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LEE
We can try, but I have a feeling it will end badly. As for Em, she’s not my girlfriend. She’s just a friend. Introducing her to you guys is the type of thing you do with a girlfriend, and it would give off the wrong impression. So, no, I won’t be inviting her.
I quickly check what Craig’s reply is, and I’m shocked to see he’s even awake at this time on a Sunday.
CRAIG
Fine. But you have to come over here and play Playstation next week sometime. Okay?
LEE
Fine. How about Tuesday evening, after work?
There’s no point in trying to argue with Craig. When he’s got an idea in his head, that’s it. I know he’s not going to let this night out thing go, but I will fight him on it. It’s not just that the idea of spending the evening with the guys makes me want to poke my eyes out, it’s also because going out with them would mean giving up my time with Em.
I don’t even want to think about what that means. But the truth is, I do enjoy spending time with her, and that’s something that scares the shit out of me. Typically I’m a person who prefers my own company, and I hate spending lots of time with people. Yet, with Em, it comes so naturally. As soon as I know she’s off at the weekend, I arrange to see her. And it’s not just for one night—though that’s usually how it starts. I ask if she wants to get some food together on Friday night, and she agrees. That usually evolves, and I don’t leave until Monday morning when I head off to work.
I’ve even come to hate it when she’s on shift. When our time together has to be cut short because she has to go into work. And don’t even get me started about when she’s on nights. I barely get to speak to her, since we’re on different times. She’s getting ready to go to work when I’m on my way home. Meaning we don’t get to talk much for those four days, and they’re quickly becoming the longest days.
I know I shouldn’t feel this way. That I shouldn’t crave meeting her, or miss her when we don’t see each other, but I do. There’s just something about her, an ease that we have when we’re together. Being around her is comfortable and easy, and more than that she makes me laugh. And lets be honest, the fact the sex is fucking phenomenal helps a lot. But there’s more to it than just sex.
I try to tell myself it’s because we’re friends. And as the label suggests, it’s okay for us to be friends. It’s actually good that we get along so well outside of the sex stuff, as that solidifies that friends-with-benefits is the right option for us. But the more I repeat all this to myself—in an effort to try and make myself believe it—the harder it is to ignore that tiny voice in the back of my mind. The one screaming that this is already something more, we’re just using the wrong label.
To anyone looking in from the outside, they might think we are a couple. That we act like a couple. Do activities that couples do. And I’d probably agree with you—a little. But I don’t give a shit what other people think. I like things the way they are, and as long as Em knows this is all we can ever be, that’s okay. I’ve never hidden my intentions, or lied about what I want. I’ve always made it clear I’m not looking for a girlfriend, and that’s not going to change any time soon. I’m not capable of having a relationship. Besides, my family is living proof that relationships are more trouble than they’re worth.
It always seems like whenever people get into serious relationships, things change between them. They fight more, argue over the stupidest things, and they simply can’t deal with the pressure. It’s like the love disappears as soon as you add the label, and don’t even get me started on marriage. But I’ve never hidden any of these feelings from Em. So, no matter how we might look to other people, it’s only her opinion that matters.
I place my phone back on the side and roll over, hoping I can get a little more sleep before Em wakes up. But as soon as I’m on my side, facing her, I see her eyes are open and she’s watching me. Not in a creepy way, but in a cute way. Her purple hair is fanned out over the black and white pillow case beneath her, and her face looks so different without her dark rimmed glasses on.
I’ve grown so used to her wearing them, it’s weird to see her face without them. She only uses them for reading or watching TV, and has contact lenses for during the day, but when she’s with me, she’s usually more relaxed and just has her glasses on. Without them, her face looks a little pale. But her bluey-grey eyes sparkle all the same. Her eyes look a little droopy, like she’s trying really hard not to fall back to sleep, and I don’t blame her. We were up into the early hours of the morning, fooling around.
I don’t know what it is about this girl, but she’s such a fucking turn on. Maybe it’s her understated beauty, or the way her body reacts so perfectly to mine. Or it could be that I love watching her shy, lack of body confidence, insecurities melt away as she finds her inner vixen. The way she’s so receptive to every little thing I want to try, it’s something I couldn’t even dream of. And now that she’s started voicing her own sexual preferences, things are getting really fucking good.
“Morning,” she whispers with a shy little smile creeping up on one side.
Fuck, now my semi limp dick is no longer at half, it’s growing harder by the second.
“Morning, Beautiful.” I reach out without really thinking about it and pull her over, so her head is in the crook of my shoulder, her cheek on my chest, and I’m able to wrap my arm around her.
I can feel her silky smooth skin plastered against my side, causing my whole body to prickle. She throws her leg over mine, and as she does, she lightly brushes the tip of my cock by accident. The brief sensation of her skin sweeping over the swollen head has my dick twitching in anticipation. I don’t think she even realises the effect she has on me.
With my hand wrapped around her, I gently start to stroke her long, silky purple hair, whilst she laces her fingers through the other hand. I like hugging Em, and so this is perfect for me. I also enjoy where I know this will lead.
“Was everything okay? You don’t normally get texts this early,” she mutters against my chest, the warmth of her breath tickling my hardening nipple. I’ve never thought my nipples could get sensitive, but apparently having this beautiful woman breathe on them is all they need.
I shake my head at how well she knows me already. She knows I barely get text messages, and never at this time. So to have two is more than a little odd. “Just Mum and Craig. They’re both talking about next weekend.”
She looks up at me as best she can from that position, and the way her eyes sparkle under her hooded lashes reminds me of when she’s on her knees for me. Now my dick’s getting even harder. It’s a fucking miracle she hasn’t realised yet, he’s so close to poking her in the fucking leg.
“What’s next weekend?” she asks, blush spreading across her cheeks like she’s embarrassed about asking me in case it’s too much of a personal question. She’s trying to seem casual, I think.
“It’s actually my birthday. Mum’s doing this family party that I am dreading, and Craig wants me to hang out with the guys, which I don’t want to do.” God, I sound like a fucking grumpy old man who doesn’t even know how to be cheery, let alone celebrate his birthday. But I’ve never liked birthdays. I hate being the centre of attention, and the get-togethers always seem forced. People are only attending because they feel they have to, not because they want to.
“So I can understand you not wanting to spend time with your friends, after the way they’ve been treating you. Ditching you in favour of their girlfriends is a shitty thing to do. But I don’t understand why you don’t want to hang out with your family,” she says, and before I get a chance to reply, her gaze turns steely. “And don’t think I’m just going to ignore the fact it’s your birthday and you didn’t bother to tell me.”
Oops! I actually didn’t forget to tell her, I chose not to. I don’t want it to be a big thing.
“I know you are working next weekend. Besides, I don’t really do birthdays. So it’s not a big deal to me,” I mumble, averting my eyes from hers, as I’m too afraid to see the hurt I know will be staring back.
