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Undeterred, he scoots closer, sniffing the air like a puppy, which sends me into fits of giggles. I try to keep the toast away, but he leans in closer, determined. "Just let me smell it!" he pleads.
"No! Back off, you mutt!" I yell, shoving him away playfully.
But he's persistent, grabbing my arm, his touch sending shocks of electricity through me. I'm torn between pulling away and wanting more. Caught in my hesitation, he steals a giant bite. "Oh my god," he moans, and I catch myself staring at his lips, licking mine in response. "Is that cinnamon? Crap, that's good."
I giggle again, half hating myself for the girlish sound and loving how he’s coaxing it from me. There’s a small corner left and I hand it over, which he devours with an enthusiasm that's endearing. "Damn, girl, you know how to make the simplest things just perfect, don't you?"
I nudge him playfully, lying back down, though a warm blush colors my cheeks. "It's toast, Tommy, calm down," I say, trying to downplay his praise.
He laughs, settling back, but then his hand brushes against my leg, sending tingles shooting through me, lighting a fire I didn't think possible after all this time apart. "What're you doing?" I snap to attention.
"Sorry, you uh... have something stuck to your calf," he explains, gently removing a piece of duct tape. His casual touch is too much, filling me with a longing that's hard to ignore.
For a moment, I imagine his hand wandering higher, exploring further up my thigh until he reaches my… I shoot up, my entire body pulsing with a rush of desire, suddenly breathless.
Tommy sits up too, his eyebrows high on his forehead. "What?"
“Nothing,” I say far too quickly to be true.
“Uh, okay, liar. Looks like you just got struck by lightning but sure, nothing’s wrong.” He’s half laughing at my strange behavior and the sound only makes me further blush.
"I'm gonna sleep in Sam's room," I'm already jumping to my feet. No way is he going to convince me to sit here and enjoy his special brand of torture.
"Okay," he responds, his shoulders dropping slightly. "Want me to wake you before I head out?"
I'm already down the hall. "Erm, that's fine. Night," I manage, closing the door behind me and leaning against it.
Eyes closed, I chastise myself. This is exactly why I had distanced myself from him in the first place. It's too easy to get swept up in what could be, even though he's made his stance clear.
Months ago, I found myself dancing the night away with friends, including Tommy. That night, after a tiny fight with Greg that had Tommy threatened, I realized he was more than just a friend to me. It was like a blindfold had been ripped off or a giant spotlight had lit him up. All the flirting and late-night talks had led me to one place. Love. The most ridiculous four-letter word in the English language. One that I really thought would never really be used to describe anything in my life, other than maybe Sam.
I should blame the dancing. God that was hot. I walk over to the mattress and sit on the edge, my thighs pressing together to ease some of the pressure that has been brought about by the memory. Eyes closed, I smile. The images play through my mind. Our bodies syncing as we moved. His hands exploring every inch of me, grazing my chest, abs, and even tenderly brushing my face. The way his hips gyrated against me, the feel of his hardening cock against my back, my hip, my stomach, all depending on how the music moved us.
Suddenly my eyes snap open. The fondness replaced with shame. Later, when I invited him to stay the night with me, he declined. Flat out refused. Didn't even give me a reason why. I've always known Tommy was a huge flirt. Why I thought that meant I was special to him, I'll never know.
Friend zoned—that's what I was. And I hated it. All the heat and connection between us had turned into embarrassment in an instant. The day after was torture, having to hold back from touching him, from kissing him the way I desperately wanted to. My heart was shattered.
And now here he is, acting as if no time had passed, as if that night had never happened. It was as if an old wound had been violently reopened. I couldn't bear to stay with him, yet the thought of returning to my trashed apartment seemed even worse.
After a few seconds of turmoil, I make my decision. I’ll stay the night but leave first thing in the morning.
Heading to Sam’s dresser, I pull out a t-shirt, shedding my bra and dress in the process. Slipping the shirt over my head, I crawl into bed, enveloping myself in the fluffy blue comforter that smells so much like Sam. I miss her even more now. She would know exactly how to make the situation comfortable for everyone. Sam is the perfect buffer for any weird social situation, mostly because she knows exactly when to step in for me.
Pulling a pillow over my face, I let out an extended groan. I should call her, at least let her know I'm here. But that will bring up questions I'm not ready to answer. How in the hell did I end up staying the night at her house with Tommy? Oh that's right, my damn father had his goons trash my apartment. Picking up my phone off the mattress, I select her contact. When her voicemail dings, I stutter out, "Hey, uh, Sam. It's me. I…" my voice falters as my eyes shut. "Just call me back." I end the call and toss the phone onto the carpet. Without her to talk me through this, I don't know how I'll sleep. Still, I get more settled in the bed, more awake than ever. It's going to be a long night indeed.
Chapter four
Tommy
Itrail her down the hallway, my steps heavy with hesitation. The sound of the door closing behind her feels like a quiet verdict, and I pause in the dimly lit corridor, my mind swirling with conflicting thoughts. Touching her like that had been a mistake. She made that perfectly clear. And just when I thought I was making headway back to the friend area rather than the ‘pretend he doesn’t exist’ place I’d been kept in for the past year.
Yet, I couldn't help myself. She looked so vulnerable, so beautiful lying next to me on the couch. It was as if my fingers moved on their own accord. And there really was a piece of duct tape on her calf. Was I supposed to just leave it there?
The fleeting thought of tracing my fingers further up her thigh sends an unwelcome shiver through me, a mix of longing and self-reproach. Everything about her makes my body react. It starts with her smile, the first little assault that shakes my defenses down. Then, her laugh is a weapon, like a full-on concussive blast that leaves my senses deaf to the world around me. When she walks, her lithe steps are like the flash from a nuclear explosion that I can’t look away from. Every sway of her hips is always a complete assault on my cock. And my God, that perfect ass. Rounded globes begging for a smack from my palm. Tonight is no different than every other time she's been around me. My dick has been saluting her like the good soldier it wants to be since she laid next to me on the couch. Even the way her lips caressed the toast threw me off. Can eating be erotic? Cause, wow, I want those lips all over me. Fuck that toast, cockblocking little piece of bread.
Leaving the hall, I head back to the couch, but my thoughts refuse to settle. One memory in particular clings to me: the night we went dancing before all hell broke loose. How naturally my hands fit around her, her body moving in sync with mine despite my awkward attempts at rhythm. We danced like that for hours. Since then, a little over a year ago, I've thought of little else.
But for some reason, afterwards, she stopped talking to me. I've been left clueless as to why, though I was pretty drunk at the time. Sam mentioned once that Tilly thought I had turned her down.
