Even though I’m not turned on in the least, it’s tempting to take this girl upstairs and fuck her brains out.
Slender hands stroke over my chest and up my shoulders before long nails scrape the back of my neck. Her tongue peeks out to moisten her lips as her eyelids lower to half-mast. “Wanna take this little party upstairs for a while?”
When I remain silent, she presses closer and nibbles at my throat.
A month or so ago, you wouldn’t have had to ask twice. I would have happily scooped this Sasha look-alike up and carried her to my bedroom.
Now, however, the thought of actually doing that leaves a pit the size of Texas sitting at the bottom of my gut. I have zero interest in screwing a chick who resembles my best friend. In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion that it would only make matters worse.
What the hell is going on with me?
Where did all these strange thoughts and feelings come from?
I’ve never felt anything other than friendship for her. We grew up together. When I got into mischief, Sasha was always my sidekick. We had standing plans to sneak out of our houses every Saturday night to attend high school parties. She’s had a slew of boyfriends, and I’ve had...
Girls who knew I wasn’t interested in a commitment and were totally cool with that.
Over the years, I’ve gone to great lengths to never think about her in that light. She’s always been a friend who just so happened to be a chick.
After all these years, why is this happening now when we’re seniors in college and will graduate this spring? We’ve got a ton going on. She’s in the process of applying for grad school and looking for employment opportunities. My father owns his own residential construction company, and the plan has always been for me to take over one day. A degree in business management will help with that. I’ll probably end up going back to school in the not-so-distant future for my MBA, but I want to get a little work experience under my belt first. Sasha spent the last two summers interning for Dad. He’s been trying to persuade her to join the company. Our families and lives will always be entwined. The worst thing I could do is fuck up our relationship by doing something we’ll both regret.
“Easton?”
It takes a moment to blink back to the present and the perturbed girl sitting on my lap.
Well, fuck. I almost forgot about her.
That’s a first.
The way her brows pinch together along with the frown that now mars her expression tells me it’s a first for her as well.
Naomi is a gorgeous girl. Exactly the type I normally go for. Stacked on top with a big ass and a nipped-in waist. She’s like a wet dream come to life.
Except...I’m kind of wishing her body was tighter. More muscular. Athletic.
More like—
Nope. Don’t even go there.
I drag a hand over my face to banish the wayward thoughts, but it doesn’t do a damn bit of good. There’s only one girl I want to spend time with. And it’s not the one attempting to claim my distracted attention.
“Easton, are you all right?”
I shake my head before setting down the bottle and loosening her grip. I’m more than aware this will take some delicate maneuvering on my part. “No. I think it might be the tacos I wolfed down earlier. They’re not sitting well.”
A look of horror flashes across her pretty features. “Oh my god, are you going to throw up?”
Now that she mentioned it...
I nod solemnly. “It’s a definite possibility.”
The color in her cheeks drains. “Yeah...I can’t be around someone who’s sick. Even the thought of it makes me gag.” She scampers off my lap before carefully backing away like I’ve just been diagnosed with syphilis.
“Okay, well...” She stabs a finger toward the dining room where a bunch of people have congregated. “I’m just gonna see what Megan is up to.”
A smile trembles around the corners of my lips. That was easier than anticipated. “No worries.”
“Text me when you’re feeling better,” she calls over her shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.
“Sure.” By the time the response leaves my lips, Naomi is long gone. My guess is that she’s moving on to greener pastures. I can’t blame her for not sticking around to make sure I’m all right. It’s not like we’re in a relationship. Or even know each other that well. When it comes right down to it, we’re fuck buddies.
That notion has never bothered me before, but now...
I don’t know.
For some reason, it does. I could go upstairs and puke my guts out and this girl wouldn’t give a goddamn. She’d walk over my heaving body to get to the next football player who looked sideways at her.
I shake my head to clear it of the bizarre thoughts that have taken up residence inside my brain.