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Colt
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“YOU KNOW, IF EITHER of us were to settle down and get married one day, we’d need to buy an enormous bed to fit us all in,” Em says, a cheeky grin on her face.
So many images of me in bed sandwiched between Em and a hot brunette flash through my mind. Yeah, I’m seeing the appeal of settling down one day. What guy wouldn’t want two women in his bed every night?
Then Em taps my chest and says, “There’s Austin, I’m going to say hi.”
Then I’m standing there with images of me, Em and Austin sharing a bed. I like my fantasy better than hers.
Hell fucking no.
The answer is simple. Em can never get married, or if she does her husband better be okay with sleeping in a different room because I’m not going anywhere.
A little over the top? Maybe.
True? Definitely.
I can’t breathe without her. Her and me are a package deal.
Imagine the weddings vows. “I promise to have and to hold from this day forward, blah, blah, blah, to love and cherish until death do us part, or at night when Colt takes over.”
Chuckling to myself, I glance around the room trying to decide what I want to do.
College parties fucking suck.
Maybe if I drank more than once a year I might enjoy myself, but I don’t, so I’m left here staring at Em while she talks to the walking ball bitches championship runner up. Damn Em and her newfound friendship with Austin. I refuse to acknowledge them as any more than friends. Acquaintances? Still a stretch.
Rolling my eyes and not wanting to be a witness to anymore of their flirting, I push my way through the hot, sweaty bodies dancing on the makeshift dancefloor in the center of the living room, into the kitchen where I find Fletcher and Crew with a beer bong.
“Dude!” Crew raises his arms above his head and cheers like he hasn’t seen me in forever—we have three classes a week together and run drills on the court twice a week in the off-season—spraying beer all over the place because he forgets to drop the tube. They somehow hooked it up to the keg so it’s a never-ending stream. On the court, he’s strong and aggressive and has some of the best defensive footwork I’ve seen. Off the court though, it’s a different story. He’s the life of the party, fun, and everyone’s best friend. For an athlete in peak physical condition, he drinks like a fucking fish. I’ve never seen him show up to practice or a game hungover though. He’s a machine.
I don’t drink because I tend to go off the rails if I do. Besides, I like waking up rested and not suffering a hangover the next day. I don’t understand why anyone wants to drink to the point of inebriation. I also grew up next door to Em and her parents, and that’s enough to scare anyone off drinking. I don’t drink because I don’t want Em to see me drunk. No one makes a good drunk. No one makes smart decisions drunk. Drunk is messy. Drunk is dangerous. But Crew, he doesn’t get messy. I swear the dude has an iron stomach.
“We boxing tomorrow?” He hands the tube to Fletcher, who wastes no time sucking the beer down. Wouldn’t want to waste a drop.
“No.” I shake my head. We box on weekends, usually Saturday mornings but we missed today because Crew had to work, and I was too busy under the bleachers with what’s-her-face and her vacuum mouth. Won’t be making that mistake again. Not now I figured out the secret to getting off.
Emerson.
“Why the hell not?”
“It’s Sunday.” I shrug and glance over my shoulder at Em and Austin.
“Ahhh. Gotcha.” Crew nods like he understands. He probably does. I don’t know. But Sunday is mine and Em’s day. It’s the only day of the week I don’t go for a run, or to the courts, or anything basketball related. It’s the only day of the week we don’t study and Em doesn’t work.
It’s our day.
And I’m kind of hoping she’ll want to dry-fuck like teenagers again, because tonight was awesome. My balls are still tingling, and I want to see if it works a third time or if it was a fluke, because I never come with anyone else. Ever. Unless it’s in my hand with images from my spank bank.
My gaze catches Em’s and she smiles, gives me a lift of her chin—her way of winking because she agrees with me that only douchebags wink—as my breath gets caught in my throat.
Realization hits like a god damn truck.
My spank bank is full of images of Em.
I shake my head.
Gross.
But is it really? It kind of explains why no other woman does it for me. Now, after that one night a few weeks ago, my conjured images aren’t enough. I need the real thing, if we’re making assumptions based on tonight. Longest shower ever because I couldn’t do it without her.
I shake my wrist out.
It’s a little stiff after the workout I gave it. Might have to ice it later.
I swallow and close my eyes. When I open them again, Em is watching me with concern knitting her eyebrows together. I stare at her and she tilts her head.
She knows me too well to not realize something is wrong. Only, I don’t know what is wrong exactly. Am I freaked out because I’ve been jacking off to images of my best friend for years and only just realized? Am I scared of what she’ll think when she finds out? Or is it because I want to do it again?
Friends can do casual, right?
We could be friends with dry benefits.
Or dry-fuck buddies.
Works for me. Wonder if she’ll go for that? She enjoys it as much as I do.
“What’s with Em and Austin?” Crew nods in their direction.
“Nothing. Fuck off.”
I reach out and grab the tube from Fletcher. Bringing it to my mouth, I let bitter amber liquid flow down my throat.
Fucking Austin.
With one last glance at Em, who mouths, “You okay?” I nod once and walk out of the kitchen, through the side door into the backyard, beer spraying everywhere when I drop the tube.
“Hey, where you going?” Fletcher calls out.
I ignore him. I’m heading straight for the court to burn some energy because it’s my coping mechanism. When I can’t be with Em, I play, I practice, I run, whatever. But I spot Leoni and make my way over to her in the hopes she’ll get Em out of my head.
Sometimes a mistake has to be made more than once for a person to learn from it.
I drag my eyes over her. She looks nothing like Em. Her hair isn’t red. Her lips are pumped full of collagen, not naturally plump like Em’s. Her eyes are the wrong color. Her ass is too small. Her tits, too.
When did this happen? When did Em become the girl of my fantasies?
I don’t like it. One bit. But at the same time, I do.
“Lana,” I say when I approach, giving her my best smile.
“My name is actually—”
“Whatever.” I cut her off. “Dance with me.”
She chews her bottom lip as though she’s thinking about it, but it’s the flash in her eyes, that spark of excitement before it turns to heat that tells me she won’t say no.
“Okay.” She giggles and whispers something to her friends before standing up and taking my out-stretched hand and walking back inside.
I hate dancing, but I need to do something.
At least that’s what I tell myself. It’s not because I want to keep an eye on Em and Austin and make sure they don’t sneak off anywhere together.
She wouldn’t. Not after letting me blow my load all over her back. Right?
I swallow. My eyes dart around the room, seeking her out. Hell, when did I become a nervous wreck?
Lori grabs my hands, knocking my ball out from under my arm and wraps them around her waist. My jaw clenches, and I glare at her but she has no idea because her back is pressed to my chest as she sways her hips, pushing her ass into me, trying to be provocative, sexy, but all I can focus on is Em and where the hell my ball went.
If she kisses Austin, all bets are off.
If her lips so much as brush his, all hell will break loose. It won’t be out of jealousy, but if she kisses him, then she trusts him and that leads to sex, which leads to me losing two thousand dollars and my only form of release.
I’m selfish. Big deal.
They’re not dancing, they’re standing off to the side talking. Austin is engrossed in whatever Em is saying, but from the expression on her face, I can tell it has something to do with art. She’s not passionate about much, but she gets a light in her eyes, an excitement when she talks about art. She likes the dude with the weird paintings, the elephant with long legs, and the clocks that melt. I don’t remember his name because art bores the life out of me. But I like the happiness and peace it brings Em.
Austin brushes a strand of hair out of Emerson’s face and she smiles up at him. Her lips don’t stop moving, yet Austin indulges her. She loves to talk when someone listens.
And he is listening.
I should listen more.
I swallow. I guess living with me has its negatives. I tend to lose interest too fast, so she doesn’t talk about things she enjoys often. Pressing a hand to my chest to ease the ache forming, I try to shake off the weird heaviness in my stomach, but I can’t.
I push Laura away, needing space. It’s hot and stuffy and I can’t breathe. She turns around and smirks at me, bringing her hands up to my chest. She slides them up and over my shoulders, clasping them around my neck. Her body presses against mine as her lips glide under my jaw. I shiver. Reaching up, I remove her hands from my neck and step away from her.
Tapping a beat on my leg with my fingers, I pace the floor as much as I can in the limited space I have, looking for my ball. Spotting it between two pairs of feet, I push my way through people and reach for it. Someone kicks it and it rolls in the opposite direction, right under the high-heeled feet of a chick in a silver mini skirt. Almost as though it happens in slow motion, her heel slips, ankle rolls, and she goes down hard, dragging the guy beside her down with her. Drinks spill. She shrieks. He lands with a thud on top of her and the crowd parts, giving them room. All eyes are on them.
In all the commotion, my ball gets pushed around and slides across the sticky floor to my feet. I grin and pick it up, cringing at the sweet sticky liquid covering it and take it to the kitchen to wash.
Em calls out to me as I pass, but I need to clean my ball, so I ignore her. Shaking my head, I pass both Fletcher and Crew still sucking beer out of a tube. They’ll be passed out in thirty minutes. I rinse the ball in the sink and head outside. There’s a ring behind the house and a small patch of concrete about half the size of a court. It’s not big enough for a game but large enough to play for fun. The guys don’t use it though, they get enough ball time in throughout the year with practice and games. I’m the only one who uses it when I’m here.
I bounce the ball a few times, water droplets splashing over my legs, and shoot. The ball soars through the air and drops in the ring before sliding into the shadows. I take a step toward it but stop when a figure emerges from the darkness, my ball clasped between their hands.
Em eyes me and bounces the ball once before passing it to me. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I say, catching the ball and taking another shot. Em grabs the ball and throws it back to me. I shoot again, and Em passes it back once more. We do this for a few minutes until the urge to strip naked and go for a swim in the pool across campus eases.
“You’re on edge.”
“I hate parties.”
“Do you want to go?” She frowns, not ready to leave yet. She’s having fun which is rare because she spends most of her time with me.
I shake my head and take another shot at the ring. Em catches the ball and doesn’t return it this time.
“Colt?”
“I want pizza. I’m going for a drive.” I head back toward the house leaving Em standing under the ring with my ball. I don’t expect her to come because she’s enjoying the party and it’s not fair for me to stand in her way all the time.
I’m being a dick to her and it’s not her fault. But there are too many thoughts and feelings swirling around inside me. I can’t cope. I don’t know what to do with them. It’s overwhelming.
The people at the party, the music, the drinking, Lynette sucking on her straw trying to be seductive. It’s all too much. I need to get away.
By the time I get outside and down the street to the car, I’m calmer and not in the mood for pizza. Fumbling for my keys in my pocket, my heart sinks when I come up empty.
A soft laugh and the jingle of metal on metal catches my attention. I gaze around and smirk at Em hiding in the shadows again, my keys dangling from her fingers.
“Not creepy at all.”
She says nothing, only grins and throws the keys at me.
I catch them. “How did you get here so fast?”
“I ran,” she huffs, hunching over and placing her hands on her knees. “Phew, that was hard work.”
I shake my head, and climb in the car, expecting Em to head back to the party but she doesn’t. She slides into the seat beside me, kicks off her shoes and leans back in the chair.
“What are you doing?”
“You said pizza.” She yawns and closes her eyes. “Colt?”
“Em?”
“Kiss me?”
“No.” I laugh and turn the car on, heading toward the pizza shop.
Her eyes are closed and she’s silent. I assume she’s fallen asleep. I park the car out the front of the pizza shop and leave her to sleep while I order.
She wakes up and smiles sleepily at me when I get back in the car. “Why did you wait so long?”
I almost drop the keys before I get them in the ignition. “What?”
“The other week... You promised we’d do it again. But you went to Jane. When I was right there.”
Jane?
I groan. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to push the friendship. It’s weird, isn’t it? Normal friends don’t hump each other with their clothes on.”
Em sighs. “Our entire friendship is weird. We’re not normal, Colt.”
We sit in silence for a minute and I’m sure she’s fallen asleep again when she speaks. “Besides, it’s fun. What’s a little mutual gratification between friends, right?”
Slamming the car into drive, I race down the street. The sudden urgency to get home so intense, I might explode.
Em chuckles. “I guess you agree, then?”
“Remember, you asked for it.”
She shrugs. “I can handle it.”