Page 6 of Friends with Benefits

We move into the crowd of sweating people drunk dancing. I take Jess’s hand, making sure she’s with me as we find the others. Abby immediately accosts her so I start dancing around like a fool. A fool who is high on life.

I do the running man. The dancing bear.

I watch Jess move, her head dropped back, her arms above her head. She looks happy. Carefree. And – I can say this because we’re friends – damn hot.

Some guy obviously agrees because he worms up to her, his hands around her waist. His crotch against her ass. She smiles but lifts his hands from her hips. He doesn’t take the hint, reaffirming his grip. She tries to wiggle free. When it doesn’t work, her eyes meet mine.

I step toward her and take her hands, tugging her to me. Glaring at the jerk behind her, I tell him, ‘Take your fucking hands off my girlfriend.’

The guy quickly shifts his attention from Jess to me, looks me up and down, I suspect realizing I’m six two and seeing that I’m ripped beneath my black shirt, since it’s fitted and tucked into my gray slacks. He holds up his hands and backs off.

I pull Jess tighter and she slots her legs either side of mine, fitting me like a glove. It’s not like we’re not up for dirty dancing; we just don’t want to dirty dance with sweaty, pissed-up strangers. It’s kind of an agreement we have. If one of us is stuck with someone in a bar or a club, we pull out the boyfriend or girlfriend card. Most often, it’s me telling men to keep their paws off her but sometimes it cuts the other way.

The track changes to one of Bieber’s latest tunes and I know Jess will ramp up the moves. She loves Bieber, no matter how much I tell her that at thirty, she’s too old for him. I will admit that his latest stuff isn’t awful. But I’d never say that to her.

I hold her waist as she leans back, her arms waving, her hips grinding into me. We dance together until she calls time for another shot.

The bartender sets alight to two shots of Sambuca on the bar. I count us in this time and we shoot. The fire heats my throat and tips me over the edge from friendly drunk to horny. I watch Jess’s neck as she swallows, knowing how good her skin tastes. Knowing that when she’s had Sambuca, our nights together are sensational.

She brings her head forward and opens her eyes to mine. As if we’re completely in sync, which we usually are, I can sense that her lids are heavy. Her pupils dilate. ‘Is it home time?’ she asks.

I take her shot glass and step to her as I place it on the bar. I drag my hands down her back and roughly pull her hips into me. ‘It’s home time.’

She laughs, the sound reverberating against my lips. ‘So serious.’

‘Making sure you get home to bed is no laughing matter.’

On the street, we try to flag a cab but none of them have their lights on. We head down to Embankment and start walking by the Thames in the direction of home, our conversation interspersed with the kind of kisses that make me want to speed up the journey.

By the time we make it to our building, I’m so desperate for her, my fly might pop. She unlocks the apartment door. The lights are out and there’s no noise. Alex is still out, or maybe not coming home.

I pick her up, wrapping her legs around my waist, and hastily press her back against the door, devouring her mouth as she frantically unbuttons my shirt. She wants this as much as I do. It’s hardly a surprise. Our sex is out of this world.

The best part of sleeping with your best friend is that you can tell each other exactly what you want.

* * *

I wake under the heat of London’s sun, even though my blind is drawn. That’s the first clue that it’s late morning. Starfish on my bed, on top of the sheets, I shake my head quickly from side to side, assessing the extent of my hangover. I’m groggy but I’ve had worse.

The next thing to hit me is the sound of… what is that? Waves? Crashing waves?

In case I need to state the obvious, there should not be crashing waves in the center of London city. I grumble to myself as I drag myself up to sit. After taking ten seconds to come around, I push myself to my feet and find a pair of sweatpants to pull on.

As I walk the corridor, the sound changes to something like animals in a jungle. I notice Alex’s bedroom door is open and his bed made. I assume he stayed out last night.

As I near the living room, I’m struck by the smell of burning bacon.

When I open the door, the light from the floor-to-ceiling windows makes me squint. Jess is sitting in the middle of the living room, on the rug. She’s wearing yoga pants and a T-shirt. Her legs are crossed beneath her and her hands resting on her knees. Her eyes are closed and I notice her iPhone in the docking speakers, which I can only guess is where the sound of a howler monkey is coming from.

‘What are you doing?’ I ask.

‘Shh, I’m trying to get back into meditation.’

‘Christ. Another fad. Why do I smell burning bacon?’

‘Oh, fuck.’ She springs up from the rug and runs to our small kitchen. I follow her in as she takes a grill tray from the oven. The fat of the English bacon – not streaky like in the US – is crispy but not altogether destroyed. ‘Help yourself,’ she says. ‘I’m having a meat day today because I’m trying out vegan for a week starting tomorrow.’

I move behind her, threading my arms through hers to grab a piece of crispy pig. ‘Why in God’s name are you trying vegan and meditating?’

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