She chose Brandon, and I refused to stand in the way. However, that doesn’t make it easy to see them together, even now. You’d think I would’ve gotten over it, considering nothing really happened between us, but the more I saw her on the weekends and the days she’d sleep over during the summer made it impossible for me to forget her. We shared something special at that bar, or at least my heart constantly fed me that lie anytime she was close. I quickly decided the only way to deal with her constant presence was to get under her skin and frustrate her as much as I could because that was what she did to me.
It was all fun and games until eight months ago when Brandon announced she’d be moving in permanently. Lennon found a job at one of the schools here so they’d no longer have to date long distance. It was easy to see how happy he was about it too. I could’ve said no, made an argument about how there wasn’t room for her in our tiny apartment, or even mentioned how I didn’t approve of their relationship. However, I’d never put our friendship at risk by making him choose between me—his best friend—and the woman he loved.
I refused to be that guy. If the tables were turned, I knew he’d wish me luck and give me his blessing. So that’s what I did and continue to do.
Now hearing her sing in the shower each morning, watching her dance in the kitchen while she makes coffee, and doing her stupid yoga in the living room have tortured me for the past eight months. Everywhere I turn, there she is—invading my space and creating dirty thoughts in my head that I’m constantly pushing away.
It’s been fucking hell.
The only way to erase the thoughts of Lennon from my mind is to find someone else. Or that’s what I keep telling myself, at least, because I’ve tried many times and failed miserably. Something’s obviously broken inside me because no matter what I do, those feelings for her don’t go away. I know she doesn’t reciprocate them, and you’d think my dick would get the memo and stop getting hard any time I see her in a tight skirt or low-cut blouse. You’d think my heart would stop racing each time she’s near. You’d think after hearing them having sex and her screaming his name, I would stop obsessing over my best friend’s girlfriend.
But no.
I’m fucking broken.
Nothing in my head works right when it comes to her, and even screwing random chicks to erase the thoughts that haunt me hasn’t worked so far.
Though it doesn’t stop me from trying.
Once Lennon leaves for the day, slamming the door behind her, I let out a breath of relief. I still have thirty minutes before I have to leave for work, and since I showered the night before, I drink my coffee in silence without distraction.
I didn’t always shower before bed. Normally, I’d do it before work every morning or after the gym, but then Lennon blamed me for hogging the bathroom and making her late for work. Actually, I prefer to shower before bed now—I’ve come to like it—but hell if I’d ever admit that to either of them. During those early days when Lennon first moved in, we’d fight over who showered first in the mornings, which led to a lot of shouting and toilet flushing sabotage. Needless to say, Brandon begged me to compromise so the three of us could live together in peace.
For the sake of my best friend, I did, and once again, Lennon got her way—the bathroom is hers in the morning.
“Sounds like you two got off on the right foot today,” Brandon says, slowly making his way into the kitchen. With eyes half closed, he reaches for a mug and pours himself some coffee. I watch as he adds creamer and sugar before meeting me at the kitchen table.
“Not my fault she’s wound so tight,” I say into my cup before taking a drink. “She gets upset over the smallest things.”
“Probably doesn’t help that you egg her on before eight in the morning,” he kindly reminds me as he’s done dozens of times before. He takes a slow sip and releases a deep breath. “She likes routine.”
“Doesn’t mean she has to force her ways on everyone,” I tell him. “If my dishes are dirty, I’ll clean them when I feel like it. She gets her panties in a knot because I don’t do them on her watch.” We have this same conversation every few weeks, and you’d think he’d learn by now that I won’t change my ways for anyone, especially her.
“It’s your funeral, man. This fight is between you two.” He shrugs, surrendering. Brandon knows this apartment is just as much mine as it is his, and he can’t force me to do anything as long as I keep up with my half of the bills and chores. I hate putting him in the middle like this, but if I bow down to her every demand, she’ll never stop. Considering I already hate having to see her every day and live in this agony, she’ll just have to deal with me the way I deal with her.