Page 21 of Friends with Benefits

‘Hi, you.’

The sultry voice draws my attention. I open my eyes to the Angel of Sin standing on the threshold of my office. Her brown hair has volume, like it does when we go out. Her eyes are dark and smoky. Her lips are red.

I don’t know how Jess got into my office but it’s my dream, I can do what I want. She’s wearing a black, sexy as hell, lace corset.

My heart is racing as I take in her garter belt, her stockings, the stiletto heels that are begging me to take her standing up.

‘Get over here,’ I tell her, forcing the words through my dry mouth. When she stands in front of me, I run my hands over the lingerie, down to the perfect globes of her ass.

Since it’s my dream, it’s my prerogative to make this happen on my desk. I encourage her onto the furniture…

‘Jake. Jake. What on earth, Jake? Get that thing away from me.’

I open my eyes in time to be battered by a pillow.

‘You promised no funny business!’

What the actual?

I close my eyes and press my knuckles into the corners of them, willing sexy, bodice-wearing Jess to come back.

‘Oh my God, why are you naked? And why do you have a…? For God‘s sake. That thing was poking my back, you Neanderthal.’

I hear laughter that I know belongs to Brooks outside the bedroom door. ‘You lost control of your popsicle there, Jakey?’

Despite myself, I laugh. ‘Jess, I’m sorry. You wore silk to bed. I mean, come on, it’s not like we’ve never…’

She throws another pillow at me. ‘When we’re drunk!’ She climbs off the bed and storms into the bathroom. Then she opens the door and pops her head around the corner. ‘And for the record, what number was I in your dream?’

Now I laugh hard. ‘You were a ten, babe.’

‘Then we know for sure it was a dream.’ She slams the bathroom door.

* * *

I do remember that this was the plan agreed to last night: that Izzy would lead the girls through a salsa and yoga class, while the butch-manly men went out for a long run. As I’m tying my laces outside on the deck, I’m wondering why I supported the plan.

‘You didn’t tell me we are running seventeen bastard kilometers, Brooks,’ Kit gripes.

Brooks holds his right heel to his ass cheek, stretching his quads. ‘It’ll do you good. You’ve been doing great in my PT sessions lately. You’re ready for this, man.’

Kit is the least fit member of our group. Brooks agreed to give him free personal training sessions at his gym in the city – which are normally impossible to book and wildly expensive – if Kit would take at least three sessions a week. From what I hear, he’s been doing the three sessions and sparring with Brooks and Drew in the ring too. He’s lost, at a guess, twenty-five to thirty pounds. Hats off to the guy. But that isn’t stopping his face from contorting like someone’s got his nipples in a tightly wound vise right now.

‘I take it you’re not coming?’ Drew calls to Marty, who is lying back on a deck chair by the pool, his cell glued to his ear. I guess both named partners of the firm can’t be on vacation at the same time. Marty shakes his head but continues talking into the phone.

‘What time does Edmond arrive?’ I ask, following Brooks’ lead to stretch out my calves.

‘Around lunch, he thinks. All right, are we set?’ Drew asks.

As we head into the kitchen, the girls are coming out to the deck, yoga mats in hand, all dressed in Lycra. I try not to stare as Drew grabs Becky by the waist and pulls her into him. It’s damn hard to miss the grind of his hips against her, though, as he grips her by the nape, whispers something – I can only imagine – into her ear, then crashes his mouth against hers.

‘It’s a good thing you didn’t bring the kids,’ I say to Kit, nudging him with my elbow. ‘That’s far from PG.’

‘Are we going for this torture run, or not?’ Kit all but growls.

Drew winks at Becky when he lets her go. Brooks spanks Izzy across her firm ass as he passes. Am I the only person not getting any in this place?

Out on the street, I pull on my cap, part to catch sweat, part to shield my eyes from the clear skies and bright sun. Brooks sets his watch, and our pace, as we move off in a row. Brooks, Drew and I can manage eight-minute miles, easy. We can talk and run. And, damn, is there a lot to catch up on.

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