on the couch beside me and reaching closer to squeeze my arm. I leaned into her touch like a cat in heat, unashamed to admit I’d take any touch she was willing to give. The longer I was subjected to her openly searching for a man who wasn’t me, the more desperate I became to grab her, shake her shoulders harshly, and scream for her to open her eyes.
Open her eyes and see me.
Not that we’d ever had an actual conversation about us, but it was glaringly obvious that the possessive, dominant part of me wanted more. Who knew if we were even compatible beyond friendship and a fuck—but I had to see.
“Try this gnocchi,” I said, balancing the to-go container on my lap as I held my fork out to Emma. “I can’t decide if I like it or not.”
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and she plucked the pasta from my fork, making a noise that could only be described as a vocal shrug. She chewed for a moment, tilting her head and making a face. Even like this, with her curls wild and her mascara smeared underneath her eyes, I wanted to kiss her. Claim her. Mark her beautiful body so everyone within a fifty-mile radius knew she was mine.
Damn. Rein it in.
“Too much pepper.”
“Exactly. Too much pepper and it’s somehow still bland. Let’s try for a different country the next time we order takeout.”
“Hm. Have the last bruschetta and quit complaining.”
“Yes. Yes, of course. I’m only here to drink wine and listen to you lament about yet another date.”
“You forgot the obligatory man candy,” she said, pinching my side.
I hissed, batting her hand away and then plopping the fork back into the container.
“How silly of me, dearest. I’ll always be your man candy.” I fluttered my eyes and put my hand on my chest before I grabbed hers, threading our fingers together and squeezing.
“Damn right.” She sighed, pulling away and taking the container from my lap. She tucked her feet under her on the couch and buried her face in my chest. “I’m so tired of all this dating bullshit, Miller. Can’t I just be done with it and marry you?”
Yes, please.
What? Dial back the desperation, dude.
Had we fallen into some weird fifth dimension where she could hear my thoughts?
She wasn’t serious—of course, she wasn’t. Under normal circumstances, she’d regret those words, but we were two bottles of wine in, and our brains lacked basic reasoning.
Over the last bottle, before dinner was delivered, she’d dissected the last date, and now, it was difficult to argue when her hand had snuck underneath my shirt. A deep sigh and a low snort followed her sentiment as I tried to lighten the mood.
Now was not the time—as if there would ever be one.
“Please, babe. Who says I’d accept your proposal?”
Her head lifted from my shoulder, and I smiled, watching as she arched an eyebrow, looking unimpressed with my answer. I cracked first, holding my hands up in surrender and laughing. She followed a second later, giggling and removing her hand from my stomach to grab her wineglass from the coffee table.
Even suggesting us together was hypothetical and a direct result of the high alcohol content of the sweet rosé she had chilled in the fridge, right?
She’d eventually find someone to settle down with, and I’d become the cool uncle of all the kids my brothers would have. Perhaps I should get a motorcycle and leather jacket—you know, to really drive the point home.
My friendship with Emma filled the holes that Mark and Magnum left behind after finding the people they wanted to spend the rest of their lives with. She always pushed me—and my buttons—at every opportunity. And even though we’d been friends for more than a decade, we’d never crossed the unspoken lines drawn between us.
I swirled the blush wine, watching as it fell down the inside of the glass, remembering one such altercation that moved our relationship right out of the friend zone and straight into the friends who sometimes fuck zone.
“How dare you deny my perfectly reasonable request? I am distraught. The core aspects of my personality have been called into question and, as my best friend, you should always be supportive.”
Best friend. Right. Remember that, dumbass. Don’t fuck up a good thing.
“Please. You could do so much better than me, and you know it. Quit having a crisis because some twat doesn’t see you for the fantastic person you are. In fact, you should feel confident because he immediately wanted to bone you.”
“Don’t say bone,” she huffed, grabbing my wine and finishing the last sip. I rolled my eyes, pinching her side as she set my empty glass next to hers.
“Fuck. He wanted to fuck you.”
“Eww.”
“Yes. Agreed, but far be it for me to not be supportive, like you said.”
“Blah. Blah. Blah. I have to stop drinking so much. Any more bad dates, and I’ll turn into a lush.”
“Is that something I need to be supportive of as well?” I joked, hissing out a breath as she slugged me in the stomach.
“Shut it. It just occurred to me that maybe we should, I don’t know, go for a jog or something. As much as I love your company, maybe we need to expand our horizons from the couch.”
“Didn’t you drag me to a movie last week? Some cheesy romantic comedy starring a guy who wore skinny jeans,” I said, leaning forward and stretching my neck. Her nimble fingers caressed the aching area, and I groaned, tilting my body toward her as she worked.
“Yes, but that was only because you took me to that drag race the week before, where your brother scowled the entire time and refused to take a hayride.”
“I’d forgotten about that,” I said, hissing as her fingers dug into a tendon that was particularly tight. “You can’t blame Maverick for being salty. Mom is so thrilled Mark and Magnum are in happy relationships, she’s got the bug to set up me and Maverick.”
“Oh, my. That makes sense.”
“Oh, my is right. Wait? What now?” I asked, sitting back on the couch and tugging her bare feet into my lap. She wiggled her toes as I ran my knuckles along the arch, watching her lay her head back and moan.
One arm covered her eyes, and she sighed. This breathy, sexy noise that went straight to my cock. I covertly shifted on the plush cushions, attempting to relieve the ache as I massaged her feet.
“Still waiting,” I prompted, not stopping my ministrations as she moved her arm and cracked one eye open.
“Just something your mom said. At her party.”
“Ah.”
Just from her tone, I knew what Mom had mentioned. If my brothers had a message thread about me and Emma, one guess who orchestrated the entire conversation.
“Could you imagine, Miller? You and me?” she scoffed, shaking her head and wiggling her toes. I switched feet, taking her left one in hand and running my fingers over the soft skin of her ankles.
More and more every day, babe.
“Bev must be all kinds of desperate to think we’d go together any better than Crisco and water.”
“Well, they say opposites attract, babe.”
I tried to make light of the nonchalant tone she took, speaking about the two of us like it was some sort of joke, but my words fell flat—like a lead weight had been dropped in my stomach. It was bad enough that my feelings for her were more jumbled than a Rubik’s Cube.
“Cut it out. We are not opposites. Far from it, Miller. But seriously? How long would we last with my hours? Being at someone else’s beck and call while dragging you out to cocktail parties and dinners. Expecting you to wear a tuxedo and discuss the weather with people who think their sole purpose in life is to belittle and degrade. Your temper would get the best of you, and you’d start resenting me. Why destroy what we have because other people think it’s a good idea?”
She propped herself on her elbows and rolled her eyes, poking me in the stomach with her big toe.
“So, let me get this straight—”
“Ugh, oh. I know that tone. That’s the let me throw down some mansplaining at Emma and hope she doesn’t kick me in the nuts tone.”
“I do not use that tone, and the last time I checked, you like my nuts.” I pushed her feet off me and crossed my arms. She sat up, then turned and laid her head in my lap. Thank goodness my dick deflated with her last comment—she didn’t need a face full of cock.
“Oh, you totally do,” she said, giggling and patting my cheek. “The easiest thing to do is just admit I’m right.”
“I’ll always defer to the infinite knowledge that is Emma James.”
“Sarcasm is not needed.”
“I am not being sarcastic. Quit being so defensive.” I brushed a curl off her forehead and brought my fingers to her temples, rubbing slow circles.
“Hell, yes. I love you so, so much. Please don’t stop.”
I chuckled, watching as she stretched her arms above her head and dragged them through my hair.
“You got it. So, you don’t think we should go out? I could wine and dine you better than all the jokers on those apps,” I said as casually as I could, posing the words as a statement and not a question. She hummed, tilting her head as I continued the massage. Her tension headaches always radiated from the left side of her head, and painkillers did little to dull the ache once they hit her full force. There were no outward signs that her head was bothering her, but I’d use any excuse to keep my hands against her skin.
Her silence filled the space, and I glanced at Minnie perched on her cat tree, looking way more interested in the conversation than a lowly cat should be. She lost our staring contest after a minute and focused on bathing her front paws instead.
Sore loser.
Still, Emma kept her eyes closed and her bottom lip between her teeth, letting the silence drag. She couldn’t turn me down if I didn’t ask her out—something I hoped she was astute enough to figure out. The prospect of asking her out sounded more appealing the longer I thought about it—and the more she met my statement with silence.
She’d been under me, pinned against the wall, draped over a table, and even on her knees in the shower, but she’d never been on my arm. She’d never threaded her fingers with mine and leaned close, brushing her lips against my cheek before excusing herself to the ladies’ room.
I’d fucked her in a deserted hallway while some grunge band warmed up at a dive bar downtown but never held the door open for her while we walked into a restaurant before me, slowly slipping her jacket from her bare shoulders, revealing a dress she’d bought especially for our date.
Shit.
Those thoughts were more than a crush, but the only way to see if things could—or should—be escalated into something else was if she said yes.
Not that I asked her a question. Merely suggested we follow the natural progression of our relationship.
“Like to dinner and a movie?” She paused, cracking an eye open when my ministrations stopped.
“Sure. We could see a movie or go to that new Indian restaurant off Rüten Boulevard.”
Yes. Yes. My vague and cowardice knows no bounds.
Her silence unnerved me, and I paused, massaging her temple, willing my pulse to calm the fuck down. Her silence was all the answer I needed—we needed to move back to safer territory.
“You mentioned a jog earlier. Still think that’s the best way to spend the evening? If you want to work up a sweat, you need only ask, baby.”
“Is everything about sex with you?” she asked, raising her head from my lap to take the to-go container from the coffee table.
“Sex?” I said, scoffing and grabbing the container from her hands. “I just finished a loaf of bread, pasta, and wine. Sex is not on the table. Neither is jogging, if I’m being honest.” I laid my head on the back of the couch, rubbing my stomach and groaning at the thought of exercise.
“Perhaps a stroll, then?”
I lifted my head from the back of the couch, taking in her pajamas with little cowboy hats on them.
“A stroll?” My eyes flicked to my sweatpants and bare feet, rubbing the scruff on my face.
“A rapidly paced jaunt down the pavement?”
“A jaunt?”
“Stop repeating my words, dick.”
She elbowed me again, and I grunted, wrapping my other arm around her to dig my fingers into her sides. Her arms flailed as she squirmed, trying to get away from me as I tickled her—something I loved to exploit.
“Okay. So, if you’re not going to let me wine and dine you, what brought on the sudden need to go for a run? I swear to all the gods, if you tell me it’s because some asshole made a comment about how you look, I will lose my shit.”
Both my hands dove underneath her pajamas as I tickled her, running my fingers from her side to her stomach while she thrashed around me. Pitiful, sexy laughter fell from her lips as she squirmed, making me want to bottle the noise and replay it whenever my mood soured. Her feet kicked the air, and I feared for the table lamp and vase, slowing my assault to save the furniture.
“Stop. Stop. Please stop, and I’ll tell you.”
I pulled my hands from underneath her pajamas as she wiggled to the other end of the couch, crossing her arms after tossing her hair over one shoulder.
“I want frozen custard, okay?”
I laughed, leaning forward to put both hands on my knees. My sides ached from the force of the guffawing as Emma glared. Her bottom lip stayed firmly between her teeth, a sure sign her annoyance was flaring.
“When have you known me to ever turn down custard? I’ll even proudly walk with you wearing those adorable pajamas.”
“Damn right, you will.”
“Oh, Emma,” I said, standing to stretch before holding my hand out to her. She melted into my embrace, hooking her arms around my waist and resting her cheek on my chest. “What would I ever do without you?”
She shook her head, letting her bottom lip pop from between her teeth. “With any luck, you’ll never have to find out. Now, let’s go. Unless you really thought we were going to run.”
“Not even for a second. I’ll drive.”