Page 41 of Make You Stay

She winks, nodding at the clock. “Time to make myself presentable. You sure you don’t mind picking me up? I am out of the way, after all.”

Just like that, she eases us back into our usual, comfortable banter. Away from the heavy innuendos and lingering desire.

But unlike before, when I’d be grateful for the diversion, I’m tired of denying what I feel for her. Tired of convincing myself that feeling something for her is wrong.

Tired of my damn rules.

I created them, so I should be able to break the damn things.

* * *

I spendwaytoo much time getting ready for our non-date, even getting a haircut and professional shave.

Holy crap, I have it bad.

After trying on three shirts, I grunt in disgust, realizing this is what it’s like to be a woman. Every. Damn. Day.

I finally settle on a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. It’s classic. Simple.

Doesn’t look like I’m trying too hard.

I contemplate getting Chloe flowers again but realize that’s muddying up already turgid waters.

It’s just two friends going to the local bar, where she can watch my band play.

Two friends who kissed last night.

Two friends who desperately want to sleep together.

Two friends who know that sleeping together is likely a terrible idea for said friendship.

Do I still want to sleep with Chloe? You better believe it.

I’m on her doorstep at eight o’clock, trying my best to appear natural.

It’s not a date. It’s not a date.

“Why did you ring the bell? You have a key.” She pauses, looking up at me. “Nice haircut.”

“Thanks. Figured I needed a different style for the whole no beard look.”

“You look fantastic. Now you’re making me feel like a slacker.”

She sure doesn’t look like one. Most days, Chloe dresses for comfort, which makes sense since she works from home.

But I got an eyeful—and a handful—of her luscious body last night, and all I can say is she’s got the most incredible ass on the damn planet.

Judging by the skintight pants she’s wearing, she knows it.

There’s no hiding a single curve under the gray fabric, and when she bends over to turn on a table lamp, I notice something else. She’s not wearing underwear.

I get it’s likely a fashion choice and not a subtle hint toward playtime, but my dick doesn’t care. It’s all systems go, and we haven’t even left the house yet.

“You look amazing, Chloe.”

She does, too. Besides the pants, she’s got on a sweater that slips off one shoulder, offering a hint of the most kissable skin I’ve ever seen.

In other words? If Zeke takes one step toward Chloe tonight, I’m knocking him on his ass.

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