“Want me to bring over some ice cream? It was supposed to be for Daphne’s breakup with that ADA she was seeing, but she never called me when they broke up so it’s been chilling in the freezer ever since.”
There’s a lengthy silence before McCann clears his throat.
“There was a time when I thought you should be hitting that, but it’s probably better that you’re just staying friends with the girl. If I hadn’t made a move on Nic, we’d still be hanging out this weekend, going to a truck rally or some shit. But I thought that I had to have my dick in her and she’d only allow it if we were married and here we are—hating each other so much that we can’t live in the same house. Thanks for the ice cream offer, but I’m going to need something stronger than that. Talk to you next week.”
He hangs up before I can respond. I lift the bottle to my mouth and then set it down again. It’s not like I haven’t thought about fucking her. When Daphne first started getting breasts, it’s all I thought about. I had an embarrassing number of wet dreams until I mentally convinced myself she had two jellyfish attached to her chest that would sting me if I got close. It worked all winter, but once she shed her sweaters for a bikini, I was toast. I convinced my dad to send me away to summer athletic camps where I was surrounded by sweaty jockstraps and foul-mouthed coaches. Once I learned some self-discipline, though, I returned to Daphne’s side as her best friend and haven’t left since.
Oh, sure, there was a time or five thousand that I wanted to nail her to the nearest surface and screw her brains out. From time to time, I’d slip up and entertain a filthy fantasy about fucking her until we were both too tired to move. But I moved on because I didn’t just admire Daphne’s very fine body. Nope. I have yet to meet anyone with her wry sense of humor, her willingness to listen, her no-bullshit attitude in one package.
I feel for McCann. I really do. Daphne has been my best friend for years. Every high I’ve experienced has been with her and every valley I’ve trudged through has seen her by my side. I wouldn’t give up any of those moments for a quick roll in the hay—no matter how explosive I know it would be.
I could give up being around the best person I knew or I could bury my want under two tons of mental lead and move on. Reader, I fucking buried it.
I tip the bottle, drain half of it, and shoot down the pesky thoughts that heat my blood and tighten my groin. Daphne and I are friends. That’s it. Another few swallows and the bottle is empty. I grab another cold one from the fridge and go to find my suit. This wedding is not going to be a disaster, because I will get to spend some time with my girl. Platonic time. Totally, completely platonic time.
I stop at the bathroom door and eye the shower. Maybe I should take a cold shower first.
* * *
I could have bathed in the Antarctic Ocean for a week, and I wouldn’t have been prepared for the vision currently standing in front of me. Daphne doesn’t dress up often. She says that when she’s in the courtroom, she wants everyone there to be focusing on the evidence and not judging whether her skirt is long enough or her jacket is too tight. Her work is plain and boxy and boring. At home, she wears big flannel pajama bottoms and oversized T-shirts that I once thought were her old boyfriend’s but later learned that she just buys oversized shirts because she thinks they’re comfortable.
That last tidbit was a relief because I didn’t much like the idea of her sleeping in a shirt that belonged to one of her deadbeat boyfriends. It wasn’t that I was jealous or anything. Those assholes just didn’t deserve to be remembered by her in any way. And they didn’t deserve to have something of theirs touching her bare skin. Only I should—I cut that thought off right away.
I shouldn’t do anything but zip up this dress before the sight of her bare shoulders sends me into a frenzy.
“Be careful that you don’t get the zipper caught in the lace,” she says, unconsciously twitching her ass that is currently covered in some puke-yellow satin, which on anyone else would look gross, but Daphne manages to make it hot. Too hot.
My grip around the metal pull tightens as the rise of her butt cheeks brushes my knuckles. Sweat breaks out across my forehead. “Fuck, how hot do you have it in here? Is it ninety?”