Page 148 of The Friend Situation

“Weston, we’renotgetting married.” She chuckles.

“Okay,” I say, grabbing my cup of coffee and joining her in front of the tall windows.

A blanket of snow covers Central Park. Its white surface glistens under the sunlight, but it’s beginning to melt.

“We’re not!” she insists.

I take her hand, kissing the ring that graces her finger. “Okay.”

I watch the diamond catch the light, shimmering like a distant star before I return to her gaze. “Butwhat ifwe did?”

She snatches her hand from my grasp. “You’ve already had one shitty marriage. Your next one should be the real deal.”

“Okay.” My response comes out sultrier than I intended.

She tilts her head, curiosity lighting her eyes. “Is that your word of the day?”

I shrug.

“Perfect. I want to cash in one of my wishes then,” she says, shooting me a smoldering look.

“Okay?” I lift a brow, suddenly intrigued.

“Play for me,” she requests, her voice enticing. “Please. I’ve been staring at this piano all morning, and I want to hear it.”

“Okay,” I mutter, setting my mug on the bar with a clink.

“Pretty please?” she asks, looking up at me with puppy-dog eyes.

How can I deny her?

“You’d better be glad you’re cute,” I tell her.

The truth is, she’s my best friend, and I’ll give herwhatevershe wants.

With a smirk, she hooks her pinkie with mine, then guides me to the grand piano in the center of the room. “You haven’t forgotten how to play, have you?”

“No.”

I place my hands on her hips and lift her effortlessly to sit on top of the polished surface of the piano. Carefully, I pull the bench seat forward and part her legs, revealing her barely there panties clinging to her delicate curves. Her tiptoes balance on the edge of the keys, teetering with anticipation.

“Mmm. I’m suddenly feeling extremelyinspired,” I say, licking my lips.

“Really?”

Carlee hooks her fingers in the hem of her T-shirt, removing it and revealing herself to me. Her perky little nipples stand at attention, exposed to the air. I breathe deeply as I place my fingers on top of the keys.

“What would you like to hear, gorgeous?” I ask, looking up into her eyes, pressing my face against her, inhaling her essence. The only barrier keeping us apart is the thin fabric of her panties. I grab the material gently with my teeth and tug until it pops back onto her.

She keeps herself propped upright with a glint in her gaze. “Anything. I’m not picky,” she whispers.

Für Elise.A classic.

At first, I start slow, my fingers hesitant, knowing I haven’t touched the keys in over four years, but it’s a skill that lies dormant, never forgotten. I pause, cracking my fingers to shake off the rust before I return, sitting up straighter, my body awakening. At one point in my life, I thought I’d never play again. Lena hated every note I struck.

With renewed confidence, I continue, my fingers flying over the high notes, the twinkling reminding me of a music box.

“Beethoven wrote this song for a woman he wanted to marry,” I say, my voice a low murmur as I stop to peel her panties to the side, needing to taste her.

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