Page 67 of The Friend Situation

He needs to see what he does to me.

I’ll bury it all again when the sun rises.

My breasts rise and fall, and every muscle in my body tenses. I’m right back to being suspended in air. At any second, I’ll lose myself to thoughts of him.

“So, so close,” I hiss, knowing I need this more than I need air.

“Come for me like a good fucking girl,” he demands.

“Weston,” I whisper as ecstasy washes through me. It’s like I unraveled on his command.

I come so hard that I don’t recognize the cries releasing from my throat. I cover my mouth, knowing my walls are paper thin, loving how he’s watching me. It brought soloing to a new level. My eyes open, and I’m in a haze as he stares back at me.

Neither of us says a word.

“I told you to never say my name like that again,” he mutters dangerously with hooded eyes.

“I’m not sorry,” I offer, drunk on thoughts of him. “Did you need something?”

“No, I just had a hunch, and I was right. Taste yourself for me. Tomorrow, things have to go back to how they were before tonight.”

“Of course,” I tell him, still trying to gain control.

“Sweet dreams, Firefly.”

“Good night.”

I reach over, tapping the screen to end the call, closing my eyes as my heavy thoughts press down on me. I feel like I’ve slipped into a dream world and I don’t want to awaken.

Did I really just do that? Yes, I did, but I have no regrets.

Now, tomorrow might be a different story.

11

WESTON

Six Days Later

Inearly survived the week without texting Carlee once.

Happy fucking Friday.

Five nights have passed, and we’ve not had one conversation. She also hasn’t posted on LuxLeaks. The sabbatical continues. Meanwhile, more blind items about me have been shared.

A voice memo that I’d sent Lena years ago was passed around publicly. She’s trying to spin thesecret girlfriendrumor like we’re back together, and the trashy gossip magazines have presented old images of us like it’s new information. Shady as fuck.

I’m aware that Carlee is keeping up with the Calloways. She always is.

I pull on my warmest winter gear and venture into Central Park. The chill air nips at my cheeks, but snow isn’t falling, so I take advantage. The scent of damp earth reminds me why I chose the penthouse on Billionaires’ Row—for location alone. In the summer, the lush greens and towering trees make me feel less like I’m swimming in a sea of concrete.

The city has my heart, but the great outdoors owns my soul. It’s why I love to travel.

My thoughts spiral, without pause, replaying every moment from last weekend like a movie stuck on repeat. The laughter, the side-glances, and the undeniable chemistry still linger in my mind, reminding me of what could be—or maybe whatshouldbe.

What would’ve happened had I not stopped us from going any further? The possibility of falling in love with Carlee is intoxicating, a real fantasy.

With every stride forward, I try to grasp the tangled web of emotions brewing inside me. My anxiety mingles with exhilaration, and it’s a constant push-and-pull.

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