Friends Don't Fall in Love(3)

“Want to know a secret no one else knows?”

I have to imagine it takes all the strength she possesses to jerk her head even the tiny bit she gives me, but it’s enough and I press even closer, my lips a hairsbreadth from the delicate shell of her ear.

“Drake didn’t even write this stupid song. I did.”

She pulls back as though electrocuted and blinks, absorbing my dead-serious expression.

I lift a shoulder, still clasping her hands. “I wrote all of them, actually.”

Her lips form around the words all of them, and I nod.

Her dark brown eyes dart back and forth between mine, searching for the truth, and I let her. After a beat, she presses herself against me, her slender arms wrapping possessively around my neck. “You wrote this beautiful song. You wrote all of them.”

I feel myself heat at her reaction, but it feels good. To be honest for once. To admit the truth, even if she won’t remember it in the morning and even if no one else will ever know.

“Yeah. Don’t tell anyone. I have a rep to protect.” Because I’m the good time and Drake Colter is the serious musician. I’m just your average country boy with average looks and average style and average stage presence. You’d never in a million years suspect I was the words behind Drake Colter’s star.

Which is why our arrangement works so well.

Lorelai snorts against my neck but doesn’t move back to place space between us. Which she should do. Or I should. There should be space between us, is all I’m saying.

But she doesn’t and I don’t. In fact, she bucks against me, and reflexively I tighten my hold, wrapping her in both my arms, one slipping into the mythically soft hair at her nape and the other dipping to brush just under the waistband of her jeans.

And it feels fucking amazing. Don’t think. Whatever you do, don’t think.

Her whispered “Thank you” caresses the heated skin under my collar.

I’m not sure what she’s thanking me for exactly. Thanks for finding her? For getting drunk with her? For practically dry humping her in the middle of a dive bar?

“Take me home, Huckleberry.”

I freeze in place, head to toe, because she’s not asking me. That was a declarative sentence. A softly spoken demand. But she can’t possibly mean what I think she means. Lorelai Jones and I have been friends for years. Close friends. Best friends, even. We’ve never crossed that line.

Have I thought about crossing the proverbial line? Hell yes. Have you seen Lorelai? She’s gorgeous and funny and sweet and talented, and for sure my dickish partner can’t come close to deserving her. Not that I ever said anything, but the fact remains. Still, we’ve never been like that.

We go out and dance and drink and let loose and then she leaves with Drake and I leave with someone else, and that’s how it’s always been.

Lorelai’s hand slips from my neck, her fingers dancing along that same feverish skin of my open collar and down my front until she stops, cupping me through my suddenly tight denim, making her intent crystal clear.

A hiss mixes with a surprised moan somewhere in the back of my throat and I work to keep my body still, my thoughts battling wildly against booze and hormones.

“Please, Huck?”

“We’re pretty drunk, Lorelai.”

She grips me harder and I press against her hot hand, feeling dizzy.

“We’ll sober up on the way.”

“Yeah, but will you even want to, sober? Let’s just stay here and dance,” I suggest, and it’s not even halfhearted. It’s quarterhearted at best.

She pauses, seeming to consider. Then she removes her hand from my cock and tugs my head down to hers, ever so slightly, offering me an out.

I don’t take it. I don’t want to, and anyway, it’s only one night. Just one time, and then we’ll never talk about any of this. Not about my secret and not about what’s about to happen between us.

I drag my mouth against hers once before opening up to taste her completely. Tequila sparks on her tongue as it tangles with mine, and her fingers tug on the ends of my hair. My hips roll against her all over again, but this time it’s for real. No more games between friends. We exchange breaths and I swallow her tiny gasps. Even as buzzed as I am, I know we’re getting too public, so I take her hand and pull out my phone, calling us a ride.

“You’re sure?” I ask once we’re outside the bar. “I can always drop you off.”

“Haven’t you always wondered?”

I don’t ask her to clarify. Instead, I hesitate, rapidly sobering up. I mean, hell yeah, I’ve wondered. Not only that, I’m pretty fucking sure we’d be great together. But once we know for sure … once I know for sure …

Don’t think, don’t think.

Eventually I give her a half nod, half shrug.

“What if you and Drake get back togeth—”

She presses her fingertip to my lips. “Fuck him. This ain’t nothing to do with him. Just us. Huck and Lorelai. One night. I…” She trails off, contemplating her next words. “I would like … I want to have this with you. Before I leave.”

“Where are you—” but I don’t finish because I don’t want to know and I’m trying not to think. Not right now. I get one chance and I’m not gonna waste it.