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Me: We’re not dating.
Alona: Yet. LOL. So do you like him? Mama thought you two had ‘the vibes’.
Me: We’re roommates. And friends.
Alona: That didn’t answer my question, but I’ll let you off the hook for now. I’m going to need to meet this guy.
Me: He’s already been threatened by Nick and the Olivers and Tato. He doesn’t need you up his ass too.
Alona: My mind is exploding with butt sex jokes.
Me: Goodbye weirdo.
Michael
“Damn it, Nutella! Get away from me!”
It was two-thirty in the morning and I’d just gotten home from a late shift at Sweet Cocktails. A vicious virus had made its way through my staff, and I was down to a skeleton crew right now. Olga’s cat had gotten into the habit of waiting for me by the door when I came home, presumably hearing the elevator dinging, and swiping at my ankles when I came through the door.
I’d gotten pretty good at thwarting Nutella’s attacks, but tonight I was exhausted from working a double shift, and the cat caught me unaware, his claws finding a sliver of bare skin between my pant leg and my shoe.
Even though Olga and Nutella had been living here for two months now, Nutella refused to warm up to me. I’d even tried bribing the little bastard, bringing him fish from the restaurant, and still he hated me. Olga assured me it wasn’t personal, but I still was determined to win the little furball over.
If he didn’t kill me first.
“What happened?”
I looked up from examining my ankle to see Olga in the hallway looking sleepy and adorably rumpled. She was wearing an old football jersey that hit her mid-thigh, and her usual wool socks. My girl always had cold feet. Um, I mean my friend always had cold feet. As I studied the jersey I felt a rush of something that felt like jealousy. Whose jersey was that? An ex-boyfriend?
“Nutella caught my ankle and drew blood,” I told her, still staring at her from where I was crouched on the floor. From this angle her bare legs looked a mile long.
“Oh my God! Nutella! You’re such a bad boy!” she scolded.
As her cat skulked off she grabbed my wrist, pulling me up to stand. “Go sit down in the kitchen, I’ll get the first aid kit.”
I started to tell her I was fine and not to worry, but I liked this caretaking side of Olga more than I wanted to admit. I obediently went into the kitchen, rolling my pant leg up and kicking off my shoe and below-the-ankle sock.
Olga returned with the first aid kit and gently lifted my leg up onto another chair, squatting down so she could get a good look at my scratch. A thin trail of blood oozed from the scratch.
“It doesn’t look too deep, but cat scratches get infected pretty easily,” she said, “I’m going to disinfect it.”
I was studying the dark hair that formed a curtain around her face instead of paying attention, so when the alcohol wipe touched the cut I jumped and hissed.
She placed a hand on my shin, and I felt a little zing where our skin touched.
“Don’t be a baby,” she said, but there was no sting behind her words, unlike the alcohol wipe which was stinging like crazy. “I’m almost done cleaning it.”
After she was satisfied that she’d killed any bacteria that had ever come into contact with my ankle, Olga applied a thin layer of antibiotic, then affixed a large band-aid. It took everything in me to avoid suggesting that she kiss my boo boo and make it better.
“There you go.”
She looked up at me from beneath her lashes and with her being on her knees, my filthy mind took off on a path it shouldn’t go down. I felt my dick twitch at her nearness and hastened to put my foot back on the floor before I popped a boner right in front of her like a randy teenager.
“Thanks for taking care of me,” I said, my voice husky.
“It’s the least I can do after bringing my crazy cat into your home.”
Our eyes met and held, the air seeming to heat up around us. My desire for this woman coursed through my body, warring with the knowledge that I was firmly in the friend zone with her. I was desperately in love with her, but there was no way I was going to ruin our friendship or make her comfortable.
