Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Tod, there’s only one fucking D, with Riley. I still can’t believe she came to this party. With him. I’d known Riley since we were five and although she’s all grown up—fuck, is she grown up—she’s still the same. She’s still the same girl who’d rather stay in and watch reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond. Still the same girl who claimed she’d never date a jock because she—and I quote—“hates all sports with a passion” is here with none other than high school swim star, Tod Daniels.

And can we just take a moment to acknowledge the fact that this dude probably shaves his legs more frequently than Riley?

I rest my case.

He’s playing the game right, laughing at her jokes, touching her, but not too often so he doesn’t tip his hand. Because you and I both know the end goal: he wants to get fucking laid. Ignoring the pit in my stomach, I make my way over to the keg but don’t grab a beer, as usual. Because my goal tonight? Make sure Riley gets home safely.

Gets home safely. With. Me.

* * *

“Oh, My God! You still have it.” Her voice is loud as she continues, “I can’t believe…” She walks toward my dresser.

My eyes drift to the baseball-size beach rock she gave me nearly ten years ago. “The brain.” She whispers the nickname for the buff-colored, oblong stone with tiny holes. “Did you know—”

I cut her off, knowing exactly what she is going to say, because she’d told me at least a dozen times that summer. “Yes, Ry, I know. The little holes are created by sea creatures. Sea creatures, like burrowing clams.” My grin is somewhat sarcastic as I meet her eyes. “And yes, I find it rather fascinating.”

“Hey.” Her voice squeaks. “Are you mocking me?”

“Who, me?” I joke, but my voice turns serious when she stumbles—loudly—over the Nike duffle bag resting at the foot of my bed. “Quiet.” I close the door behind us. “My mom’s sleeping, and unless you want her to see you high off your ass, I’d keep your voice down.”

“I’m not high.” She stumbles again, her body lurches forward and I think she might fall, but she rights herself at the last minute.

I raise my eyebrows. “How many of those brownies did you have?”

She holds up three fingers, but says, “Two.”

I shake my head. “Fucking Tod,” I grumble as I flip the switch on my lamp. “He knew those brownies were laced with weed.”

She doesn’t respond, but begins to undress, slipping the tight sweater over her head.

My anxiety level ricochets about ten notches. She cannot undress in front of me. I won’t be able to handle it. I need to stop her before, before…that. “What are you doing?” I cast my eyes away, willing myself not to look at her firm, round tits wrapped in perfect pink lace.

She shrugs. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”

“We were six!” I practically shout, but she just shrugs.

“Besides, it’s like I’m wearing a bathing suit.”

This is not the same. This is everything I want from you. This is everything I’ve dreamt about.

“Here.” I shove a t-shirt at her with more force than I meant. “Put this on.”

I watch open-mouthed as she slips it over her head and shimmies off her jeans. Fuck, she looks good in my shirt.

She tucks her arms inside the material, and seconds later, the soft pink bra lands on the floor next to her jeans. Fuck me.

I turn away from her, my dick already rock-hard. Glancing down, I check to see if my boner is visible through my joggers, already knowing the answer. Shit.

Her voice drifts over my shoulder, and her words hit me one at a time. Four jolts, heavy hits to my already flailing self-control. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

I swear, nothing could’ve prepared me for her question. “Do you watch porn?”

“Wh-what?” I stutter, nearly dropping my cell phone to the floor. I catch it and connect it to the charger.

She shrugs. “Do you?”

“Do you?” I counter, stalling for time, because I can’t tell her the truth: Yes, a shit ton.

“Occasionally.” She peels back the covers. “I don’t really see the appeal though.”

This conversation is a minefield. Riley and I never talk about sex. At least, not like this. She’s high, I remind myself, but still, I press on. My voice is deeper, more sensual. “Why’s that?”

“It’s all so… I don’t know. Fuck my pussy. Oh, baby. Yeah, that’s so good. You’re so big. It’s all so fake.”

Her words wash over me. I’m still stuck on pussy and fuck. I want to rewind time and hear her say those words again and again.

“Anyway.” She curls into bed. My bed. “Guys like it.” Her voice sounds forlorn.

I walk to my closet, grab my sleeping bag buried on the back shelf, and try to ignore the solid inch of dust lining the black fabric. I unroll it alongside the mattress. Clearing my throat, I finally say, “It’s fantasy. Guys know it’s not like that in real life.”

Her voice is whisper quiet. “Not all guys.”

My mind reels. I’m about to ask her what she means, but then she asks, “Do you have any fantasies?”

Holy shit. I suck in a breath, try to keep my voice casual as I respond, “Yeah, I guess.” All of them involve you.

“Like what?” she questions again, and I swear, I’m this close to cracking, ready to tell her every dirty thought that entertains my mind as I sit in boring class after boring class every damn day.

She rambles on. Riley is chatty on a good day, but tonight she’s a downright motor mouth. “I thought he might have been different.” She sighs and rolls onto her side.

“Who?” I question, my brain volleying back and forth like a ping-pong ball as we make our way through this fucked-up conversation.

“Tod.”

Anger cools the heat of my desire. “Did he try something, Ry?” I sit up and look at her through the light filtering in between the slats of the blinds. “I swear to God if he—”

Her sigh is loud in the quiet room. “He was really wasted, but…he asked me to blow him tonight.” The words are an ice-cold bucket of water dousing my heated skin. That son-of-a-bitch, piece of shit, motherfuck—

She interrupts my internal tirade. “I’m not that naïve. I know a lot of girls do it. What makes me so special? So different? It’s just... I freaked a little when he asked, ya know? I don’t even know him.”

What. The. Fuck. I don’t trust myself to speak, too afraid that I’ll scare her with the words, the anger flowing through my veins. Tod. Is. Fucking. Dead.

“Jesus.” My hands clench into tight fists, as I imagine her beautiful soft lips wrapped around… I choke. “Ry, you don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. You know that, right?” Because the truth is: she is different. She is special. She is not like any of the other girls. “You are special. So special.”

“Thanks,” she says softly. “And I know I don’t have to…” She’s quick to agree, but then continues, “I wouldn’t… at least, not yet.”

“Ry.” My voice slices through the silence. I can’t hear any more of this. Not right now. “Please tell me you’re not actually considering”—my voice chokes on the words—“being with him.”

She pffts the air with her hand. “He said he always wanted to be with a redhead ever since he saw this one clip on…” Her voice turns pensive. “I don’t even think he’ll remember, but still. Fucking douchebag.” Her eyes find mine. “Thanks for having my back.”

I hold her gaze. “I will always have your back, Ry. You’re my heart.”

Her lips tip into a smile, repeating her line. “Forever?”

“Forever and for always,” I agree.

She quiets then, and if I didn’t know any different, I’d think she was asleep, but I do know different. I know everything about her, and she still hasn’t snuggled onto her right side and tucked the covers under her chin—the way she always does when she sleeps.

Despite my gut telling me not to, I ask the question anyway. “Do you like Tod? Do you want to, you know?”

Her answer is immediate, a rush of words that spill forth from her mouth without any thought, in typical Riley fashion. “Yes. I mean, no. God, I don’t know.” She buries her face in the pillow. “I do have hormones, Jesse. I am a teenager. I want to have at least kissed a guy before heading off to college.”

“You’ve never kissed someone?” My nose scrunches as I repeat her words. As her best friend, my duties include listening to her talk about her favorite TV shows, her crushes, her feelings, but I draw the line at sex. Listening to her talk about hooking up with other guys will kill me. “You never said—”

She cuts me off. “Of course, I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want you to know how pathetic I am.”

“You’re not pathetic,” I scold, because I hate when she puts herself down.

“Says the guy who hooks up with anything that walks.”

“That’s not true,” I interject and leave out the most crucial part: I hook up with other girls in an attempt to get over you.

Riley gives me a look that says, “Please.” She’s quiet for a minute then, pulls her bottom lip between her teeth the way she always does when she’s thinking. “What if…?” Her voice fades out but then gains strength again. “What if…we kissed?”

“What?” I whisper hiss. “Are you still high? Are you sure you only had two of those brownies?

“Shut up.” She throws a pillow at me and clips the right side of my jaw. “Forget I asked.”

I stuff the pillow behind my head. My voice is cautious and a whole hell of a lot curious when I ask, “Why do you want to kiss me?”

She shrugs. Not the best response. But then she adds, “I’m comfortable with you.”

I nod my head. “Obviously.”

“I was thinking it wouldn’t be awkward with you. And then maybe when I get my first real kiss, I won’t be so damn nervous.” Her palms twist in the navy sheet, and I follow the movement. Are we really having this conversation?

My racing thoughts are a mix of elation—she wants to kiss me—and sadness because it’s not for real, dude. She wants to use you as a guinea pig. “Ry, I don’t know. Won’t that be a little weird?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “I’m gonna try to not be offended right now.”

I keep my face an expressionless mask to disguise the fact that my brain is re-enacting one of my favorite fantasies despite my adamant order to not even think it for one second: Riley’s full, soft lips on my mouth, on my skin, on my cock, wearing nothing more than my basketball jersey.

“And no,” her voice draws me back to the present moment. “I don’t think it would be weird. Just two friends sharing a friendly, non-romantic, non-sexual kiss. I mean, come on, Jesse, you’re like a brother to me.”

Brother. I absolutely despise when she says shit like that. It makes me feel like my attraction to her is gross and wrong and like I’m a pervert for even thinking of her as anything more than just a friend.

When I still haven’t said anything, she huffs. “But clearly I can see the idea repulses you. I guess I’m not up to your standards. Just forget the whole idea.”

She flips on her side and I catch a glimpse of her matching pink panties from where my t-shirt has ridden up, before she tucks the blanket back around her.

“Ry.” I clear my throat and say louder, “Riley.”

“What?” Her voice is short and clipped, and she makes no effort to turn to face me.

“Ask me tomorrow.” I stand up and circle around to the opposite side of the bed so I can look into her eyes. My eyes burn with so much heat it’s a wonder she doesn’t ignite. “Ask me tomorrow when you’re sober.” Her eyes hold mine and widen as my own pierce hers with the fire and intensity that I usually keep hidden away. “If you still want this in the morning, I’m game.”

She blinks, breaking the connection and shakes her head. “Good night, Jesse.”

“Night, Ry.”