Scarlett’s drowsy question comes from out of the dark, the only light coming from the light in the hall. I left it on when I took a piss earlier, and the soft glow streams into her bedroom, casting a radiant filter on her smooth, bare shoulders.
She got up after we had sex to braid her hair, and now it drapes down her back like a long, silky cord.
It’s one o’clock in the morning and I haven’t been able to sleep since she shut her eyes and drifted off—hours ago.
I don’t know what woke her up, but her eyes are blinking open, lashes fluttering like butterflies.
“What’s wrong?” Her voice is laced with fatigue and concern. “Can’t you sleep?”
“Nothing is wrong.” Nothing is wrong and everything is right and I just want to lie here, basking in it, in how easy this relationship is.
Scarlett reaches for me, sliding her lithe naked body across the mattress until her ass is pressed into my front, as if it’s not the most counterproductive thing to do.
My cock twitches knowingly.
I slide my arms around her, resting along the underside of her breasts, stroking with my thumb, burying my lips in the crook of her neck.
“I love it when you touch me,” she murmurs, groggy. Then, when she raises an arm behind her to stroke the back of my neck, I use the opportunity to cup her breast in my palm. Play with the nipple, breathing into her hair. “Mmm. Love it when you touch me.”
Love.
Tenderly, I caress her skin. Gently. Lovingly.
Over her hip, deliberately, lips pressing into the flesh behind her ear. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”
“It’s too late for that.” Scarlett captures my hand, settling it between her legs, a week’s worth of non-stop sex making her bold.
And she’s good at it, too.
We’ve discovered she likes it rough. Likes a little hair pulling, likes it from behind. Loves it on top, especially when her hands can grip the headboard.
We discovered that if I suck her tits long enough, she’ll come.
We discovered that if she sucks just my tip long enough, I’ll come.
My stiff erection finds its home between her ass cheeks, digging in. Teasing. Hot and hard.
Scarlett rolls.
I grab a condom from the bedside table, rip open the wrapper, roll it on. Rise above her, pushing in.
Tired, she watches my eyes, hands on my biceps as if needing to brace me up. When I’m balls deep, I lean down, latching our mouths together, hips swiveling painfully slowly.
Mercilessly slowly.
I whimper, burying one of my hands beneath her ass, pushing deeper, the tip of my cock bumping her cervix. My eyes roll to the back of my head. Nostrils flare.
Pelvis grinds.
Scarlett lies beneath me, barely moving except to moan, tipping her head back and swirling her tongue around in my mouth. Sucks on my bottom lip.
Half asleep fucking is the best kind of fucking.
Fuck it feels good.
Shift my shoulders back, breaking the kiss, chest heavy. “Scarlett.”
I pause to glance between our bodies. Down my abs, where we’re connected. Back up, into her half-hooded eyes.
I love you. My mouth shapes the words, though no sounds come out. When I press my lips back against hers, the bridge of my nose tingles. “I love you.”
Freaking eyes get misty, so goddamn cheesy. What the actual fuck is wrong with me? Am I seriously about to fucking cry?
These are my last coherent thoughts as I start spilling my guts—just as I’m dumping my load into the condom, the words start cascading out of my freakin’ mouth.
“I’m so fucking in love with you, Scarlett.”
Her sleepy doe eyes—they’re beautiful, blue perfection. Soft as she gazes up at me, the palm of her petite hand cupping my jaw, adoringly.
“I love you, too,” she whispers.
I kiss the palm of her hand before bowing my head, burying it in her shoulder. We stay this way for a long while, wrapped up in each other, neither in any rush, my spent cock still inside her heat.
My best friend.
I am one lucky bastard.
113th FRIDAY
EPILOGUE
“The One Where We Went Back for Homecoming Two Years Later.”
Scarlett
The baseball house hasn’t changed a bit—same peeling paint on the siding, same crooked floorboards, same porch swing.
The chains are rustier now, and it still hasn’t been given a new coat of paint, but it’s swaying back and forth with the breeze, sturdy and inviting as it ever was.
I plop down on it, feet dangling. Give it a push, letting it glide me back and forth. Take a sip from my water bottle just as a group of co-eds climb the wooden stairs, their tight leggings and Iowa crop tops a stark contrast to my outfit: blue jeans and a fitted black and yellow Wade #8 baseball jersey.
Sterling had it custom made for me so I’d be a better WAG (I had to google it after all, not knowing that it meant wives and girlfriends of athletes), and his were all too large for me.
When he got drafted—sixth round, to the Diamondbacks—he had one of those jerseys made for me, too.
That’s where we ended up: Arizona.
Farther from water than I was before, but Sterling bought us the sweetest little house with beautiful mountain views, a pool, and giant king-sized bed. I managed to land a job at the new aquarium they built in Phoenix, three years old, full of state-of-the-art lab equipment, and some of most beautiful saltwater fish I’ve ever seen.
Life is good.
I love my job, but not nearly as much as I love him, so when I can travel to his away games during the season, I do, not wanting to become so independent I lose sight of what we’re working toward.
Us.
I pull my warm coat tighter around my body, enjoying the cool breeze kicking, when a familiar face walks past the porch from the side yard.
“Hey sweetie, where have you been?”
Sterling’s face is older now and every bit as handsome, the Arizona sun having bronzed it to perfection. “I was just about to come looking for you.”
“What are you still doing out here alone? I thought everyone went inside?” And I was here, waiting for him.
“Waiting for you, I guess.” I give the swing another push with the toe of my boot. “Enjoying the quiet.”
“You weren’t inside cock blocking any of the youngsters inside, were you?” Sterling teases. “Ben didn’t try to kick you out for old times’ sake, did he?”
“Ben’s blacklisting days are over, honey.”
Because Sterling and I are legendary now.
Everyone on campus eventually heard our story, how I was brought onto the porch for driving his friends crazy, how I came back the next Friday, and the Friday after that…
And, every once in a while, Sterling will get a message from Ben Wilson—the colossal asshole who wanted me gone, who’s now taking credit for our relationship. Ben isn’t playing baseball professionally, but he’s living with a girl he met at the house on Jock Row. Felicity showed up to one of their ridiculous parties wearing a turtleneck and blue jeans, finished the punchline to his terrible pick-up line before he could, and called him a douchebag to his face.
The rest, as they say, is history.
Ben took one look at her and fell hard.
“You’re out here because it’s quiet?” His brows go up.
The music inside is blasting and the place is packed, full of drinking games and shouting, drunk, cheering voices.
My mouth quirks. “You know what I mean.” I’ve never been wild about hanging out inside. Even though at homecoming there are just as many alums as collegians, which evens out the underage drinking ratio considerably in the right direction.
Something about this porch is everything I need.
Sterling wipes the palms of his hands on the dark denim of this thighs, taking the seat beside me on the swing. Wipes his hands again, resting them on his knees—his bouncing knees.
It creaks under his solid, 220-pound weight and sudden fidgeting.
My brow creases, but I say nothing.
“Feels good to be back, doesn’t it?”
“Sure.” But I don’t miss it as much as I thought I would when we left, probably because we’re together. And Sterling Wade is the funniest, sexiest, sweetest man. And he’s mine.