I never want her to know about Gabby. She would think we’re only friends because of her resemblance to her. The truth is more along the lines I’m friends with her despite the fact she constantly reminds me of that bitch.
Gabby hasn’t even tried to call me since the day I walked away from her and Dom. Hell, to be honest, Dom hasn’t either. I think that probably speaks volumes. He’s probably fucking her tonight. If there’s any justice, she’ll give him something to put his dick out of commission. Those two deserve each other.
I jump out of the shower and throw on some sweats and an old Metallica T-shirt. Almost as if it was timed, I hear the knock at the door. I open it to find Lyla standing there holding two milkshakes and a small, white paper bag.
She looks good but different. Her hair is pulled up in a ponytail—which is how she normally wears it. What’s different, though, is that she’s wearing a blue dress with little flowers on it. I mean, it’s not overtly sexy, but it still shows off more leg and cleavage than she’s shown before. When Gabby used to dress up, she was always in these outfits that showed off her tits and her ass, usually with a deep cut in the front. Although Lyla’s isn’t doing that, I can’t say I like it on her either. I prefer her how she always is… I shrug the thought away. I’m being stupid. She’s dressing like most girls do, and we’re just friends. It’s not like I should care what she wears. I’m not laying a claim to her.
“Hey,” she says, smiling up at me, her eyes twinkling with happiness.
Happiness to see me.
That’s a drug a man could get addicted to quickly.
“Hey. W-What’s in the bag?”
“It’s a surprise. You going to let me in?”
“I suppose I could. I do have a pizza in here that’s half just cheese and sausage.”
“Yes-s-s-s,” she practically moans while fist bumping in victory. She’s goofy as hell, but I like it.
“G-get your ass in here,” I laugh, standing back to let her in.
“Thomas, I’m not judging, but we really need to spruce up your apartment if you keep it,” she says as she puts her packages on the bar.
“It’s a dump. I’m not sure much can be done with it, babe.”
“Well, some paint might help,” she says.
I shake my head. “D-D-Does it bother you where I live?” That’s something I haven’t considered when it comes to Lyla. It would bother Gabby, though. I doubt she would be caught dead in a place like this. It doesn’t really matter with Lyla. I’m not trying to go out with her, but still, it unsettles me that she cares what my place looks like.
“Thomas,” she gasps, turning to look directly in my face. “I told you about Chad,” she mutters. I grimace because she did tell me about her ex who pushed her aside because he got with a rich girl. I told Lyla it was the guy’s loss because she deserved much better. I was serious, but I don’t think it made her feel any better. “You have to know I would never care about what you can afford. That’s not who I am. I mean, I’m a student going into business and accounting,” she laughs. “I just…”
“J-just?”
“I thought maybe if we fixed the place up you might want to stay a little longer,” she finally says. A pale pink blush blooms on her face. I lean over and kiss her forehead, trying to put her at ease.
“You’re s-sweet, Sunflower.”
Her arms go around me, and she holds me to her. Almost unwillingly, my hands go to her hair and I comb my fingers through the blonde tresses. I breathe her scent in. Clean, fresh, genuine… I allow myself to feel her goodness for a minute. I let it envelop me and close my eyes. I stiffen when I feel her lips press against my neck. A shiver of awareness moves through my body. I pull back to look down at her. I need to put an end to this. I don’t want to ruin the friendship that we have. One thing stops me. She looks up at me, and there’s a vulnerability in her eyes that I understand. I recognize it because I’ve felt it myself.
“I like you, Thomas.”
Her words hit me with the force of a bullet, and they go straight to the heart. I know I’m in dangerous territory, and I need to pull away, but as she leans up on the tips of her toes, I can’t stop myself. I lean down, and almost as if in slow motion, our lips touch, sliding against one another. The taste of her is sugar sweet. It’s so good that I’m not strong enough to resist—even if she deserves better. Her tongue tentatively comes out touching mine, and I deepen the kiss, needing more—even as I curse myself for doing it.