Jess takes a deep breath. "No, he wouldn't. Dad was thrilled that I was marrying Jack. And well, no one knows about that other woman thing—no one but you and of course Jack and her." She nods her head. "Yep, that's everyone. Hell, they were so into it, I doubt they even know I was there."
I run my hands over her arms, up and down. "You should have grabbed a lamp and cocked them both upside the head."
A smile tugs at the corner of her lips. "That's why I love you. Violence is always your first thought."
I shrug. "Usually fucking is my first thought. But...well, that was already happening."
She playfully hits my shoulder. "Thanks for the reminder."
"Ouch! Be violent with Jack, not with me."
As I wrap my arms around my best friend, she falls against my chest. The scent of strawberries tickles my nose, and I take a deeper breath. For just a second, Jess seems to relax and melt against me. Our friendship has seen it all. We know each other's deepest, darkest secrets and we're still here—through childhood, our teens, college, and now. Always.
The one thing we haven't done, not ever, is move beyond friendship. It is our agreement, the one we made when we were young. Never would we cross that line.
That was easy when we were running around the neighborhood or swimming in the lake. Then it was like we were brother and sister, but sometimes now I wonder what it would be like to be with her, inside of her, loving her.
But then I remember our agreement.
No matter how fucking beautiful she has become, or fun, or happy, or sad, we are friends and we can't jeopardize that. If we did, I'm sure I could help her forget that asshole, if we crossed that line, but her friendship is worth more than keeping my dick happy.
It isn't like my dick is sad. It gets plenty of action. I've taken many women places they didn't know they could go, all in the name of forgetting some asshole who wronged them. But that wouldn't be how I help Jess.
'No, sorry, boy,' I say silently to my dick, 'you're staying put.'
Earlier tonight, when I got Jess's hysterical call, I was on my way to a date and my dick was happy. The date was just drinks and supposed to be with some chick from the gym. We've talked a few times. Her name starts with K or a C. I can't remember. It's like Kate or Catalin. All I know for sure is that she has great tits and a nice ass. And when she invited me to drinks, I didn't think about saying no. I also didn't get her number.
Now I'm the douche who stood her up. Remembering her body, they way her tits bounce when she runs on the treadmill, I'm most certain that she won't be alone for long. And since I can't remember her name, I'm not too brokenhearted. My dick, well, he's a little put out.
I reassure my lonely dick that the next time I see Miss Tits and Ass at the gym, all I'll need to do is flash my baby blues, wipe the sweat from my forehead with my shirt, showing off my tight abs, and claim that a heartbroken friend kept me away. Then I'll ask if we can reschedule. Ten to one says she doesn't hold a grudge for long.
What's sexier than a good-looking successful guy who went to a friend's recue?
'Don't worry, boy, you'll be balls deep in that chick before the end of the week. Tonight's about Jess.' My dick and I both agree that she's the only one we'd make the sacrifice for.
Besides, the chick from the gym gives off the same vibe I do. She's not looking for anything other than some fun and a good fuck. Those are my goals, too, but the order of significance is most usually reversed.
Jess and I have always had different life goals. Not for hard work or dedication—we both kick ass at that. We've worked hard and it’s paid off. We both have great jobs. My old truck is now a sleek black sports car. My apartment is in the best chic part of St. Louis. She has it all too, or did, before her recent engagement ended. Nevertheless, she has the great job and the apartment she was sharing with Jack Dickhead is in her name. In most ways, we're both living the dream.
It's just that our dreams for a relationship—a forever, until I die thing—have always been different.
Jess has been searching for that for as long as I can remember, while I've been content with right now. And believe me, there are plenty of right nows everywhere I look. She'd thought she'd found it, her forever. Unfortunately, Jess's forever just fucked his coworker—in her bed.
"Hey, how about I order some dinner," I offer. "I can have sushi here in twenty minutes?"
Jess sighs against my chest. "I deserve better." Her voice is soft, but determined.
"You sure as hell do. Maybe pizza?"
"No," she tips her chin upward until our eyes met. "Jerkface, not food. I deserve to be happy."
That's my girl.
"And sushi is the perfect start."