“So whatever happened after that night? Did you guys talk? How are things between you right now?” she asks, and I realize I never told her what I offered him.
“Umm,” I say as I flag down the waiter for another Coke, “so, he wanted to talk about things since it was the second time we’d hooked up, which I totally get. Truthfully, I’ve managed to evade talking about our high school hookup for 15 years. I know it’s stupid, but I just didn’t want to hear his old excuses about not looking to settle down and having too much on his plate and all that. So I always play it cool.”
“But are you cool about it all?”
“No, but it’s self-preservation. I know you can understand that,” I say, referring to her roller coaster of a past with Landon. “So instead of telling him that I want a future and all that, I told him I wanted to settle down and that I felt we were on different pages in life, but that maybe we could . . .” I trail off.
“Maybe you could what?” Willow says with a knowing look.
“Be fuck buddies basically,” I say before covering my face.
“Oh Jesus, August, you know that’s a terrible idea. Need I remind you of when Landon and I tried that and the heartache it caused me? Don’t you remember picking pastry crumbs off my body after I disappeared for two weeks?” she asks, referring to the implosion of the FWB arrangement she had with her now-husband.
“I know, but hear me out . . . this is different. I’m not trying to use the FWB situation to get him to fall in love with me. This is just a means to an end. I have someone I can hook up with—someone I trust—while I’m out trying to find my forever man. Genius!” I say, smacking the table.
“You think others haven’t tried this same thing and gotten burned? All I’m saying is, be careful. You guys are way too close for one or both of you not to get hurt in all this. You know it couldn’t hurt to just tell him how you actually feel. Tell him you want to pursue something and see where it goes. If he doesn’t feel the same about you, it will hurt less than getting more and more emotionally invested while also hooking up with him. That way, you can either move on and keep your friendship intact, or you can continue this slow, torturous game you guys are playing.”
Part of me—a big part of me—knows she’s right, but I’m not ready to admit it. I’m not ready to concede that I’m just not enough for Remi to choose me. I glance at my watch and say, “I have my showing in about 30 minutes, so I need to head out, but I’m so glad we got to catch up.” We both stand and hug.
“Keep me posted, okay? I don’t want you going MIA, which would mean I’d have to send out the brigade . . . only to find you holed up in your apartment buried under Ben & Jerry’s containers.” She pulls me in for one last hug before we say goodbye and go our separate ways.
Me: Hey, where have you been lately? Haven’t seen you at The Lariat in forever.
Remi: Been busy. Sorry. Work is crazy right now.
Me: That’s a good problem to have. Not blowing me off are you?
Remi: Nope
* * *
I stare at Remi’s response: three little dots hovering as if he’s typing more, but nothing ever comes through. Eventually, I give up and toss my phone on my nightstand while I stare up at my ceiling. He can deny it all he wants, but I know he’s avoiding me. His job has always kept him busy, but it’s never kept him away from hanging out with me for weeks on end.
I think back to the last time we hung out after our hookup. Things were a bit awkward, but we got through it. We ended up going over to Blake and Pearl’s house and having a cookout and bonfire with Quinn and Sawyer and two of the Slade brothers. The night was fun: we all caught up on life, played bags, and chilled by the fire enjoying the newest Slade Reserve whiskey.
I ended up leaving before Remi, but no sooner had I gotten home and put on my PJs than I heard a knock at my front door. I opened it to find a bleary-eyed Remi leaning against the doorjamb.
“I took an Uber,” he says before I even ask. He drank more than his fair share at Pearl’s and has no business driving, so I’m relieved.
“What are you doing here?” I ask on pins and needles. I know the look on his face. It’s the same look he had the night he kissed me at the bar a few months back. Nothing ever came of my friends-with-benefits offer. No more conversations had . . .
“Wanna fuck you,” he says as he steps forward and grabs me around the waist. I don’t have time to respond. He kicks the door closed behind him and begins peeling his jacket down his arms.
“Such a sweet talker,” I say between kisses. He’s not in the mood for funny or small talk. He’s all business. He pulls my silk cami over my head before roughly grabbing my bare breasts.
“These are mine,” he says half under his breath, almost slurred, before bending down and sucking on a nipple then biting me hard. I yelp, but he just does it again. He’s rougher when he’s drunk, but it’s exciting. His words about my breasts being his send a warning signal to my brain, but I don’t have time to unpack that right now.
He kicks off his shoes as he pulls his shirt over his head. I want to feel his body—to explore it—but he doesn’t give me the chance. He’s pulling my panties and shorts down my legs before spinning me around and bending me over the arm of the couch.
He drops down to his knees and I turn to see what he’s about to do when I feel him drag his tongue all the way up my slit and over my asshole. I gasp. Did he just . . . ? Before I can finish the thought, he does it again, this time lingering on my ass, swirling his tongue around a few times. The sensation is new, and holy fuck do I want it again!
“You ready for me?” he asks before plunging two fingers into me.
“Gah,” I gasp at the unexpected intrusion, but it’s not long before I’m drenched with need. He slides his fingers into me faster, harder. I’m about to come when I hear the zip of his jeans and the pressure of his cock at my entrance. He doesn’t give me much time to adjust before he’s pumping into me.
It’s slow at first, until I’m accustomed to him, then he grips my hips, pulling me back and impaling me on his cock over and over again. My tits bounce with the movement as he grunts with each thrust. He reaches around me, squeezing his hand between me and the arm of the couch, applying pressure to my clit and causing me to explode.
It’s quick and hard. He reaches one hand up, wrapping his fingers around my throat as the other continues to grip my waist.
“You like that big cock, baby? Is that tight little pussy stretched?” he asks, his voice rugged and harsh in my ear. He’s aggressive and rough and it’s intoxicating and exciting. He pounds into me harder and harder, and I can’t get enough of the sound of our skin slapping. The feeling is euphoric.
“Ahhh!” I can’t help but cry out at the force.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he shouts over and over again. “I don’t care if it hurts, baby. I’m not stopping.”
I’m panting—so close again—as he growls and grunts before pulling out and spilling himself on my back. I feel the warmth of his release as it pools on my skin.
He leaves to grab a paper towel before returning to clean me up. He fastens his pants again and leans down to grab his shirt as I right myself. I’m suddenly very aware of my nakedness as he fastens his belt. He stares at me, reaching out to pull me toward him before plunging his tongue in my mouth. I can still taste the whiskey on it.