Plight(33)

"You've lost your piggy-backing touch, Lots. That was the bumpiest ride ever."

"I can't help it if my jockey's riding skills aren't what they used to be."

My eyelids flung open, and I turned my head to face him, a small stretch of our necks the only distance between us. "Your jockey's riding skills are better than they've ever been," I reiterated.

His eyes were sparkling like two Caribbean rock pools, his skin pink and slightly sweat-dampened. "Is that right?" he asked, his voice low.

Elliot's gaze dipped to my mouth, his tongue gently sweeping over his perfect, soft, tasty lips.

Abort. Abort.

Those lips.

That tongue.

That licking.

Argh! It was something he'd done when we were teenagers, and all because I'd stupidly opened my big mouth one time and told him that Brad Pitt did it and that I thought it was sexy. From that day on, he'd done the same thing as a joke to deliberately drive me mad, but little did he realise that when he'd done it, it was just as sexy as Brad, if not more.

Opening my mouth to allow oxygen to my brain, I swallowed heavily instead, my heart galloping as he leaned in closer, my neck stretching to meet his advance. I wanted his tongue, his lips, his mouth. I wanted his hands on my body and in my hair. I wanted to kiss him just like I'd dreamed of kissing him all those years ago, except now, I wanted so much more than a kiss.

I wanted it all.

Except, I didn't want it, either. I didn't want to ruin what we were once again building - our friendship. The best friendship I'd ever had. That was far more important. But fuck all the shits, because those lips were going to be my undoing, and they were slowly edging toward mine. Nothing was going to stop me from tasting them again. Nothing.

Feeling is his warm breath on my face as lips feathered mine, I startled at the sound of Dudley's desperate yap. Shit!

I shot up, because the only thing running through my mind at that point was the fucking laundry

 …  and if it still existed.





Danielle shot up like a meerkat and dashed for the laundry. "Dudley! I'm coming," she called out. "Mummy is coming."

Fuck me, I wished she was coming, just not in the way that she meant. I wanted her writhing underneath me, dripping onto my bed sheets, and screaming out my name. Not Pugly's.

Pushing the thoughts out of my mind, I stood up and followed, her hasty retreat now stirring the pit of my stomach. Seriously, what the fuck could one small, ugly pug do that had her so worried?

"Dudley! NO! You naughty boy!" she shrieked, after opening the laundry door.

Pugly shot out of the room, skidding along my floorboards until the wall and my leg righted his traction.

"I'm so sorry, Elliot. I'll buy you a new one. I promise." Buy me a new what? A new laundry room?

Stumbling over the hyperactive, furry fucker, I used the doorframe for stability before poking my head around it to find torn pieces of my blue workout towel strewn across the tiled floor.

I let out a breath, my heart rate settling; it could've been worse. "It's fine. It's just a towel."

"Yes. But what about your shirt?"

She slowly and hesitantly raised her arm, pointing to her left, to where my favourite three-hundred-dollar Armani shirt lay on the floor beneath a freshly laid pug turd.

I spewed in my mouth a little.

Danielle bit her fingernail and squinted. "I hope it wasn't a good shirt."

"Naaaa," I shrilled and shook my head, unconvincingly. "Not really."



       
         
       
        

"Oh my God, you're lying! How much was it?" She carefully stepped over the pieces of towel and went to pick it up.

I held out my hand to stop her. "Don't! I'll do it. You'll get shit on your dress."

I really didn't want to fucking do it, but I would if it meant she didn't have to.

"No. Dudley is my dog. I'll clean up after him. I'm so sorry, Elliot."

"Stop apologising. It's no big deal."

"It is. I feel awful. You have really nice things: a nice apartment, nice towels, nice shirts-"

Stepping closer, it was a kick to the gut when she stepped away. "What's wrong?" I asked, reaching for her hand and carefully pulling her to me.

"Nothing." She stepped back again, gently pushing off my chest. "I  …  I just really want to clean this up."

"Okay. I'll help you."

"No. I'll do it. If you want to help, please go find Dudley. I'd hate to think what he's shitting on now."

And just like that, I was out of the laundry.

"Dudley!" I called, practically jogging along the hallway. Where the fuck are you?