Page 142 of The Friend Situation

Earlier, everything was in disarray, and life felt chaotic and uncertain. Why does it now seem like the stars are aligning?

Weston steps out of his room, and I can hear him skipping down the stairs, the faint sounds of his footsteps echoing through the stillness. I lie back on the bed, glancing at the ring around my finger, seeing it sparkle in the glow of the lamp beside the bed. I tell myself this is fake.

Weston returns, and he’s holding a cupcake with a flickering candle on top. The flame dances and casts a glow across his face. He’s protectively cupping the flame with his hand as he walks toward me.

I sit upright, my heart racing.

Weston drops to his knees so we’re face-to-face. The moment’s full of unspoken words. “Happy one year.”

I glance up at the clock on the wall, and I notice it’s just past midnight. “But we weren’t dating.”

“Weren’t we?” Carefully, he brushes my hair out of my face, his fingers grazing against my skin. “We’ve seen each other weekly, except for that month I was away on business.” He searches myface for understanding. “And you would’ve fucked me at least five times.”

I scoff, offering a teasing smile. “Oh, it wasmorethan five.”

“You’re all I ever think about,” he whispers, his breath ghosting across my lips. “Make a wish.”

Weston holds the cupcake in front of me. I meet his gaze, appreciating his thoughtfulness and how he makes the smallest thing feel special.

“Any wish you want,” he mutters.

I think about my life. Uncertainty weaves through the air. I want the impossible to be possible. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes, and then quickly blow out the candle.

“Tell me when it comes true,” he says with a wink, almost as if he can read my mind. “You have to taste this icing.”

Carefully, he runs his finger along the frosting, and I open my mouth, allowing him to feed it to me.

“Mmm. Damn,” I say, resting my arms on his shoulders as he leans in close, our faces mere inches apart. “I want you so bad, Wes.”

He leans forward, tracing his lips across mine, tasting my words.

“Please,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, desperate for him.

He sets the cupcake down on the table next to the bed, then unbuckles the heels from my feet, his lips trailing kisses up my leg. With precision, his strong hands slide effortlessly up to the zipper on the side of my dress. Weston hooks his fingers in the thin straps, peeling away the velvety material that clings to my body.

He tosses the dress into a pile on the floor, then stands before me, memorizing and admiring every inch of me. His gaze is intense and full of hunger.

“I like it when you look at me like that,” I admit.

His need for me is undeniable. He’s straining against the fabric of his suit pants.

He slides his suit jacket off his shoulders, the fabric slippingdown his toned arms before falling to the floor in a puddle of dark red, and then he carefully undoes his vest and tie. I can’t help but watch each deliberate move he makes as he removes his clothes. Exhilaration soars through me as he undresses for me. I sit up, my hands gliding across the contours of the muscles on his stomach. There are no more barriers between us, no more holdbacks. Our want is raw and unfiltered.

It’s just me and Weston, together and alone. It’s too intimate and overwhelming as passion streams between us. An intense soul connection, the same one I felt the first time our gazes met at Sluggers. That’s when I knew that maybe the two of us had a chance. It was a shot in the dark, two people so opposite from one another that there was no way this could potentially work.

Or maybe it could, and I’ve been living in denial.

My fingers trail across his warm skin, and I lean forward, pressing kisses around his abs.

Weston places his hands on my shoulders, gently guiding me down to the mattress. I sink into it, feeling the cool comforter beneath me. My heart races when he grabs a condom from the bedside table, the sound of the wrapper crinkling a simple reminder of how far we’ve come. I watch him as he sheathes himself, mesmerized by his confidence as he settles between my legs. He pauses outside my entrance.

“What are you waiting for?” I gently ask, aware of the hesitation in his movements.

“We can’t uncross this line,” he reminds me, his voice low. “We can stop.”

“Go slow,” I whisper, pleading with everything I am for him to give himself to me. “Please don’t make me beg anymore. I’ve waited a year for this.”

He grips my waist and does exactly what I asked. Each thrust is deliberate, allowing me time to adjust to every long inch of him. His breath is ragged and erratic in my ear, and it nearly causes me to crumble beneath him.

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