I’m on my third episode of late-night Murphy Brown reruns. I glance at my phone to check the time and wonder if Murphy is also watching them. I hope she is. In fact, I might go so far as to bet on it. Maybe it’s become our thing. And anyway, I had to do something to take my mind off tonight.
It was torture watching that guy put his hands all over Murphy earlier. Okay, so maybe his hands weren’t all over her. But the way he touched her shoulder; the way he put his hand on the small of her back when we entered the restaurant; the way he would lean close every time he talked to her—I’ve never in my life wanted to be another person so badly.
And I’ve never been so relieved than when she told me she wasn’t going to go home with him. But what happens if he asks her out again? What happens when the next guy comes along? There is no way in hell I’ll be able to watch her do that again. And I only know one way to keep it from happening.
The problem is—she’s my friend, maybe even my best friend. I don’t want to ruin what we have. I’ve never had so much fun with a girl who isn’t my sister. Hell, I’ve never had so much fun with anyone.
She’s all I’ve thought about since I took her to Central Park on Thursday. If I’m being honest, I thought about her long before then. I guess I’ve been denying it for a while.
But it goes to reason that she might not even want me. She’s given me no indication that she wants a relationship. No indication that she’s interested in me beyond the friendship we have. In fact, she’s flat-out said she’s taking a break from dating.
But that touch we shared tonight. And the way she was looking at me when we shared it. That’s not the way you look at your friend. That look got me hard. That look had me thinking about long walks and shared holidays. Christ, that look had me thinking about white dresses and black tuxedos.
What is happening to me?
I pull out my phone and scroll through my pictures. I look at the picture of Murph and me sitting in the stands at the Yankees game. I smile at the picture I took of her last Sunday when she was laughing with Lexi. I stare at the photo I snapped of her wearing my gear.
It’s the last one that brings my dick to life for the second time tonight. I don’t fight it this time. I reach my hand into my sweat pants, stroking myself as those brilliant blue eyes of hers stare at me from behind my facemask. I watch her and think of the incredible dress she was wearing tonight. I’ve never seen her look so alluring. Her long, wavy hair was down around her shoulders, covering her bare neck that I longed to grip with my hands so I could pull her to me.
And her breasts. My God, the rounded globes pushed up and showed just enough flesh to be enticing without being slutty.
I stroke myself faster and my breathing becomes heavier. I think about the time when we were lying under the stars at Hawks Stadium. I think even then, I had the urge to touch her. Kiss her. But she was off-limits, raw from a failed relationship. But the way she looked at me tonight when she offered me her hand—it was far from the look of a broken woman. It was intense. And I swear we shared more unspoken words with that one look than the countless conversations we’ve had.
My balls tighten as I once again think of her breasts and what they might look like if her magnificent dress was in a heap on my floor. As I wonder what her tall and fit body would feel like under mine. I give myself a few last tugs before I stiffen and shout out with my release.
I put my phone down and go in the bathroom to clean up. When I’m done, I brace my arms on the counter and lock eyes with my reflection. “Face it, Kessler, you’ve got it bad.”
I grab a beer and watch the end of an episode. Then I stare at my phone, wanting so badly to pick it up and ask her out. But I can’t. I can’t take Murphy on a date. For as long as I can remember, I’ve had the rule. Nobody gets past it. I’ve broken it for no one.
What if I date her and then get spooked after number three? I’ve no doubt dated some great girls over the years. Girls who clearly were not after me because of my fame and my bank account. But I ditched them. All of them. What if I do that to Murphy? What if I ruin everything right along with our friendship?
But if I don’t try, will Corey or someone else take the opportunity? Hell, for all I know, Corey’s at home rubbing one out too.
Shit.
The thought of another guy getting off to a picture of her—to the mere thought of her—makes me something I’ve never been before … territorial. And I know for sure I don’t want anyone else having her. So despite the late hour, or the early one, I pick up my phone.
Me: Text me as soon as you wake up.
Murph: I’m up. Is everything okay?
My heart pounds in my chest. I didn’t expect her to respond. I thought I’d have the night to think about how I was going to play this. Damn, I’m nervous as hell. I don’t even get this nervous when I’m at bat and forty thousand fans are watching me.
Murph: What’s wrong, Caden? You’re scaring me.
Me: Nothing. Sorry. Just didn’t expect you to be awake at this hour. What are you doing up so late?
Murph: You’d laugh at me if I told you.
I smile because I already know.
Me: You aren’t watching channel 144, are you?
Murph: No.
Murph: Okay, yes.
Murph: Wait. How’d you know it was on 144? Unless you’re watching too.
Me: I’m watching it too.
Murph: LOL
Murph: Why did you want me to text you tomorrow? Uh, today.
Here it goes. My fingers hesitate before I type out the text. I close my eyes for a second, hoping I’m not about to make this stupid move that will make it monumentally awkward for us if she shoots me down.
Me: I’ve been thinking.
Murph: Easy, boy. Don’t go pulling a muscle or anything.
Me: Can I finish please?
Murph: Sorry.
Me: I’ve been thinking that maybe you should come over to my place for dinner.
Murph: Another double date?
Me: Not a double date. I don’t bring girls here. It would just be you and me.
Murph: In case you haven’t noticed yet, Kessler, I’m a girl.
Me: I’m well aware, Murphy Brown. Believe me, I’m well aware.
She doesn’t text me right back. Did I scare her off? Is she getting the picture? Is she trying to figure out how to let me down easy?
Murph: You want to cook for me?
Me: Well, I was kind of hoping you would help with the cooking. And maybe we could have a nice bottle of wine. And then we could watch a movie or something.
Murph: Let me get this straight. You want me to come to your place so we can cook dinner together. And drink wine. And watch a movie. Caden, that sounds awfully close to being a date.
Me: Not a date. Just a thing.
Murph: And when will this thing be happening?
Me: When is your next day off?
Murph: Wednesday.
Me: I’ll pick you up Tuesday at seven.
Murph: Okay, it’s a date.
Me: No. It’s not.
Murph: LOL. Whatever you say, Kessler.