Page 44 of Quarantine Crush
I rake my hands over my face. What the fuck is happening?
Is it quarantine getting to my head?
I dismiss the thought immediately. If I’m being honest, I’ve wanted to do that for years. I’ve just been lying to myself. To her. Ignoring my attraction to Emy has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And being stuck here with no distractions has made it even worse.
I can’t tell if I’ve completely fucked our friendship up permanently or if she’ll merely think the whole thing was a fluke. Like that kiss she gave me that first night.
I groan as I consider how different this kiss was from that first night. Compared to tonight, that first kiss can barely even be called a kiss. My blood heats again as I remember the way Emy’s soft curves fit perfectly against my own body. Like she was made for me. My dick strains against my jeans at the memory.
Fuck. I can’t afford to think of Emy like that. Because if there’s one thing I know with absolute certainty, it’s that I’m not willing to risk losing Emy, not even if her kisses make me forget my own name.
I frown as another thought comes to my mind. I thought I had taught Emy everything she knew when it came to kissing, but tonight made one thing perfectly clear–just because I’ve spent our entire life pretending she isn’t a girl doesn’t mean other men have. How had I never realized that someday someone would come along and take the spot in her heart I always thought was reserved for me? That thought makes me want to hit something–with something that will do a whole hell of a lot more damage than a pillow.
All I wanted to do was spend some quality time with my best friend. Instead, I’m making mistake after mistake and somehow hurting the one person I care about most.
Starting tomorrow, I’ll figure out how to change that. I’ll find a way to be what she needs again–and nothing more.
* * *
Sunlight streamsin through blinds I forgot to close.
I wake groggy and disoriented, rolling over to get more comfortable. A noise from the kitchen has me jerking upright, and I see Emy stumbling around in shorts and a tank. Her long hair is piled up in a messy bun, and I can see she’s still half-asleep as she goes to work brewing coffee.
I lie back and watch her, pretending to sleep.
It’s creepy and probably rude, but I can’t help it. She’s gorgeous. Especially when she thinks no one’s watching. If I’m being completely honest, I wouldn’t mind her forgetting to wear clothes again. Or sitting on my face, accident or not.
When she finally emerges, a mug in each hand, I shut my eyes and even out my breathing. I can feel her standing over me, so I yawn, stretching as I pretend to wake.
When I open my eyes, I smile up at her, studying her for some sign as to where things stand today. She doesn’t smile back, but she holds out one of the steaming mugs.
“Rise and shine,” she says, handing me the coffee as I sit up.
“Thanks.”
She retreats to the breakfast bar and opens her laptop.
“Working this morning?” I ask.
“Yep,” she calls over her shoulder. “You?”
Her tone isn’t cold, but it isn’t warm either. Looks like we’re going to pretend like last night never happened. Apparently, that’s our thing.
I debate bringing it up anyway but can’t quite find the words, so instead, I stand and sip my coffee. “Yeah, I’m going to grab a shower first.”
She doesn’t respond, so I head to the bathroom.
It isn’t until after I’m showered and drying off that I realize I’ve forgotten to bring a change of clothes in with me. My bag is still in the living room, tucked away at the end of the couch.
Shit.
Wrapping the towel around my waist, I go in search of clothes. Emy’s at the bar with her laptop open, her back to me. I keep quiet so I don’t distract her while she’s writing, but then a voice emanates from where she sits. Or I guess I should say several voices.
“Ow-ow.”
“People are making a lot of mistakes during this crisis. Can I be yours?”
“Well, hello, Mr. Quarantine and chill.”
