Page 43 of The Little Black Book

“That was unexpected,” I say slowly.

“It was,” he agrees.

“And amazing,” I add with a grin.

“Yes,” he says, pumping a fist in the air. “Your boy has skills.”

“Oh, my God. You’re ridiculous,” I chuckle.

I know what he’s doing. He thinks teasing me and acting like a goofball will pull me out of my own head. That I’ll remember how close we are, and I won’t be embarrassed or weirded out by what just happened between us.

But honestly, that’s the problem. We’re friends, and we just crossed a line that we never should’ve. No matter how thrilling it was.

“Talk to me, Z,” he says, his face turning serious. “Do you regret it?”

I study his face, particularly the small wrinkle between his brows. He’s dreading my answer, like he fears I’m going to say yes and will be devastated if I do. I pinch my lips together as my mind replays the whole event. The shock of his arrival. The overwhelming passion and desire. The pleasure that followed.

“No,” I whisper. “I don’t regret it.”

“Good,” he says firmly. “I don’t, either.”

“But we can’t let things get weird between us. I cherish your friendship too much,” I say, then swallow thickly. “Wecanstill be friends, right?”

His face goes blank, making it impossible for me to tell what he’s thinking. My heart starts to pound erratically, and I blink against the burning in my eyes. Sam sighs and reaches down to thread his fingers through mine.

“We can be whatever you want us to be, Zoey,” he says, his voice flat despite the show of affection.

I nod stiffly, and he pulls me into his arms, pressing my cheek to his chest. His palm brushes softly down my back and up again, repeating the motion over and over until the black void of sleep overtakes me.

I dream of ice blue eyes that watch me intently as my body winds up with pleasure. Of soft, yet firm hands brushing over my skin. Of warm lips on mine. A wet tongue teasing all of my most sensitive spots.

The screeching buzz of my alarm wakes me, and I sit upright with a start. It takes me a second to gain my bearings, and when I do, I realize several things at once. I have to pee so bad, it’s damn near painful. I never cleaned myself up after my…activities last night, and I am in desperate need of a shower.

And I’m alone.

Sam didn’t stay the night. He left after I fell asleep, and didn’t bother to wake me to say goodbye.

An icky feeling blossoms in my gut, but I do my best to ignore it and climb from the bed. I have to get ready and get to work. Those donuts aren’t going to sell themselves.

A play by play of last night runs through my head on a loop as I shower. Sam was so attentive, so devoted to my pleasure before seeking his own. He was fucking perfect, and I’ve never come so hard in my entire life.

Afterward, I’d been reassured that our spontaneous actions wouldn’t affect our friendship, yet here I was, a few hours later, allowing myself to get butthurt over the fact that Sam left in the middle of the night. I’ve got to get it together. Sam means so much to me, and if I’m not careful, I’m going to ruin things between us all by myself.

After my shower, I finish getting ready for the day and head out into the kitchen for coffee. I’m exhausted, only having gotten a few hours’ sleep, and that sweet, sweet nectar is a necessity. The clock on the microwave tells me it’s five-fifteen, which means I have enough time for a cup before I have to leave. Flicking on the overhead lights, I pause. The notepad I keep on the fridge for my grocery lists has writing on it that doesn’t belong to me. Walking over, I read the short note written by an obviously masculine hand.

Zoey,

I’m sorry, but I got a call from the overnight pit boss at the casino. There’s an issue only I can handle, so I have to leave. You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn’t want to wake you. Text me later.

Love,

Sam

Ripping the sheet from the notepad, I carry it over to the coffee maker and set it on the counter. I reread it as I pop in a fresh pod and stick a clean mug beneath the spout. Leaning back against the counter, I bite my lip as I think about the situation.

If what he wrote is true, that means Sam didn’t sneak out under a cloud of shame and regret. He had no choice but to leave, despite his desire to stay. I want that to be true. I don’t want to be anyone’s bad life choice.

Grabbing the cup from the coffee machine, I pull my favorite creamer from the fridge and pour in a healthy dose. Adding a heaping spoonful of sugar, I stir it in before lifting the cup to my lips. I barely taste the brew, I’m so deep in my thoughts.

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