Friends Don't Fall in Love(37)
What he’s done to me.
I wrap myself around him and he holds me close as a second skin. We share breaths. We share heartbeats.
I come back to my senses when I realize I can feel him hard as steel beneath me and pull away, reaching for his belt buckle, eager to return the favor, but he stops me, his hand covering mine.
“You don’t have to…”
“But I want to.”
He’s completely still. So quiet that I can literally feel him withdrawing and the space between us grows suffocatingly thick with something unrecognizable. Craig gets to his feet and offers his hands to help me to mine. He’s careful and attentive and something is very, very wrong because I’m still tingling from my orgasm and his face is a mask of politeness.
“Why don’t you…”
He shakes his head. “We’ve done enough tonight.”
My face burns white hot. “But I don’t understand. Is something wrong? Did I do something wr—”
“No!” he assures me, but his expression is still weird. Like him, but also not at all. “No,” he repeats, quieter. “Nothing is wrong. I just … you know. That was a lot. For one night. And all those things we talked about before … and just.” He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing and his bare cheeks flushed. “Nothing is wrong. I loved doing that for you. I…” He smiles, finally, and it looks more real this time. “I’ve wanted to do that forever. It’s late…”—he gestures to the food left scattered and cold on the counter—“and we didn’t even eat dinner.”
I swallow. Unsure of what is happening still. The words coming out of his mouth don’t seem to match up with the way this is feeling.
He starts to pour the food back into the containers. “I have some work to do tonight. I forgot, but Arlo was going to email me some tracks from today that I need to work on before a client early tomorrow.” He doesn’t meet my eyes. Just offers me the bag of food.
“Okay,” I agree weakly, accepting the bag.
He walks to the door ahead of me and opens it while I stop to slip on my sandals. When I reach him, he’s got his hands stuffed in his pockets and he looks … I don’t even know. I reach for him, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. He still smells like me and I almost wince from the memory so recent. So different from this stilted awkwardness.
“We’re okay?” I check because I can’t help myself.
He reaches for my face, but at the last second, tucks a wild strand of my hair behind my ear and lets his hand fall to his side. “We’re okay,” he insists. “Text me when you get home,” he teases and it’s so familiar I nearly sob. “So I know you made it safe.”
I don’t respond. I can’t, or he’ll know I’m on the verge of crying. Instead, I walk out his door and down the stairs, wondering what the fuck just happened.
* * *
(SIX YEARS AGO)
Before I even open my eyes, I know I’m not in my own bed. My cold, empty bed in my barely furnished apartment that still smells like fresh paint and lemony furniture polish from my weekly cleaning service. No. This is different. This is better.
Because this is Huck’s bed in Huck’s apartment. It’s neat as a pin and warmly decorated because his big sister lives close enough to care. It smells like clean laundry and brewing coffee and maybe also like the things we did last night.
I should be freaking out. I’m aware enough to know that, though I haven’t bothered to open my eyes. I’m no longer engaged to be married. My tour was canceled. And I had sex with my best friend. Drake’s partner. Huck.
Twice.
Without conscious thought, my body stretches languidly all the way down to my toes, and I feel tender in places I haven’t felt tender in a while. The good kind of tender. A tiny smile curls in the corner of my lips before a soft groan next to me startles sense into me.
Right. Freaking out. My heart skips in my chest with a delayed pang. Of course this was a terrible fucking idea. What was I thinking leading him back here? I was engaged to be married less than twenty-four hours ago. He was in New Orleans less than twenty-four hours ago.
My thoughts snag. He was in New Orleans with Drake yesterday. I don’t know what time it was when he found me at Georgie’s last night, but he had to have hopped a flight.
Huck left Drake and flew to me.
Eyes still closed, I swallow hard against the wave of emotion squeezing my chest.
“Whoa, hey. Lorelai? Oh god. Hold on. Let me…”
I open my eyes and see Huck hopping on one foot, trying to shove his leg into a pair of discarded jeans. “No, don’t look!” he says, alarmed, and I close my eyes again, confused. “Don’t freak out. It’s okay. Fuck, I knew this was a bad idea. I’ll get some clothes on and run out and you can just, um. Fuck.” I hear the sound of his zipper and some more muffled cussing, presumably as he pulls on a shirt. I sneak a look, and his expression is pained.
“I’m gonna go.”
“Huck.” I start to get up, the sheet pooling around my bare waist, and this time he crushes his eyes closed, slapping a hand over them for good measure. I bite back an exasperated laugh. “Okay, you don’t have to cover your eyes. You literally had your tongue inside—”
He holds one hand out, halting me from saying anything else, his other still covering his eyes.