Page 109 of The Friend Situation

“It’s just an elevator ride away.”

“No, no, it’s fine.”

“I’m glad you’re okay and that you weren’t home when that happened.”

I let out a huff. “I didn’t think about that. What if they were watching me? Making sure I was gone?” A chill runs up my spine.

“I can’t think about that,” she says. “Can we get together soon and talk about everything?”

“Yes,” I promise her.

We make some more small talk, then say our good nights and end the call. I turn on the bedside lamp and then put on a tank top and some shorts. The sheets are cool to the touch, and I shiver as I slide between them.

I set my alarm and scroll on my phone, wanting Mr. Sandman to steal me away.

I count sheep, but it doesn’t work. My body is too tense to let go. I toss and turn and grow even more annoyed.

I roll over, pick up my phone, and realize an entire fucking hour has passed. Insomnia has struck—something I haven’t experienced since I was a college student.

I think it’s just the stress and worry of everything. Not to mention, my feet are ice cold, and I’m freezing. I pull the covers over my head and try to relax.

Frustrated, I push them off of me and crawl out of bed. I tiptoe toward Weston’s room and open the door to where he’s sleeping.

“Weston,” I whisper, “I can’t sleep. My mind and heart are racing and?—”

He lifts his arm and the blanket. “Come here.”

I hesitate briefly, and then I crawl into his bed. With his strong arms around me, he pulls me closer and holds me.

“Let the record state that you already broke your rule,” he says in a hushed tone as his warm body presses against mine.

My breath hitches, and I roll over to face him. His eyes open. Our warm breaths mix, and he leans forward to kiss my forehead. I lift my chin, our mouths connecting, and butterflies erupt inside of me when he kisses me back. His tongue slides into my mouth, and the kiss deepens. Our breathing grows heavy.

“I’ll break my rules for you,” I whisper.

“You should sleep. You’re exhausted,” he says, and I capture his lips again.

“I don’t care,” I admit.

Need and want take control.

As our lips crash together, I grow desperate for him. His cock is hard against my stomach, and I slide my hand inside his joggers.

“Fuck,” he whispers as I stroke him.

He’s so damn thick.

My body begs for him.

His breathing is ragged as I gently rub my hand over his shaft, teasing him.

“Choose me tobe her,” I say, and it comes out as a breathless plea.

“I did the night we met,” he confesses.

17

WESTON

---