Lightly touching her skin, I turn her chin toward mine and give her a soft kiss. Elise sighs and leans into me, kissing me back.
I roll over and pull her up on top of me. She sits up, her legs on either side of my waist. I realize I’m still naked. I can feel the warmth of her through the cotton boxer shorts she wore to bed. She’s so tempting, and I barely resist the urge to rock my hips up, creating the magic of friction between us. I want to push her little shorts aside and sink into her slowly, but then my brain snaps on, and I recall the previous time I woke up in her bed when Elise had turned me down after I’d suggested morning sex because she was too sore, and so the last thing I want to do is pressure her when she’s not ready. Even if it was strange being told no for the first time in a decade. I need to behave. At least for now.
“I had fun last night,” I murmur, lifting up on my elbows to bring my lips to hers. She meets me halfway and gives me one last gentle kiss.
“Me too.”
I still can’t believe that she’d wanted to have sex without a condom. Everything about last night was perfect, and making it special for her with flowers and candles and champagne eased some of the guilt I still feel about our real first time.
I heft myself up and rise to standing while holding Elise. She makes a little squeal as I place her carefully down on her feet.
“Let’s make pancakes,” I suggest.
She rewards me with a grateful look. ”Sounds perfect.” She’s smiling as she quickly dresses, adding a pair of yoga pants over her tiny shorts and t-shirt ensemble.
In the kitchen, Elise starts the coffee while I mix the pancake batter and get the skillet heating.
I absolutely love this domestic, chill thing we have between us. And as amazing as the physical stuff between us is, I’m also really glad we rekindled our friendship after all that went down last year. Hearing her admit her crush on me while we laid in bed was one of my favorite moments from last night. I mean, I kind of suspected it, she didn’t exactly hide it very well, but watching her lips tilt up in a grin as she remembered was so damn cute.
Elise and Owen are the closest thing I have to family, and they’re both amazing friends. Even if I hate the thought of lying to Owen right now, for now, this is how it has to be.
23
So Much for Casual
Elise
There’s nothing quite like coming home from a long day of work and changing into your pajamas. I’m not sure why it feels so good, it just does. Maybe it’s because I had the longest day ever with my usual classes and then parent-teacher conferences after, or maybe because I have cramps, but either way, I am cozy and comfortable and I give exactly zero fucks that it’s only seven p.m. and I’m in my pjs. I haven’t seen Justin in a week, ever since our amazing weekend together, and while I’m getting a bit antsy, I decide a night in by myself will be a good thing.
Pulling up the restaurant delivery app on my phone, I peruse my options for dinner.
Justin was planning to come over tonight, but I texted him before I left school that something had come up and I was no longer able to hang out. Thankfully he didn’t ask why, and I didn’t have to divulge that it was because of the volcano of blood erupting between my legs that visits every month. I’m pretty sure there’s a rule against sharing such private information with your fuck buddy. Your boyfriend? No problem, you can gross him out with all the gory details and use it to your advantage to have him bring you chocolate, or ice cream, or even chop suey. But your hookup? No, he didn’t need such private information. I don’t want to scare the poor guy away. I’m enjoying our time way too much for that.
I’ve done a good job so far of keeping my emotional distance from him, and this is just one more example of how calm and in control I am. Even Becca has been impressed that I’ve managed to keep things so casual between us.
I place an order for Japanese—my favorite veggie roll and hot and sour soup, and then grab the remote. I turn on my show, but my mind is still focused elsewhere.
Last week I’d made dinner for Owen and Justin and it had felt like such naughty, delicious fun hiding my secret affair from my brother. I’ve never kept a secret from Owen, especially not one this gigantic. And I know this isn’t going to last forever, and I’m determined to have fun with it while I can. I know that eventually this thing between us will fizzle out and I’ll go back to being just friends with Justin, and that I’ll have to be okay with seeing him with other girls. But it’s not something I’m ready to think about just yet.
The memories of our sleepover, of the sex and the pancakes … it was literally perfect.
My phone chimes from the coffee table, but it’s way too soon for my delivery order to be here. When I grab it, I see a text from Justin.
Are you sure you can’t hang out tonight?
I smile and type out my reply.
I’m sure. You can make it one night without me, can’t you, big boy? ;)
It’s meant to be playful, but as soon as I’ve sent the message, realization strikes and a pit settles low in my stomach. We haven’t slept together in over a week. Between his travel schedule and my life, it hasn’t always been easy to find the time. And if there’s one thing I know about Justin, he’s used to getting it on the regular. I know he said we’re exclusive, but honestly the man has never had to wait around for sex. He probably hasn’t been told no since the moment he was first drafted. For a second I worry that he’s going to get bored with me and want to move on. But then my phone chirps again.
I’ve been jacking it every night to thoughts of you. I feel like a fucking teenager again.
Even if my vagina is out of commission tonight, arousal stirs in my veins.
That’s a nice visual.
I’m about to type more to him, to keep the flirting going when I get a text message from Becca.
What are you up to tonight? Want to grab dinner? I’m not far from your place.
I grin at her message, then type:
If I hadn’t just ordered food, maybe. But I have cramps and just want to lay in bed and watch bad TV.
She sends back: That sounds amazing. You have fun with that.
While I wait for my food to arrive, I distract myself with my phone, texting Becca occasionally and scrolling through my social media feed.
I glance down and see a new text on my phone.
I’m at the store. You need anything?
Becca is a life saver.
Yes, actually I need tampons.
As soon as I click send, the horror of what I’ve just done sets in and my mouth drops open. I just texted that to Justin—not Becca. He wrote that he’s at the store. I mixed up their threads. Oh dear God. What have I done? I feel like a freaking idiot for sending that to him.
He replies a second later.
…Okay? You need me to? I can …
My eyes widen. “No, no, no, no!” I shout at the phone.
Omg. Sorry, no. I thought I was writing to Becca. Please ignore me.
He doesn’t honestly think I would expect him to bring me feminine products, does he? I pray to God he just lets this drop, but something tells me he’s not going to.
Well now I’m in the aisle, so you might as well tell me what you need. I wanna get the right kind. There’s a fuckton of options.
It’s official, I’m now mortified. Beyond mortified. I actually don’t need tampons anymore because I’ve just died. This hulk of a man, a pro athlete no less, is standing in the tampon aisle determined to make sure he ‘gets the right kind.’ This is not what’s meant by friends with benefits. Someone’s going to see him and he’s going to be all over social media at any moment. What. Have. I. Done?
Don’t worry about it. I really didn’t mean to send that to you.
His reply comes in almost immediately.
Consider me worried. This is your vagina we’re talking about. I need it in tip top shape, ready for me in a few days. Now tell me what to get you.
A half-smile lifts my mouth as I shake my head. His logic is flawed, even if it’s adorable. I want to tell him to forget it, but this is Justin and I have a feeling I won’t win this argument.
Just a box of tampons please, the blue box.
I click send and settle back on the couch, tugging the throw blanket over my lap.
Okay and what are we talking for flow level? There’s light, regular and mega.
I hope for your sake it’s not mega.
I chuckle as I read his message and shake my head as my thumbs get to work composing my reply.
Regular.
I cannot fucking believe I’m having this conversation with him. A huge part of me is mortified, and the other part is completely amused, my stomach turning somersaults with each new message.
How do you feel about applicators – yes or no?
Oh dear God. My face heats up and I want to strangle him through the phone. Why is he making this so difficult?
Doesn’t matter, I write back.
Applicator is fine.