Chapter 11 #2
Our friendship has always been physical.
It was built on casual affection and a deep understanding of the other person.
When we were younger, my mother thought we were in a secret relationship, too afraid to come out.
And whilst I thought Fallon was drop-dead gorgeous, our feelings were always platonic.
We just found immense comfort in each other.
After a minute, I pulled back so she could see my face and the sincerity I wore.
‘I do trust Oliver. I trust he loves you and does his damn best to protect you.’ He’d proven that over and over again.
‘But you know my reservations come from a good place. For so long, it’s just been you and me.
I’ve been your protector, the person you go to first. I’m not used to sharing that role. ’
Glassy eyes stared back into mine. ‘I get it.’
My arm squeezed around her. ‘But I’m trying.’
A door opened at the far end of the room, and more people started filing into the studio with yoga mats in hand. We separated and got settled on our mats.
‘I didn’t ask how the date went last night,’ she asked in a whisper as more people started finding their spots in the room and doing some warm-up stretches.
The air in my lungs stuttered. ‘It, um, went…’
She grinned. Placing a finger on her chin, she hummed as she mused, ‘Now, how do you feel about the crab from the little mermaid on your neck?’
I jabbed a finger in her direction. ‘Don’t be so cocky because you, my friend, are going to lose.’
Her eyebrows shot to her hairline. ‘You saying you have a second date?’
‘No.’ I shuddered. ‘That guy was a disaster.’
When she looked at me with wide eyes, telling me to get to the point, I decided to bite the bullet.
I placed my hands on my hips, a wry smile on my face. When I wasn’t sure if her eyes could get any wider, I dropped the bomb. ‘I’ve got a date with George.’
I always thought the phrase “being stunned into silence” was hyperbole. Turns out it was very much accurate. Fallon’s mouth dropped, her eyes nearly bugging out of her head. Before she could say anything, an ethereal but commanding voice floated across the room.
‘Right, ladies. We will start with some easy stretches before we get into the full meditation set. Find your space, feel the energy, and let’s get started.’ The instructor, a woman in her fifties wearing a bright orange Lycra workout set, clasped her hands together, a dreamy smile on her face.
I poked a stupefied Fallon in the shoulder. ‘Come on, let’s heal our inner spirit.’
Thirty minutes later, my muscles were stretched so tightly I felt they might snap.
‘And create that lovely V with your body, exhaling all that negative energy as you do so.’ Barbara, our instructor and the living embodiment of an antidepressant commercial, watched on as the room collectively got into downward dog.
Fallon tilted her head at me as she settled her palms on the mat.
For the past ten minutes, I felt her slowly stewing, desperate to ask me a million and one questions.
Never thought I’d be grateful for yoga, but as the class progressed and we realised that stretching took way more concentration than we initially thought, she had kept quiet.
The lid on her composure was coming unglued.
Her face beat red; she turned to peer at me under her arm as she fought to hold her position.
‘That’s cheating,’ she hissed.
Feeling my muscles strain, I tilted my head to see the frown creasing on her brow.
‘How is it cheating? You wanted me to date. I’m dating,’ I whispered.
Her eyes rolled. ‘Dating my boyfriend’s brother isn’t what I meant.’
Pressing my lips together in thought, I decided to stir the pot. ‘I’m thinking of ‘Let it go’ from Frozen as your singing debut.’
Her leg darted out to kick my shin. Given her already questionable balance, when her leg collided with mine, she toppled over, landing with a grunt on her side. Yoga wasn’t my strong suit, so her tiny tap on my leg was all it took to have me tumbling over. A sharp pain sliced through my hip.
I groaned, giving up and flopping onto my back, staring up at the ceiling.
‘Yoga is supposed to be relaxing.’
‘We should have gone for coffee instead.’ Fallon mumbled beside me, rubbing her bum.
That’s precisely what we did. Scurrying out of the yoga studio mid-session, with several muttered apologies, we walked down the street to a cafe on the corner.
She spent the first half an hour grilling me about George.
I gave her as many answers as I could. When I couldn’t give her as many juicy details as she wanted, she threw her hands in the air and tossed the end of her croissant at me.
How could I tell her about something that I was still struggling to wrap my head around?
Last night had been a blur of far too much alcohol and not enough food.
After eating our body weight in pastries—a far better way to spend a morning—we parted ways, both vowing never to step foot in that yoga studio again, and I headed home to change for work.
My shift passed in relative quiet, nothing more exciting than some routine shots and the odd nail clipping. Not having the energy to cook, I scrounged the back of my cupboard and found an expired pot of instant noodles. It tasted like soggy cardboard, but it filled me up.
Later that evening, I climbed into the bathtub and let the hot water soak into my tired muscles. Roxy curled up on the mat, exhausted from her walk and her belly full from dinner.
My head leaned back against the tub. The scent of lavender clouded in a mist around me, loosening the tension in my shoulders. Slipping further down into the water, I closed my eyes.
Now that I didn’t have the busyness of work to occupy my mind, my thoughts couldn’t sit still.
Jumping and dancing over all the reasons this was a bad idea.
A list of pros and cons shone behind my closed eyelids.
Startlingly little was scrawled in the con section.
No. I needed to think harder. This couldn’t be that simple; nothing was ever that easy.
I continued to trawl through my brain for that one red flag that told me to call off this entire thing.
Searched and couldn’t come up with anything solid.
Dating George—fake dating—would win me the bet. I didn’t have to force myself to get to know a complete stranger. And since I already knew George—and liked his company—where was the downside?
There wasn’t one. Not to the rational part of my brain currently working overtime to prove a point.
But that wasn’t the part of my body currently holding up a red flag—a warning.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’ I was giving myself a headache with all this back and forth. I needed to pack it away tonight and think about something else. Anything else.
I picked up my e-reader and flicked to the book I’d started reading last night—the latest release from my favourite author.
It was a dark romance with a trigger warning page the length of my arm.
It was erotic and let me flick off the part of my brain that was whirring.
The bubbles in the bath slowly dissolved as the story swept me away.
The more I read, the more I felt my body relax.
Around the thirty percent mark, things started to heat up.
The chemistry between the main characters burning a hole through my e-reader.
As that first forbidden touch happened on the screen, I felt a different kind of ache in my body.
My stomach tightened as I continued to read.
I let a hand drift over my body, grazing my peaked nipples and sliding down my silky, smooth skin to my heated core.
Not wanting to drop my e-reader in the water, I placed it on the counter and eased back against the tub. My eyes slid shut, my mind recalling the scene from the book as my fingers danced around in the slickness between my folds, teasing the nub at the apex of my thighs.
I rubbed soft circles on my clit, feeling sparks zip up my spine.
A soft moan echoed around the bathroom. My hips moved against the rhythm my fingers created.
Heat bloomed low in my belly, and I could feel my orgasm build.
My distinct lack of sex in the past week had my body chasing that release faster than usual.
I plunged three fingers straight inside, loving the soft bite of pain as I stretched around the sudden intrusion. I knew what turned me on; I knew what I liked in bed, and even when I was alone, the rougher, the better.
My free hand came up and pinched my left nipple hard.
This time my moan was a soft cry as I felt myself grow wetter and wetter the harder I pumped my fingers.
My mind shifted to the book and the way the male main character had slid his fingers into her pussy, saying all the dirty things that only seemed sexy in fiction.
His thick beard scraped along her thighs as he ravaged her with his thick fingers.
Wait. The guy in the book didn’t have a beard. My eyes flew open as the image of the man in my head became clearer. Deep blue eyes, broad shoulders and lips that I knew tasted like mint and fresh air. George.
That realisation should have had my body seizing up instantly.
But my fingers didn’t stop. My thrusts grew harder as I imagined his fingers buried deep inside my cunt.
His low, sexy voice filled my ears, calling me sweetheart and begging me to come on his fingers.
I had no control over my body now. I cried out as my climax peaked, and my body spasmed, splashing water over the side of the tub.
As quickly as my arousal had come, it vanished. I sat up, splashing more water over the side. Enough to have Roxy peek up from her curled-up position, ears pricked.
I’d just come imagining George finger fucking me.
I think I found that glaring red flag I’d been searching for.
Slumping in the water, I wiped a wet hand down my face. ‘Fuck.’