While the water runs in the bathroom, I make Libby’s bed and arrange the decorative pillows artistically, keeping busy as I mull over what she said.
It’s true, Libby isn’t known for changing her mind. She knew she was going to be a teacher from the time she was in kindergarten herself, decided she loved dressing like a gypsy and embraced the look fully by the time she was twelve, and still spends hours volunteering for the same causes she’s been passionate about since she organized her first knit-in for the ASPCA in high school. She’s open to trying new things, but once she finds something that works, Libby’s not one to mess with a formula or flip the script.
Clearly the friends-with-benefits situation is working fine as far as she’s concerned. Maybe she doesn’t want to talk because she doesn’t want to fix something that, in her opinion, isn’t broken.
Or maybe she doesn’t want to talk because she can tell you’re wading into the deep end of the emotion pool, and she’s dreading breaking the news that she’s going to let you drown out there alone.
You know Libby. She hates to hurt people’s feelings, especially people she considers friends.
Friends. Fuck friends.
I don’t want to be friends, and as I wait for Libby to get out of the bathroom, I start plotting ways to convince her that she doesn’t want to just be friends, either.
I’ll show her that we’re better off as something more, that this isn’t the kind of thing you let slip through your fingers without a fight. I’ve never had such an instant, powerful connection to a lover, and I can’t remember the last time I came as hard as I did this morning, with Libby’s sweet smell filling my head and the molten heat of her pussy locked tight around my cock. And it’s not just the sex; it’s how good it feels to share the day with Libby, to hear her thoughts, see her smile, and be there to kiss her hard when the assholes of the world are bringing her down. It’s the way that it doesn’t matter if we’re at my place or hers—as long as Libby’s with me, I feel like I’m at home.
We’re good together, good for each other, and one way or another I’m going to bring her around to my way of thinking.
I’m imagining all the sexy, romantic, orgasm-inducing arguments I’ll make to win Libby over to the more-than-friends side of the fence when the lock on the bedroom door pops with a sharp snap and the door slams open. And there, fuming in the doorway, is Laura, my messenger bag over her arm, my keys in one hand, and the Allen wrench she used to break into Libby’s bedroom in the other.
“I knew it!” she shouts, pointing an accusing finger at my chest. “I knew it smelled like your cologne in here, you bastard. What the hell are you doing putting your dick in my little sister?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Libby
My protective, loving big sis is good at many things, but calm conflict resolution is not one of them. She got the Irish temper to go along with her red hair and freckles, and she got it in spades.
The moment I hear her start to lay into Justin, I know the only chance of this ending without bloodshed is if I can distract Laura long enough for Justin to escape out the front door. She won’t be capable of talking this through with him until her blood pressure drops—sometime in the next two to three days. Or months. Or maybe years, if the volume of her current screeching is anything to judge by.
I drop my hairbrush in the sink and bolt out of the bathroom, hurling myself between Laura and Justin seconds before shouting becomes something more violent.
“Get out of the way, Libby.” Laura glares at Justin over my head, enough heat in her gaze to set Justin’s eyebrows on fire. “I need to kick this selfish son of a bitch’s ass.”
“Laura, please,” Justin says, “you don’t understand, I—”
“Oh, I understand just fine, asshole,” Laura says at the same time that I shout, “Just get out of here, Justin. Go home. I’ll call you later.”
“I’m not running away from this.” He stands up straighter, shaking his head. “There’s no reason we can’t sit down and talk like grownups.”
“Do you know me?” Laura screeches, making my argument for me. “Have we fucking met? Because if you think I’m going to sit down and calmly fucking discuss how it’s okay for you to use Libby as your rebound fuck because you’re too lazy not to shit where you eat, then I’m beginning to seriously doubt we were ever actually friends, Justin Cruise.”
“Please, just go.” I block Laura as she lunges to the left, trying to get around me. “Go, Justin! Now! Staying isn’t helping. I promise I’ll call you later.”