CHAPTER 8

 

One Year Ago

 

Charis: If you could live in any city in the world, what city would that be?

Asher: Kill me now.

Charis: Oh, come on, the question is perfectly apropos. You're graduating next year. You can live anywhere you want. You must have thought about it.

Asher: I'd live wherever you are.

Charis: You're joking. Be serious.

Asher: I am serious. Where else would I find another friend who'd keep asking me completely irrelevant questions?

 

Asher

 

I WOKE UP BLINKING AT A LOW ceiling. Blue leather sofa. Snow white carpet. Books, food wrappers, and papers on every surface, like a hurricane had come through a library.

What the hell was I doing at Sloane's place?

Oh, yeah. The last thing I remembered, I'd laid down on her sofa, pulling the red and black throw rug over me.

I sat up and hunched over with my head pounding, tongue dry. Hangover. Why did I have a…oh, yeah.

Now I remembered. It all came flooding back.

Aura.

Whiskey.

Charis.

I stumbled to my feet and over to the kitchen. You'd think an academic would keep a neat and tidy kitchen even if the rest of her place was chaos, but no. Charis doesn't get that some housework is meant to be done every day.

I managed to wade through the mess to gather up a pitcher of water, a jumbo chocolate bar, an orange, a handful of raw mushrooms, and half a jar of olives. I downed it all and drank three cups of coffee. It would suffice as a hangover remedy.

Then I went to check my phone and saw the text from Charis.

Went to collect exams. Crash as long as you want. Aspirin in medicine cabinet.

That was it.

Nothing about last night. Nothing about my breaking up with Aura. Nothing about her bombshell.

I was pissed.

Sloane had made her announcement as casual as you please—I'm getting married—and then slumped on top of me and passed out.

With her lying limply in my lap, I'd sat there shell-shocked as the wheels turned in my mind. At last I'd managed to stir myself and make her vertical.

I fetched some water, then returned and tapped her back, saying her name until she opened groggy eyes and drank. Then, while she drifted back into snoozeville, I carried her around to the nook that served as her bedroom.

Carrying Sloane was a revelation, let me tell you. She might look like a featherweight, but she's actually significantly heavier than Aura. A good portion of all that skin and bones has to be muscle. Guess zumba isn't for sissies after all.

I laid her on the bed and seriously considered stripping off her clothes. She'd be more comfortable, and…all right, bald truth here, it was to satisfy my curiosity about what she was hiding under that shirt.

When I was a kid of thirteen, I'd thought of Charis as an alluring siren. Later on, I'd blamed my naive youth for that opinion. Now I wondered. She joked about being built like a twelve-year-old boy. I suddenly wanted to see for myself if that was really the case.

With the way I'd set her on her side, the hem of the black shirt had risen high enough to prove that yes, she wore panties. Simple red cotton ones, faithfully following the soft curve of her bottom well above where it rounded from her leg.

Why hadn't I noticed how cuppable that little ass was? Her thigh had a nice shape, too. Female, most definitely.

My hand tingled. Every instinct I had said, stroke that haunch. Ease up that hem. Let's see what we're dealing with here.

My cock told me Brilliant idea. Now's your chance. You've wondered about Sloane for years. This is gonna be GOOD.

My drunken brain said, If she finds out you groped her when she was unconscious, she'll bean you.

Dad's lectures slapped me with Do Not Take Advantage of Drunk Women.

I placed my hand on the shirt to restore her modesty, operating, swear to God, with the best of intentions.

Then my palm encountered satin.

Hell.

Who knew Charis Sloane had skin that warm and smooth? Sweet lord.

Somehow instead of drawing down, the tee shirt was sliding up, exposing one poky hip bone, and my palm was sweeping down the length of her thigh to the hollow behind her knee. I played my finger along that hollow, undecided if I was willing to go farther along the trail of wickedness.

But it seemed I already had.

Without my saying anything, she murmured sleepily and raised her knee. Effectively splitting her legs.

At which time I got my punishment for being such a non-platonic perv.

Just a woman's crotch, covered by a strip of cloth. No biggie, right? But hell and damnation, this was Sloane.

I stared at that little patch and it was all I could do not to crook my finger and nudge aside the barrier of fabric. Then naturally I'd have to part her, finger her. I mean, how can you not go ahead and make a woman wet, when she's lying all splayed for you?

The thing is, I knew I could. It isn't exactly something you could put in your portfolio, but magic fingers are a thing. Expert digits. Gets babes off in record time. Three to six orgasms per fuck, average. Frequent screamers. References available.

It's such an important part of who I am that I'm fully expecting a midlife crisis if I ever get crippling arthritis like Grandpa has and can't finger a babe. Otherwise, my plan is to give out Os till I'm gravebound.

Putting a finger in Sloane's pussy, though. Quite a thought.

How I'd love to show her I wasn't a kid anymore.

But you didn't fondle drunk, unconscious women. You probably got sent straight to hell just for leering at them.

Guilty.

And somehow unrepentant.

I had this sense that after knowing her ten years, Charis.

Was.

Mine.

Dangerous thinking.

Nix that.

As it happened, I already had some of my questions answered just looking at her.

No to being bare.

Yes to trimmed.

But: curly or wispy? And color: how pink?

Oh, shit, now my mind was really going places. Like, where was her breakdown point? Could Sloane give one of her well-constructed scholarly arguments with a couple of fingers up inside her and a thumb buffing her clit? I'd damn well like to see her try.

The strain in my cock was unbelievable at that point. I was panting. Sweat was rolling down my temple. You'd think I'd just been offered a blow job by Venus herself.

Yeah, okay, so maybe I was attracted to my best friend. Maybe I wanted to hear her breath catch as she exploded under my touch the way I was sure she would if I could just get the chance with her. And maybe I was royally fucked.

I had no Aura to go to anymore.

There was no stopping my cock from knowing its target. No more lying to myself.

And it was too late to do anything about it.

Somehow, with superhuman strength I withdrew my palm and sprawled out next to her on the bed. I forced my breathing to even out and calmed my heartbeat while I watched her sleep.

With the "M" word echoing through me with a terrible, grim finality.

Married. She was getting married.

Her left hand was curled up in front of her. I flipped it over to check it out. No ring.

What the ever loving fuck? I hadn't even known she was dating.

Who was he? Did I know him? When did she meet him? Where did they hang out together?

What bastard had taken her from right under my nose, just when I'd clued in to my idiocy?

A wave of tiredness hit me. Getting the answers had to wait. But I couldn't leave her like this. I stuck around, making sure she woke every time I shook her, not allowing myself to touch her skin directly beyond little pokes to make sure she was warm.

And maybe she was correct that I was still adjusting to the breakup, because I kept thinking, It's over, it's over, it's over.

Sloane was wrong about the grief, though. There was only relief and exasperation. Why did we wait so long to break up?

The unresolved questions kept at me until I finally collapsed on the sofa, fizzled.

 

I TEXTED CHARIS ASKING HER about the engagement and got no reply. That in itself was odd, but her not answering her phone was odder. Was she avoiding me?

After my two exams—which I aced, by the way, proving some of my brain cells at least remained functional—I might have gone home, driven to my parents' house, checked on Joel, gone to the Village and found a rebound woman…

Of course, I did none of the above. Instead I went back to Sloane's place. And when she didn't answer my knock, I let myself in with my key.

Alone in her empty apartment, I tried to get answers.

I prowled through every room, looking for any signs of male occupancy. Nothing, nada. No shaving stuff in the bathroom. No food she didn't like in her fridge. No discarded condoms.

Did I search her sleeping area? Of course not, I draw the line somewhere. Peering around the wall and examining every visible surface from afar doesn't count.

Then I sprawled out on her couch and rang my sister, Mel.

At Thanksgiving dinner, Charis and my oldest sister had been as tight as ever, even though Mel now lives in Lewiston with her family and works a non-academic life as an accountant.

"It was so great to see everybody," Charis had said on our way back. "Karl and Winnow are such a riot. And Mel…why don't I see her more often? She's not that out of the way."

I pointed out the obvious—that Char does this to herself. She basically secludes herself in her ivory tower. It amazes me how completely out of touch she is with normal life.

Most of us go to college, get what we need from it, and move on, feel me? Charis lives the dream. She'd never even step off campus if she had her choice.

During holidays, her parents travel, so she spends them with us. We're the only non-academics she hangs with.

This year, I'd noticed she talked more with my sibs than with me, soaking up details about their lives like she'd been starving for gossip as much as turkey.

"What's up, shrimp?" Mel greeted me on the phone.

My sister has a strong sense of irony. I've topped her by a foot for at least ten years.

"How's it going, Mel?" I knew what would happen now. It's always a good idea to let her get her complaints out of the way first.

"Back to work since the baby...it's not even April…new tax laws…never said I shouldn't…potato peel…garbage disposal…threw up yet another formula…third conference…"

It took her a while to wind down. For most of it I calculated node voltages in my head.

"…and what about with you?" she finished.

"Ah," I said. "So Aura and I broke up." I figured I might as well tell all and avoid a chewing out later.

Bonus: with Mel's yapper, it's as good as telling the rest of the family. Hopefully they'd all know by the time they brushed their teeth for the night, and she'd be the one to suffer their questions instead of me.

As it was, I had to endure her stern lecture on throwing away the one good, solid relationship I'd ever had. I should immediately apologize to my dear, sweet Aura for whatever I'd done and beg her to take me back.

"Thanks, maybe tomorrow," I lied. "What I'm actually calling about is Charis. What's going on with her?"

This was family code for spill all the gossip immediately.

Mel wasn't spilling. "Why are you asking me? Why don't you ask her? She lives only a mile away from you."

I sighed. "Just tell me what's been happening."

"I honestly have no idea what's going on with her." From her tone, I pictured her shrugging while she worked on balance sheets. "I haven't seen her since turkey day. We're mostly out of touch these days, you know that. Why, what is going on with her, Ash?"

Annoyed, I almost hung up, but then she went on, "I guess she's throwing a party now that you're on the market again."

"I—say what?"

"It's been, how long, your entire undergraduate career? She's probably had it with being patient."

"Being patient? What are you talking about?"

"Oh, if you have to ask…"

"I have to ask. You need to put it out there, Mel. I'm not a mind-reader."

"You know, her crush on you."

I extended my arm and stared at the phone. I wanted to call her back with video. One look at her face would tell me if she was kidding.

"Mel…"

Her sigh was overdone. "Don't pretend ignorance with me, Ash. You may be a certified technogeek, and your hair is still occasionally scruffy, but even I can see you're six foot three of stone solid hotness even when you're not wearing those clingy muscle shirts of yours. They topple like dominoes when you walk by, little brother. Don't even pretend this is news."

"Who said anything about they?" I shook my head, as if she could see my exasperation. "We're talking about Charis here. Hello? Polo shirts. Long colorful hats. Has the lyrics to every single They Might Be Giants song memorized. Calls me twerp at will."

"Right. The girl you were ga-ga for when you were just a baby."

"I fucking wasn't a baby, I wa—"

"Thirteen, I know. I remember. We all remember. Do you remember how flattered she was? How flustered she got? She thought the whole thing was super awkward and asked me what to do. I told her all about young boys and older girls, it was just a phase, testosterone spraying, howling at the moon and all that."

I groaned. Not that I was surprised. But I'd just like to lay a curse on all busybody sisters.

"Well, I just thought she should understand she was basically the same as a sister to you. And she does. I mean, when she ran into you there on campus, what—when was it—"

"Freshman year," I gritted.

"Yes, then, she mentioned how much you'd grown, and you could just see her looking freaked out."

"I could?"

"Well, I could. She said it felt weird to think of herself as a sister to you, and I said that's practically what she was, and she got it. But I'm not sure she ever got it got it."

"She did," I said flatly. "She definitely got it. She uses the word 'sister' all the time. We're close. I'd know about it if there was anything more. Our friendship is platonic, always has been. It's a hundred percent non-sexual."

I was so accustomed to defining it that way over the years that the words just came automatically. But of course now everything was fucked. I was just getting used to the fact that my underlying attitude had never been that of a platonic friend, it just played one on TV.

But hers?

"Oh, sure it was always platonic, because there was Aura in the picture. You weren't available." Mel's tone said she was talking to a total dunderhead. "And Char wouldn't poach on somebody else's territory. She plays fair. Plus she isn't a fool, she knows she's not your type, bro. You go for the—" I could virtually see her making curvy motions with her hands. "—wiggly girls. I will admit she's never outright said anything. But I honestly wouldn't be even a teensy bit surprised to find out she's harboring a huge thing for you. I've seen you together, remember. You guys have this back-and-forth chemistry going, it's like Abbott and Costello. You might see plain old friendship. But I see."

My head was swimming. "What do you see?" I said roughly when she just stopped there.

"You know. The way she draws back. Whenever you and Aura go at it, you know, getting all kissy, Charis looks away. She gets more hyper when you're around. You have to be somewhat aware of what's going on. You watch her all. The time. Like you're twins or something."

"You're imagining things. We're relaxed around each other. She's the only person I can totally unwind with. I like looking at her because she's calming. Sloane's the most relaxing person I know." That much was true. Charis was blissfully relaxing, when she wasn't lying there with her panties exposed.

"If you say so. I'm just a mother with two kids. What do I know?"

Now my irritation was palpable. "I know what I'm talking about. I know women."

And what I know best about women is when a woman wants me. Flirting is a second language to me. Charis didn't flirt.

But what if a woman didn't flirt but was interested anyway? my devil pointed out.

Easy one.

Body signals.

Tight nipples. Touching. Blushing. Giggling. Smells. There were a thousand little tells.

Charis had none of the tells.

Except, said the devil, Charis wore bulky clothes that hid her body. She flushed a lot, but that was just the way she was. And she did touch me in jest, jabbing me and trying to trip me and the like, and of course all that tickling, but no way that was even remotely…

What was I doing? This was psycho. Thanks to Mel's demented assumptions, I was imagining a huge conspiracy to hide the fact that my best friend had the hots for me.

Shit, if she knew I was even wondering about it, she'd crack up. She was always making saucy remarks about my "studly tush"—and there alone was your proof. If she were coyly hiding an attraction, she wouldn't be out there about how fine my muscular ass was.

Would she?

No way. Just no way. I'd only just realized I was still hot for her less than twenty-four hours ago.

She was innocent in this fiasco. That didn't mean I didn't intend to change things around. As soon as I knew exactly what the things in question were.