NEW ~ FR*EE in KU
Helping your best guy friend, who you just happen to be in love with, find his dream woman through a dating service is a great idea…
“You can’t keep leaving me messages like this.”
“I can.” Lennox, my best friend and biggest pain in my ass, snips. Her face tilts defiantly to the side. “And I most certainly will.”
My dark brown eyes widen in annoyance. “This is ridiculous.” I swiftly lift the note to reiterate my point. “You can’t write shit in crayon-”
“How do you figure?”
“Because lipstick, even the cheap shit you wear-”
“I don’t wear cheap shit. I only use it to write with. I use the expensive shit you bring me home in those goody bags that you don’t want your Insta Ho’s to have whenever they give them out at work events.”
Her rebuttal receives a frustrated growl.
Lenny simply smirks in return and tucks her long, espresso-colored legs into the leather seat she’s occupying.
Why do I do this to myself? Why do I let her suck me into pointless arguments that only end when the thick vein in my forehead is throbbing or my ears are on fire? Why do I continuously subject myself to this shit? Oh, that’s right. Because she’s my best fucking friend and the only person in the whole goddamn world who could jump off a cliff then somehow convince me I should do it too.
Because there’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do for her.
Including whatever bullshit, hair-brained scheme she’s about to ask me to do.
I toss the lipstick note, that she left with my secretary this morning when she dropped me off a much needed Cafè Americano, to the side and lean back in my leather office chair. “What is it, Lenny? What’s the latest wild hair up your ass convinced you to do?”
“My culo is not hairy. I may be lazy about a lot of shit-”
“Such as washing your face in the morning, making your own coffee, throwing the breakfast taco bag away-”
“But,” she emphasizes with a harsh glare, “making sure my body is next to hairless is not one of them.”
The imagery forces my face to scrunch for conflicting reasons.
There’s the simple fact that’s not the kind of shit most people would blurt out to their best friend, particularly if it’s a male. Now, once you take into consideration the shit I’ve told her, like a cock ring sexcapade gone wrong, her openness seems less abrasive. I shouldn’t be blown away by the revelation of her grooming habits. However, as the man who wants to explore every inch of her beautiful, toned body with my tongue, something I’ve been longing to do since she was a quirky freshman at Clover Rose, the information leak instantly causes my cock to stir. And this is the real issue with the depth of our friendship. The line between tappin’ ass and comparing gas is paper thin. We spend so much time together it’d be easy to mistake us for a couple, yet we have a tendency to talk like we’re just old college pals sharing a few beers. Our private moments consist of sharing bodily functions almost as much as they do snuggling, which is torture when you’re madly in love with the person in your arms but can’t tell them because you’d rather completely lose the ability to walk than ever risk destroying the friendship you have.
Rock, let me introduce you to the Impossible-to-Penetrate Hard Place.