6. Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Hudson
Thirty minutes later, I’m barefoot and dressed in clean flannel pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. I’m rummaging through Finn’s fridge, when she comes downstairs.
“Beer?” I ask as I clamp the slice of pizza I’m holding between my teeth and turn toward her, shutting the fridge.
“Sure,” she says and leans her forearms on the counter next to the open pizza box. She takes a pepperoni and pops it into her mouth, while I crack the cap off her beer and hand it to her.
She clinks it against my bottle while she chews. “She’s out like a light. Didn’t even make it to the part about the pirates,” she says around another pepperoni.
I nod and swallow down three big gulps of beer. Shit, that’s good after a long day of driving.
“She’s exhausted. I swear, we’ve played a hundred rounds of I spy over the last three days. If I never hear ‘ I spy something…’ ever again, it’ll be too fucking soon.” I’m griping about it, but I would play that game until my lips fell off if it made my little girl happy .
Finn knows it, too, because she has a gleam in her eye that tells me she knows I’m full of shit.
“You wanna crash?” She looks hopeful I’ll say no. So, I shrug.
“I’m ok for a bit. What’s up?”
“Good. Come on.” She laughs with a tilt of her head toward the patio doors. “Got something for you.”
I grab another slice of pizza, shoving the crust of my first piece into my mouth, and follow her to the sliding glass door that leads out to the little concrete pad just outside. There’s the same small, wicker-style coffee table and loveseat with striped cushions and a small BBQ grill that she’s had since she moved in. She steps outside and takes one end of the loveseat, motioning for me to sit next to her.
I shut the door behind me and look around for whatever she got me. “You got me a small concrete patio? Jameson, you shouldn’t have.”
“Sit down and shut up, jackass.” She grabs my sleeve and pulls me down next to her, so our shoulders are touching. Then, she tucks her feet underneath her, sitting crisscross.
I take another bite of pizza and a swig of my beer, then look over at her expectantly in the semi-darkness. It’s work to pull my gaze back to her face after it snags on her freshly painted toenails. I love that black polish she always wears. The same shade is on her short fingernails. Why is that so sexy? She’s a smartass, little firecracker with a bit of an emo edge, and it 100 percent works for me. You wouldn’t believe the number of times I’ve pictured her hand and those black tipped fingers wrapped around my cock. I clear my throat and force out a steadying breath.
She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a lighter and small tin. Flipping up the lid, she takes out one tightly rolled joint from a row of five, and a sly smile spreads across her face. My own smile crawls across my face when she puts one end between her lips and flicks her cheap Bic a few times before it sparks to life. I swear to God, every move she makes gets me hard. Once it’s lit, she inhales deeply, her eyes falling closed.
“You got that for me, huh?” I chuckle with a tip of my chin toward her hand and wipe my sweaty palms on my thighs.
She cracks open an eye and holds her breath, before letting the smoke waft out of her mouth and nose. Her lips tip up at the corners.
“Well, yeah…kind of.” She leans over to drop the lighter on the table, then passes me the joint. “You need to relax.” She smirks. “And it’s Friday. So, we’re getting you high today…tonight.” She scrunches up her face in thought, then waves a dismissive hand. “Whatever. You don’t have a job, and you ain’t got shit to do.”
I huff out a laugh when she completely butchers Chris Tucker’s line from the movie Friday . Pressing the joint between my finger and thumb, I pull in a lungful of smoke, the cherry ember glowing bright in the darkness of the patio.
We used to smoke together all the time after high school. We’d drive out to the middle of nowhere and share a joint and a bottle of Boone’s Farm we stole from her mama’s fridge. We’d laugh until our sides hurt, with DMX, Ludacris, and cricket songs as the backdrop. Then, Finn would get sappy, and she’d ask me to dance to George Strait or Tim McGraw in the glow of the headlights. Hours later, we’d be sober enough to drive. God, those were fun nights.
I glance quickly at the glass door, hoping Paige is still asleep, before putting it to my lips and taking another long drag. I hold it for a few seconds before exhaling and taking another.
“Jesus,” I say, glancing down at it before passing it back to her. “Where did you get this?” I say, blowing the skunky smoke away from her. I already feel the stirring of delicious, lightheaded euphoria.
She laughs and takes another drag. Holding the smoke in her lungs, she says, “Trevor. ”
“Roxy’s Trevor?”
“Yep,” she says on her exhale with a sly smile, passing the joint back to me. “It’s good, right?”
I pull in another lungful and drop my head back onto the loveseat, letting the smoke settle for a couple seconds before exhaling.
A laugh escapes me, and I push it back into her hand. “That’s enough for me. Either this shit is better than good, or I’ve become a little bitch in my old age.”
“Four hits? You going soft on me?” She takes one last drag before gently stubbing it out on the ceramic ashtray on the table in front of us. It’s served its one and only purpose for a while, because we only smoke weed, and rarely at that.
She stretches her bare legs out, draping them across my bent knees, before opening the little tin and dropping the roach inside. Against my better judgment, I run a hand up her shin but manage to keep my eyes below her knee. It’s like this every time we’re together—the easy touches, being close. Before that kiss, it’d never been an issue keeping things friendly. But right now, when my inhibitions are slightly lowered, all I can think about is putting my hands on her.
So, I do what I do best when shit gets a little too serious: I make a joke. “When’s the last time you shaved these legs, Jameson? They’re prickly as fuck.”
A laugh bursts out of her, and she playfully backhands my bicep. “Shut up. Besides, who the hell am I shaving for? I haven’t gotten laid in…” She tips her head to the side, narrowing her eyes in thought.
My bark of laughter interrupts her. “Well, fuck . Maybe if you shaved your yeti legs, you would.”
She throws her head back and laughs. “Fuck you! I’ll have you know, some guys like the unshaven look.” She shrugs. “Well, at least for pussies. ”
I toss her a look, my fingers making small circles on her knee. “You’re unhinged. You know that, right?”
“Yep.” She smirks and bumps the inside of my thigh with her black lacquered toes, making my cock twitch. “But you love me.”
I chuckle, the sound brittle to my ears. I need to get laid. And soon, before I jump my best friend and ruin everything.
“How do you like your pussy these days, Huddy?”
My gut tightens, as does the front of the flannel covering my dick. What is this woman trying to do, kill me? The shit-eating grin on her face is dazzling and does nothing to relieve my discomfort. Her mouth is one of my favorite things. Perfect in every way, from the little Cupid’s bow to the fullness of that rosy bottom lip.
I grin, shaking my head. “I don’t have a pussy.”
She’s unfazed. “I used to shave mine completely bare, but now, I just leave—"
“ Fuck no ,” I say and shove her feet off my lap. Sitting forward, I tug on the back of my neck.
She’s fucking with me, but even a few drags of the strongest weed known to man isn’t enough to make me listen to how my best friend grooms her pubic hair. Because I’ve already thought about it. A lot. And I absolutely do not need the visual confirmed for me. It’s hard enough to keep my mind out of the gutter where she’s concerned.
I force out a breath. “I don’t want to hear any more about small hands, smaller dicks, or…or your...” I wave a hand in her direction and hope she doesn’t notice the semi I’m currently sporting from talking about her pussy.
She cackles, cocking a brow at me. “What? I listen to you talk about all your escapades.”
“I don’t have escapades. You know about one chick I hook up with when she’s in the city,” I say, shaking my head once. I can’t believe how dry my throat suddenly is. I snatch up my beer and take a long drink, and a bit dribbles down my chin in my haste.
“Oh, my bad. That must have been my other best friend who had so much sex one weekend, he ran out of condoms,” she throws out.
I chuckle and turn my head to look at her, beer bottle halfway to my mouth. “Ok, fair. But did I tell you about my manscaping routine? Shaving my junk, and shit?”
“Do you have a manscaping routine?” She raises her eyebrows with a smirk. “Do tell. I’m all ears.”
“Yeah, actually.” I sit back and shoot her a grin, ready to turn the tables on her. “I shave everything, except one little patch at the base. So, it looks like Bamm has a cute little toupee.”
“Wait.” She crosses her arms over her chest, drawing my eyes there briefly, but I manage to rip them away. “You named your junk Bamm?” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head at me. “God, you’re so predictable.”
I wobble my head back and forth with a grin. “Technically, Bamm-Bamm, but Bamm for short. You know, from ‘The Flintstones.’ My nuts are Fred and Barney.”
“Naturally.” Her eyes sparkle with laughter in the dark.
We never talked about our personal sexual relationships when we were both married. It was a hard line; an unspoken boundary neither of us ever crossed. But we’re both single now, and this is uncharted territory we’re entertaining. It’s no secret we both have healthy sexual appetites, and it seems like no topic is off limits. Well, almost.
“See? You can share with me,” she says, hitting me with that heart-stopping smile of hers. Even in the near dark, with only the moonlight, it stabs me in the chest. “Wren and I share all the time. Hell, just last week, she told me about this thing that Hank does on her with his tongue—”
“Ohhh, fuck no.” I squeeze my eyes shut and dramatically cover my ears. “I don’t want to know about the vanilla shit my brother and Wren do. ”
She yanks my hand away from my ear. “Hank is far from vanilla.” She laughs, then blows out her breath like, ‘phew.’ “Wren told me about this one time in a field, where—”
“No. Just stop,” I choke out. I would never recover from what she was about to say.
“You’re such a baby. It’s what friends do. They share. And you have two chicks you hook up with. So, I know you have stories.” She pins me with a look before standing to gather the lighter and tin off the table.
“One chick.” I stand and pick up my beer bottle.
She looks up at me, eyes narrowed. “I swear there are two.” She holds up a hand, ticking them off on her fingers. “There’s sex-all-weekend Brittany and Holly what’s-her-name. The chick with the blond hair and big tits.” She waves her hand as she skirts around me to beat me to the door. “Give me details, so I can live vicariously through your sexual experiences.”
Her tone tells me she’s kidding, but for some fucked-up reason I don’t understand, talking sex with Finn feels natural.
“Holly was a one-time thing,” I tell her. She was a backup dancer for some singer I’d never heard of, and I only saw her once when she came into the bar. We fucked on every available surface in my condo, while Paige was at a sleepover. She was in town less than twelve hours. That only counts as one time in my book. And that was three months ago.
“Ohhh, right.” She snaps her fingers and nods with a little laugh. “She was the one with the mouth that could suck an egg through a straw.”
I bark out a laugh. “Yeah, that shit was intense.”
“See? Sharing is caring,” she says with a snort. “Just Brittany, then,” she says.
I follow her through the kitchen, where she tosses her empty beer bottle in the trash and shoves the pizza back into the fridge. She crosses her arms over her chest again and leans back on the counter. The movement pushes her tits together, and I can’t help but look. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to notice.
I am seriously going to hell.
I duck my head and scratch the back of my neck. “Having my six-year-old down the hall when bringing chicks home kind of puts the kibosh on my game, believe it or not. Besides, Brittany is just a friend,” I say, leaning back on the island and crossing my arms over my chest.
“A friend with benefits.”
I shrug and reach for my beer, tipping it up to drink. “Doesn’t matter. I’m here, and she’s not.”
“Better find you a new Brittany Friends with Benefits, then.” She winks and then yawns.
“You offering, Jameson?” I tease with a wide grin.
What am I, fifteen? Where the fuck did that come from?
“First of all, you wish.” She tosses me a saucy, little grin and busies herself wiping the counter down. “And second, you couldn’t handle all this jelly.” She tries and fails to twerk. She looks like a gazelle having a seizure. A gorgeous, perfect, tiny, seizure-having gazelle.
I force a laugh, hoping she can’t tell what her words do to my gut. I clear my throat and pour out the rest of my beer. Suddenly, I don’t think I can stomach one more sip.
“Well, Mr. Friends with Benefits, I’m gonna head to bed. You staying up a while?” She tosses the rag she was using into the sink.
I shake my head and chuck my bottle in the trash. “Between this beer and that weed, I’ll be out before I can make it up the stairs. I just need to grab something from the truck.”
“Glad you’re back, bestie.” She wraps an arm around my neck, giving me a squeeze.
I wrap an arm around her waist, and she presses a chaste kiss to my cheek as she passes, my nose filling with her scent. My dick immediately takes notice, and my body flushes with warmth. She’s kissed and hugged me just like this dozens of times over the years, but it’s never felt like this.
All this sex talk is going straight to my head, and it’s becoming very evident now that I’m living in her house and we’re both single. Keeping my dick in check is going to be a really big fucking problem. Especially when she has no idea that I want more than these innocent, little touches, and everything she does seems to turn me the fuck on. Nothing about how she makes me feel is innocent. Far fucking from it.
“Sleep good,” she says.
“Mm-hm,” I hum and try to keep my eyes off the curve of her ass as she crosses the living room and disappears up the stairs.
I absolutely fail.
I haven’t stopped thinking about that tiny, little, insignificant kiss six months ago, and how good it felt to finally give into something I’ve wanted for the past almost twenty years. But I never will again; I can’t.
But there’s also not a frozen dick’s chance in hell of living here long-term if I can’t get my dick under control. And right now, my options are severely limited: move back home with my parents and explain to Finn why we’re moving out or pull my shit together. Those are my options. Both seem equally painful for entirely different reasons.
I run a hand down my face. “Fuck.”