Page 7 of Sheets & Giggles
Ellie
Icould probably help you with that.
Pressing my teeth into my bottom lip, I try and stifle my smile, but it’s no use. I can’t believe he said that to me. Me. The girl no one has ever been interested in. I think half the reason I write book boyfriends is because I never have one of my own. Up until this point, my fantasy has been far better than my reality. And I should probably keep it that way. Starting something with a guy I barely know, who lives across the hall from me no less, is probably a terrible idea.
Still, I’m tempted. Even before the banging on my wall made me obsess over his prowess in bed, I reacted to the man. Those green eyes of his dragging down my body did things to me no other man has ever managed to do. From that first meeting he turned me on and intrigued me. Maybe I owe it to myself to see what else he can do with that oversized frame of his.
From the comfort of my bathroom, I feel like I could become a bit of a vixen, brave enough to cross that hall and play sexual games that mean very little in the cold light of day. But in reality, I know that I couldn’t give myself to Ashton without becoming attached. I’ve spoken to him a total of two times now and each time I came out blushing like a schoolgirl.
Ashton is smart, he’s funny, and for some reason he likes this curvy girl and her terrible fashion sense. I mean, each time he’s met me I have been wearing sweatpants with my hair twisted in a messy bun—which is my writing attire. I can’t get in front of my computer until the sweatpants are on and the hair is twisted on the head. It’s how I get in the mindset. And I’m not sure what’s alluring about that, but it’s obviously working for him. And those muscles of his are working for me.So maybe…
No. I can’t. I’ll only end up getting myself hurt. What girl in the history of a friends with benefits situation has ever come out with her heart intact? I can tell you I’ve written at least six books in my career about that exact scenario. And I’ve read dozens more. So, we know at heart that any girl who says‘sure, let’s just do this as friends, satisfy our needs, and walk away with our dignity intact,’is just sitting there quietly hoping the guy she’s fucking will fall in love with her. And I don’t want to do that to myself. I don’t want to become a literary trope.
“You’re better than this,” I tell my reflection before brushing my teeth and heading back into my bedroom.
I slide under the covers, lying on my back and staring at the ceiling. Normally I’d lie here trying to work out where my story will go next. But instead, I’m working on a fuck buddy pros and cons list.
Pro: I’d get to have sex with a really hot guy without any pressure or feelings in the mix.
Con: I’d have to have sex with a really hot guy, which sounds like a pro, but when you’ve spent your life being awkward as fuck, the idea makes me feel, well,awkward.
Pro: Regular sex promotes healthy endorphins, and when I feel good, I write better.
Con: I might start ditching my writing time in favor of sexy time.
Releasing a sigh, I pull my covers up to my chin and try to snuggle down and push thoughts of Ashton and sex out of my mind. But I can’t. For every pro there is a con, and for every con, there’s a pro I prefer to the con. Besides, if I don’t do something about this buzzing attraction in my body soon, I will never sleep, which means I will never write, and then I’ll be royally screwed—but not in a good way.
Deciding to get up and go straight over there before I can change my mind, I forego my fluffy slippers and head over there barefoot wearing shorty pajamas and a tank top. Just as I lift my hand to knock on his door, I stop myself, pull the elastic from my hair, so my dark waves tumble down my shoulders, then I rap my knuckles against the door, holding my breath as I wait for any sign of movement.
It’s quiet for a really long time, which is about when I realize that it’s after midnight and he’s probably asleep like most normal people would be. “Shit,” I whisper before I step back and turn toward my apartment, disappointed yet kind of grateful at the same time.The gods of fate have spoken.
Just as I push my door open, the creak of his door opening causes me to pause and turn. His giant frame fills the doorway as he rubs a hand over his dark, disheveled hair and yawns. “Everything OK?”
He’s not wearing a shirt.
Thank you, Jesus.
“I didn’t realize how late it was. We can talk in the morning,” I whisper, nerves suddenly dancing in my belly.
“I’m here now.” A slow smile crosses his features as he takes in what I’m wearing. “Was this a booty call?”
I place my hands on my face as I grin and wince at the same time. “Maybe.”
“Then what are you doing over there?” he says, pulling his door further open and standing to the side. “Get your ass over here.”
“I’ve never had a fuck buddy before,” I say, still in my own doorway. “What are the rules.”
He shrugs. “No feelings. Only sex. Either one of us can cancel the agreement at any time.”
“Is this something you do a lot?”
“Is that something that would bother you to know?”
“No. I just wanted to know where you got the idea from.”
“Movies,” he remarks. “It’s not something I’ve done before.”
“OK. Then it’s a first for both of us.” That shouldn’t make me happy, but it does. Fuck buddies shouldn’t care about these things, but it seems I do—another con.
