Jack

 

I should have known by now to expect the unexpected from Carrie Wells. I should have known that my suspicions were right and there was more going on with her than vegging in front of my TV every day, stacking up plates as though she’s been having a one-girl feeding frenzy, even though the fridge is still stocked full.

I should’ve also known better than to tell her she should’ve just shown me her tits if she wanted to, and not contemplated the possibility she would follow through with it.

But here I am, standing open-mouthed as Carrie pulls down her grubby white top and bares her perfect pale tits to me.

She’s confident at first, cocky even. Her shoulders are back and proud as she juts out her sweet rosy nipples.

And I was wrong.

I have seen plenty of tits in my time, but I haven’t seen it all before. I’ve never seen a pair of tits that make my mouth water like this pair.

She has a beauty mark to the side of her right nipple. There’s a smear of mud above her left. And they’re beautiful. Perfect.

She’s fucking perfect.

They’re bigger than I’d have expected from her frame, sitting high and proud and just right for a decent handful. My mouth waters, my cock fucking throbs in my pants, and I’m on the edge of fucking losing it. A breath away from shunting her against the kitchen sink and tearing the rest of her clothes off her.

But I can’t. I can’t because of Michael.

“Well?” she says, but I can’t say a fucking word.

I watch her bravado slip away in a glorious heartbeat. Brash, sharp-mouthed Carrie disappears before my eyes, her shoulders dropping as she registers how exposed she is in the middle of my kitchen, in front of a man who wants to break and show her how fucking beautiful those tits are, but can’t.

“You said I should show you…” she says, and her voice is unsteady. I’ve never heard her as unsteady as she is right now.

“I said it was a dangerous game you were playing,” I tell her.

“I like dangerous games.”

And so do I. But not now.

Not without knowing how serious Michael is about not acting on whatever desire he’s harbouring for this divine little creature we’re both enamoured by.

“You’ll get cold,” I tell her, even though it’s the most copout fucking excuse for a reaction I’ve ever given.

She looks like I’ve slapped her, and I feel sorry for Michael with added empathy, because I can’t imagine he experienced any less of a fucking guilt rush than I’m feeling right now.

Carrie pulls up her top like I’ve just shit on her cereal, her cheeks flushed pink and her eyes wide, even though she’s trying to force an air of confidence that’s really not coming.

“They’re very pretty,” I tell her once they’re safely out of temptation’s way. “And if I were ten years younger.”

She shakes her head. Sneers at me like I’m a fucking idiot.

“So you’re blowing me out too? What’s wrong with me? Why can’t a girl find a real fucking man around this fucking shithole?”

I hold up a hand. “There’s nothing fucking wrong with you, Carrie. But I can’t.”

“Can’t, or don’t want to?”

I make sure my eyes are right on hers when I answer. “Can’t.”

Her mouth drops open. “But why not?”

Because of fucking Michael. Because he fucking wants you, too.

“Because it wouldn’t be right,” I say. “Because you’re barely eighteen and I don’t do relationships.”

“Why don’t you?”

Because I’ve never met anyone who excites me. Not until you. Not until right fucking now in this kitchen.

“Because I like my own company. I’m not a man who likes to settle.”

It was a stupid choice of words. She nods at me, smiling as though I didn’t just see a flash of pain in her eyes.

“Well, luckily for you, I think Michael’s nearly done with my housing application. I’ll be out of your hair before you know it, and you can get back to your own brilliant fucking company.”

I sigh. “That isn’t what I meant…”

But she isn’t listening. She picks up her jacket and downs her tea. She barks out she’s taking a shower when she’s halfway down the hall, and the door slams at the top of the stairs.

I’m a cock.

A cock with a hard fucking cock, and a mind to sprint upstairs after her and pound that tight little pussy until she screams for me.

And I will.

Just as soon as I’ve cleared my own fucking conscience first.

I grab my car keys.

 

* * *

 

Michael

 

I barely even know this temp. It’s like we’re having a bastard leaving party for everyone these days, even if they’ve only been there five minutes. Drury’s is busy with Friday night drinkers, and I’m huddled in a corner, wedged between Pam and Julie as they recount office stories from ten years ago.

They were boring the last three times I heard them, and my nerves are on edge as the clock ticks, counting down my window of opportunity in which I can legitimately turn up at Jack’s to see Carrie.

She can’t freeze me out forever, even if she’s doing a mighty fine job of it this week.

I’m not usually jealous, that isn’t my style, and I definitely shouldn’t be jealous of Jack, given that he’s been my best friend for almost a lifetime, through thick and thin and everything in between, but I am.

I’m jealous of the way she doesn’t snipe at every word he utters. I’m jealous of the way he goes to sleep in the room next door to her every evening.

I’m jealous of the closeness they’re developing right before my eyes.

And I’m jealous of the Friday night they’re undoubtedly spending together in my absence.

We’ve been in Drury’s over two hours and the party shows no sign of slowing down. I keep eying my watch in an attempt to rustle up an excuse, but every time I do, Pam pats my wrist and tells me to lighten up.

I’m about to drop Jack a text to scope out a late-night beer at his, but the minute I pull my phone from my pocket the bleep of a message comes through.

Our thoughts must have crossed in the ether, because it’s from him.

We need to talk. Meet you in Drury’s car park.

My blood runs cold.

Talk.

We need to talk.

There’s only one thing he’ll be wanting to discuss with me in Drury’s car park with no prior warning, and I wonder what crazy shit she’s done now.

Surely nothing worse than the crow incident.

The idea he’s had enough of her, both horrifies and thrills me in equal measure.

I get up from my seat and squeeze through Pam’s side, offering up excuses about having an urgent call that needs attending to. They groan and roll their eyes, telling me the night is still young, and I do the polite thing of insisting I’ll be back soon, just get me a nice cold beer to come back to.

Jack’s already in the car park when I step outside. His engine is still running as I climb into the passenger seat.

“What’s she done now?” I ask before he can speak.

His hands are on the steering wheel. His fingers give it a frustrated squeeze before he cuts the ignition.

“She’s fixed my fencing,” he says. “She’s done a great job. Worked like a trooper.”

It takes me a moment to register his words. “She’s fixed your fencing? On her own?”

“On her own.”

“And that’s good, right?” I prompt. “That’s good news?”

He sighs. “And she showed me her tits. Pulled her top right down in front of me.”

My throat dries up. “But why did she…”

“Because I told her to. Because she showed me a dodgy selfie that she definitely wanted me to see, maybe even both of us, and I called her out on it. I said if she wanted me to see her tits she should have just showed me, not dicked about playing stupid games with a fucking camera.”

My gut lurches. “And what did you do?”

He sighs again. “What do you think I fucking did? I told her it couldn’t happen. That it wouldn’t be right.”

The relief floods through me until I see the guilt on his face.

“So what’s the problem?” I say. “What are you trying to say?”

He twists in his seat to face me and I know shit’s about to get serious.

“Man to man,” he says. “Are you serious about not going there? Because if you are…”

I hold up a hand. “Serious about not going there with Carrie? She’s eighteen years old, of course I’m serious. She needs stability and support, not a–”

“I think I’m falling for her,” he says over me, and my words shrivel in my throat. “I think I’m falling for her, and I don’t know how long I can hold back from acting on it, because I’m a fucking dick who can’t keep his dick in his pants. But if you want her, if you really want her and this is a load of politically correct bullshit morality you’re spouting and nothing more, then I’ll…”

“Then you’ll what?” I ask. “Then what will you do?”

He tips his head back against the window. “Then I don’t fucking know what I’ll do. I don’t fucking know what either of us will do.”

And neither do I.

My heart is beating in my ears. My stomach twisted up as I contemplate the cold hard reality of my best friend falling for the girl I’m in love with.

I can’t lie to him. I don’t want to lie to him.

And I don’t want to lie to myself, either.

“I’m in love with her,” I admit, and it sounds despicable even as I say it.

“Fuck,” he says.

“Fuck,” I agree.

He takes a deep breath. “Well, fuck. That’s really put us up shit creek.”

I close my eyes. “When she showed you her–” I pause. “Does she want you? Does she… have feelings?”

“Fuck knows what the girl wants,” he says. “She doesn’t think you’re interested. Says you blew her out and don’t give a shit about her. She probably thinks the same about me.”

A wave of regret washes over me. “She really thinks that?”

I open my eyes and he’s staring right at me. “She’s not as confident as she thinks she is. It’s all bluster. I don’t think she has any idea how attractive she is.”

“And she thinks she’s not good enough…”

“Yes, that’s what I’d suspect.” His fingers tap against the steering wheel. “Not gonna lie to you, Mike. She’s under my fucking skin.”

I laugh, because what else is there to do?

“The Carrie Wells effect. Welcome to my world.”

“We need to work out what we do from here, because she’s in my house, Mike. She’s in my house and I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“And neither can I,” I admit. “I haven’t been able to think about anything else for months.”

“Fuck,” he says again.

“We can’t act on this,” I tell him. “She needs to know she can count on us. She needs to know she’s safe, and supported.”

“She doesn’t need pandering to, she needs discipline. She needs to feel part of something, and to feel part of something she needs to know there are ground rules.”

I sigh. “Jack, it’s not that simple. Carrie has behavioural issues, she’s been let down by the system and –”

He shakes his head. “She pushes away everyone that gives a shit about her. She tests people and they always fail. They fail because they refuse to stand their ground and pull her up on her bullshit. They expect her to behave like a fucking nightmare so she does. But not in my house. Not with me.”

“You’ve known her a couple of weeks,” I tell him.

“And you’ve been working with her five months and she speaks to you like you’re a piece of shit.”

His observation smarts. “What’s your point?”

He shifts in his seat. “My point is that your approach isn’t working, not with her. If we’re going to get her through whatever crap she’s got going on in that pretty head of hers, we need a united front. She needs to know that she can’t just throw her fucking toys out of the pram without consequences.”

“And you plan to do that by fucking her? Is that what you’re saying?” My tone is more brutal than I intend.

“I’m not saying anything about fucking the girl, Mike. I’m just making an observation. Whether I fuck her or not is incidental.”

“Incidental?”

He nods. “Yeah, incidental. One of us is going to end up fucking the girl. Now or in six fucking months, it doesn’t matter. The question is, how do we make sure this situation works in a way that doesn’t fuck one, two or all fucking three of us right up.” He pauses. “We’ve been friends a long time, Mike. Never has a girl come between us so far, I don’t want it to start now.”

My laugh is low and mainly for my benefit. “You’ve never been interested in a girl long enough for her to come between us, what makes you think Carrie is going to be any different?”

“Because I think I’m falling in love with her,” he says, and my heart fucking stops. “When I said I’m falling for her, I meant it, Mike. I mean I’m falling for her hard.”

“And I’ve already fallen,” I tell him. “Hard.”

He nods. “So what do we do now? Where the fuck do we go from here?”

I shake my head. Sigh, then take a breath.

“I have no fucking idea.”

 

* * *

 

Carrie

 

I hear Jack’s car pull away and it breaks my heart.

He’s running from me.

He’s running because he doesn’t want me. He’s running because I made a stupid fucking mistake and showed him my tits and he hated them.

He hates me.

I try to calm myself down because things never end well when I get freaked out. I try to tell myself that I didn’t just fuck up so bad that I have to leave this place. That Jack isn’t like the others.

They let me stay because they had to, because I was a kid and they were obliged to care for me. Jack let me stay because he wanted to, and he hasn’t kicked me out yet, not even when he thought I was being a lazy bum all day.

Maybe he won’t throw me out for showing him my tits either.

I take a shower to get rid of the mud, and hope I can wash the embarrassment off with it. My plans for a passionate encounter in the kitchen seem so fucking silly now. He didn’t even touch me.

I thought he wanted to, but he couldn’t have. Not someone like Jack.

Jack’s the kind of guy to go for what he wants, I know him well enough to know that. And he didn’t.

He couldn’t drive away fast enough.

The more I think about it the angrier I feel. Two guys and neither of them want me. And why?

Am I hideous? Am I too fucked up for them to want to touch with a bargepole?

Eddie Stevens didn’t seem like that.

Bill didn’t seem like that.

Neither did Luke, or Eli.

They all wanted to fuck me.

They may not have wanted me, but they wanted my pussy.

But not Jack or Michael.

I guess my pussy just isn’t good enough for Jack or Michael, no matter what I do.

No matter if I spend all fucking week trying to prove to the both of them that I really can be good and work hard. No matter if I show Jack a hundred fucking pictures of how hard I work, it doesn’t matter.

They still don’t think I’m good enough.

I feel the anger brewing. Stupid anger that makes me act like a crazy bitch. Stupid anger that protects me against getting hurt and upset and pushed away.

I throw some clean clothes on and check out of the window.

He’s still gone.

I can’t believe they’ve both gone out and left me here on a Friday evening, like they think I’m just going to sit around and do nothing while they’re off having a good time or doing whatever fucking important shit is worth leaving me home alone for.

I don’t have any money, and once upon a time I’d have dipped into the envelope of cash I know Jack keeps in the kitchen drawer next to the tea towels. I’d have told myself I’d earned it with all the fucking manual labour I’ve been doing this week.

But I have no Eli demanding money, not this week, and I don’t want to take any for myself, either.

I don’t want to take anything from Jack, not now he’s been so kind to me.

Not now I care about him.

So I don’t.

I pull on my boots and head out the front door without so much as a penny in my pocket.

But this time I do have my ID.