Big Rock(26)

A thousand responses fill my head. It’ll feel better than anything you’ve ever had. Unzip my pants, wrap your hands around my cock, and let me take you for the ride of your life. You’ll see stars, mountains will move, and the earth will shake.

The simplest answer, though, is the one I’m dying to utter.

God, I want to f*ck you so f*cking badly right now.

But thankfully, those aren’t the words that escape my lips. Somehow, the rational portion of my brain knows better. The gentleman inside me fights his way out, manages to squirm his way up, and resume control from the manwhore.

Charlotte is buzzed, and I will not take advantage of Buzzed Honest Charlotte.

“You’re drunk, Snuffaluffagus. Let’s get you in your jammies and put you to bed,” I say as I grip her hips to lift her off me.

She’s faster. She moves quickly, parking herself in her seat with more agility that I expected. She sneers, “I’m not drunk,” and it comes out surprisingly crisp and clear.

I’m not going to argue this point right now. Drunk or not, that was a far too risky moment. The cab slows at the next light, and she yawns loudly, covering her mouth. Her head sinks on my shoulder. Soon, I’m unlocking her door, carrying her to her bed, and sliding off her shoes. She murmurs something as her eyes flutter closed.

“Water,” I say. “You need water.”

“Mmm. That sounds delish,” she says sleepily.

I head to the kitchen, fill a cold glass, and bring it to her. “Sit up,” I tell her, and she manages to scoot back in bed. I hand her the glass. She downs most of it. “Drink it all. I’ll leave another glass on your nightstand. Drink that one when you wake up in the middle of the night to pee.”

Nodding, she sets down the glass. She throws her arms around me, and tugs me into bed. She tries to pull me next to her.

“I have to go.”

“Stay with me. Please,” she says, patting the soft, comfy bed. “Just sleep next to me. That’s all I want.”

Sleep next to her? With this boner? With her wild hands crawling all over my body? No way. I’m not that strong. I’m not that good.

“I need to go. I’ve got to feed my cat.” It sounds like the lamest excuse in the world, but it’s actually true.

There’s a flash of hurt in her eyes. Maybe even disappointment. Then it passes, and she smiles faintly. “Good night, Captain Fiancé. Give the * a kiss for me.”

Oh, how I would absolutely love to.

Her head hits the pillow, and in seconds she’s snoring. It’s so f*cking cute, the little sounds she makes. I scratch my head—how is it possible that her snores are adorable? But they are. I stand and look at her in the dark, the moonlight streaking across her covers, cutting a crisscross pattern through the blinds. Her blonde hair is spread over her white pillow, her blouse slinks down her shoulder, revealing a cherry red bra, and the skirt of her dress rides up her thighs. I could undress her like they do in the movies, or I could leave her in her clothes.

Undressing her feels like a violation. Instead, I do what I told her I would. I fill her glass of water and leave it on the nightstand. I open her medicine cabinet, grab two aspirin, just in case, and place them next to the glass. I hunt for some paper, and I find a Post-It notepad in her kitchen and a pen in the utensil drawer.

I write: Two aspirin in the morning, and call me when you get up. I need to take you out for the final hangover prevention step.

I leave, and I should earn a commendation for self-restraint. I’m going to contact the Guys’ Committee and let them know what I accomplished tonight in the resistance category. I’ll fully expect a gold medal in the morning and, frankly, an awards ceremony, considering the level of difficulty.

A cab blows past me on Lexington, but I don’t shoot my arm into the air to flag it down. Instead, I turn south and walk home, even though I’m many, many blocks away. I need the time and the space and the distance from those five minutes in the cab when I wanted to f*ck my best friend’s brains out.

This city should take my mind off Charlotte, so I soak it in—the bodegas peddling fruit and flowers, the Chinese restaurants offering greasy noodles, the twenty-four-hour pharmacies selling anything and everything. I cut across town, surrounded by throngs of people, so many still out late at night.

But when I unlock my door at one a.m., I’m still turned on. The walk didn’t work. I’m horny as hell. I feel like I’ve taken Charlotte Viagra, and this hard-on is a cruel and unusual punishment for lusting so badly after my best friend.

Fido meows, then stretches up to greet me, his paws on my leg.

“Hungry?”

His tail twitches. I head to the kitchen, open his bag, and scoop out some cat food. It’s this all-natural, organic, eat-like-your-ancestors food. Harper got it for him when I took him in, telling me that store-bought food wouldn’t cut it. My man is addicted to it; maybe it makes him feel like a tiger.

I set the bowl down, and he purrs as he eats. The dude is so satisfied from a bowl of dry kibble, and a knot of jealousy tightens in my belly. Great. Now I’m envious of my cat because his life is simpler than mine. Note to self: Go to the store tomorrow and order up some perspective, because you’re losing yours.

I head to the bathroom. I wash my face, brush my teeth, and try to put the evening behind me. Look, it’s not hard to turn down a drunk girl, because that’s just wrong. But it was hard, for some unknown f*cking reason, to turn down her. Those things she was saying. Those wicked, dirty words falling from her red lips. They torched a path up my body. They stirred something inside me. Some wish. Some want.