Page 12 of Sweet Hate
Oh shit.
Is it a bad idea to play seven minutes in heaven with your best friend? The same one who already unknowingly stars in all your wet dreams?
Asking for a friend.
Screw it.
Trying to ignore the erratic beating of my heart, I take in her face, her teeth digging into her plump bottom lip, her flushed cheeks, the rapid rise and fall of her big tits. Thirteen years of friendship means I can read her like a book. I flash her an easy grin, and she immediately relaxes.
“I double dare you to come into the closet with me.” I quirk a brow her way, sending our group into a fresh wave of laughter.
They’re used to our crazy dares, and, more often than not,they join in. Her eyes widen even more, leaving her looking like an adorable Disney princess, but I know my girl never backs down from a dare.
She runs her hands down her bare thighs, drawing my gaze to her tiny pink denim shorts as she stands up and saunters into the darkened utility closet—or heaven for the purpose of this game.
Seconds later, her voice rings out.
“Coming, Axeman?”
If I’m not careful, I might.
Haven has always been gorgeous, but to me she’s more than that. She's electric. She makes me come alive in ways I can’t describe, and I know I could spend twenty-four hours a day with her, seven days a week, and I wouldn’t get bored. She's the only person who fully sees me and who lets me see the real her.
And I’m pretty sure she owns a part of my soul, and she doesn’t even know it.
Jumping up to follow her, my heart hammers and my palms sweat. I slide them into my pockets because no one likes wet, slimy fish hands.
I don’t know why I’m nervous. It’s not like they’ll know if we do anything, right? We can just stand in there and talk for seven minutes. The closer I get to the closet, the further my heart sinks to my stomach.
What if this is my one chance to know what it’s like to be with her before she leaves town for good in a few months, without risking everything we have?
To kiss her properly? Will she like it? Will I like it? Hell, who am I kidding? Obviously I will. I’ve found myself staring at her lips a lot more than a friend should over the last two years.
I don’t know if it’s because she’s been making them look all plump and shiny or if it’s because I saw Lucas crowding her, trying to get her to go on a date with him.
That was the first and only time I wanted to punch him in the face. Just thinking about it has my blood boiling and my hands fisting at my sides.
Let’s be real…I’ve been desperate to kiss her since we played Spin the Bottle on her sixteenth birthday—another of Lucas’s stupid party games—two years ago.
Her spin landed on me—for the first and only time—and she missed my cheek, kissing the corner of my mouth instead. It wasn’t even a proper kiss, but that quick touch sent my blood pumping like I’d run track for three hours straight.
Since then the idea of any other dude kissing her has me feeling some kinda way.
I’m jealous, that’s all there is to it. At some point, I started to see my best friend as mine.
Mine to protect.
Mine to support.
Mine to kiss—okay, I’ve only imagined that part, but that’s beside the point.
Mine.
We can still be best friends. One little kiss won’t mess that up. I won’t let it.
But the intense need flooding my system right now tells me I have to know what her lips feel like pressed to mine. Just once. Then, we go back to being best friends. Totally normal. Just like nothing ever happened. We’ve got this.
“Seven minutes start when the door shuts, and we’ll turn the light back on and knock when your time is up. Happy kissing, you two.” Lucas calls out as I get to the door.
