Page 50 of Ablaze

“Oh, me too! I wouldn’t have missed any of it, but I couldn’t miss the opportunity to take on another shift. You know how well they pay.”

I get the feeling she’s trying to make a point with that last statement, comparing the pay she made at the bakery with the one she makes at the casino, but I don’t give her the satisfaction of showing her that her comment affects me in any way.

“Hey, sugar!” Jessie gleams, looking at Dean before seating herself on his lap. She places a kiss on his temple, and Dean’s eyes immediately find mine again.

I look away, trying to pull my lips into a smile at something my brother just said that I hadn’t heard.

It’s not like I haven’t seen them together before. I’ve seen her put her lips on his, seen him hold her when she wraps her arms around his neck, seen her whisper in his ear before pulling his earlobe in between her lips.

So why does it make my stomach turn more today than it always has? Why do I feel like there’s a stone lodged inside my throat, threatening to cut off my airflow? Why does my chest burn almost as much as it did the day a fiery beam fell on it, affixing me to the ground?

Maybe it’s the lingering glances from him today, maybe it’s the emotion in the air that still hasn’t cleared, or the fact that I miss him–miss us.

Whatever it is, it threatens a flood through my eyes and I know I have to get up. I have to get up because I have no right to be feeling the way I do.

Because if there’s one thing my best friend made clear in all the time I’ve known him, it’s that he’s not mine.

Chapter Fifteen

MALA

“Fuck! I’m coming.” His hot breath spreads over the nape of my neck, above my scar–always well above my scar. I turn my head to look at the curtains in his room–our room. They’re always closed. He likes them that way. “Oh, fuck! Yes! I’m coming so . . . so fucking hard. You feel that?”

I nod.

Warren’s face hovers over mine and even in the dark, he catches the lie reflecting back from my eyes. His jaw shifts. “Did you come?”

I nod again, hoping he doesn’t catch my lie. “Yeah. It was really good.”

He heaves himself off me and I can feel the tension wafting off his pores. Each stride away from me taut with barely concealed irritation.

It’s been two weeks since my birthday and every day since seems . . . worse. I tried to bring up his feelings about Dean and my friendship a few times afterward, but Warren would constantly shut me down.

I even made reservations at the fancy restaurant he loves, and wore the dress he bought me, to try to change the mood between us, but after two hours of small talk, the car ride home was silent. And though nothing has changed in terms of his dismissal of the conversation, one thing has, and that’s his relentless need to satiate himself with my body.

While we used to have sex once every couple of weeks, since the party, it’s as if he can’t get enough of me. Every night seems to pass the same way–with him pummeling me like his life is on the line until he finds his release, only to wake me up hours later to do it all over again.

And . . . I let him.

Maybe it’s my need to avoid more conflict. Maybe it’s my guilt over him seeing whatever it was he saw on my face that night when I let Dean’s voice overpower all my emotions. Maybe it’s my guilt over the past two years I’ve spent with him, knowing he isn’t the one. Knowing he’s only a stand-in for my one true person. The man who knows me to my core but refuses to accept me for what he knows I mean to him.

Maybe it’s all those things, but I let him do as he pleases with my body, hoping this strain between us will pass and we’ll go back to the way things used to be–easy, fun, enjoyable.

At my core, a part of me believes this is my fault. If I had worked harder to get over my crazy feelings for my best friend, maybe we wouldn’t be in this position. Perhaps I’d have the same strong affection for Warren as he does for me.

It’s with that guilt coloring my thoughts that I shuffle off the bed and follow Warren into the bathroom.

Maybe I can make him see that he means something to me, too. Something more than any other man I’ve dated in the past has ever meant.

His bare back tightens and stretches, and I watch his chest rise and fall in the mirror. He grips the edge of the counter with such force, I’m surprised he hasn’t broken off a chunk of it.

“Warren . . .” My hand lifts but I waver on whether to touch him or not.

“I didn’t think I’d have to explicitly ask for your honesty, Mala.” The ire in his tone has my hackles raising. “I never thought you’d lie to me.”

“I haven’t lied to you–”

Warren spins to face me. His face, his features, are as cold and stony as a lifeless statue. “You’ve lied for the past two fucking weeks. Every fucking time I’ve asked if you came, you’ve said yes, when I know for a fucking fact you haven’t.”

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