Chapter Four
Nick
I should be ashamed of myself.
I should leave this house, never to return. I should bleach my eyes and hypnotize my mind so I can’t remember the way her breasts pressed against the thin shirt, the way her nipples beaded hard, begging to be licked.
See? That right there.
Friends don’t think about their friend’s nipples.
Bosses don’t picture what it would be like to taste his employee’s soft skin.
That’s why I’m going to Hell. I’m a terrible friend (and boss). The hard-on in my pants proves it.
Who’s the worst friend in the history of all friendships?
Nick Adams, D.D.S.
I’ve never had this problem with any of my employees, but especially not Meghan. She was always happy, safely tucked away in friend-zone Meghan. Josh would bring her lunch or take her to the deli down the street from the office. He was a great guy. The best. She’d laugh and smile, giving all of her love and affection to one man. And that was fine. I was in a relationship and didn’t find her attractive.
Okay, lie.
She has always been pretty (gorgeous, really), but completely off-limits.
I didn’t want her.
And I definitely didn’t pop hard-ons in her living room and imagine touching her nipples.
Fuck, this is messed up.
So bad.
My stomach growls, reminding me that I have yet to eat. The sad part is, there’s only one thing I imagine putting in my mouth right now, and it isn’t the double cheeseburger in the bag.
Ignoring the discomfort in my pants, I grab a paper plate from her kitchen and the bottle of mustard from the fridge. By the time I’m back in the living room, pulling my burger from the bag, Meghan returns. She’s wearing a form-fitting t-shirt that hugs her body, and a bra. She’s definitely wearing one now. She’s also still wearing the cotton plaid boxer shorts that make her legs look incredibly tan and a mile long.
Dammit.
That won’t help the hard-on.
“Sorry about that. I wasn’t expecting anyone,” she says sheepishly, grabbing her milkshake from where she left it on the table and sitting on the couch across from me.
“I should have called first. It’s my fault for assuming you were up for company.”
“No, it’s fine. I actually don’t mind the visit.” She glances around the room, as if waiting for the ghosts to make their nightly appearance.
Meghan pulls her legs up to her chest and quietly drinks her shake. Her movements make those tiny little shorts appear that much smaller, all but disappearing in the V of her legs. Ignoring her attire, I dump the fries on the plate and squirt a blob of mustard. Taking the fries two at a time (because it’s practically a law that they must be consumed in pairs), I drop them into my favorite yellow condiment and pop them in my mouth.
“Gross!” Meghan says, a look of horror on her face.
“What?” I ask, dropping two more fries into the mustard before eating them.
“Mustard? What’s wrong with ketchup?”
“Nothing’s wrong with ketchup,” I tell her. “I put it on my burger.”
“But you dip your fries in mustard?” Again, she looks horrified, her mouth hanging open as she watches me eat.
“I do,” I answer with a shrug. Dipping two into the condiment, I hold them out and wait. Meghan shakes her head in answer, but keeps her eyes on the fries. “Come on, you know you wanna,” I egg her on.
She gives me a skeptical look, but slowly drops her legs and leans forward. I expect her to take the fries from my hand, but am pleasantly surprised when she just takes a bite, from my fingers. Her lip grazes my thumb and I can feel her breath settle on my skin. She closes her eyes as she chews, slowly sitting back onto the couch.
My cock? Throbbing.
“Well?” I ask, popping what is left of the two fries in my fingers into my mouth, and trying not to think about the fact that they were just touching Meghan’s lips.
“I stand by my original statement,” she replies, taking a long pull of her milkshake.
“You don’t know what’s good for you.” With that, I eat my dinner, while engaging in small talk with my dental hygienist.
Before we both know it, it’s approaching midnight. “I can’t believe it’s so late,” I state, jumping up and rounding up my trash.
“Me neither. I never stay up this late, unless it’s sisters’ night.”
“Well, you still have a few weeks to go before your next late night.”
“Yep. Next one is to celebrate AJ and Sawyer. We’re having a bachelorette party at Lucky’s, while the guys go to a baseball game that afternoon. They should return about the time the alcohol starts to kick in,” she says right before yawning.
“I know,” I tell her, making sure I’ve got my phone and keys. “I’m going.”
Meghan stops and looks my way. “You are?”
I shrug. “Yeah, well, maybe he’s in the market for a new dentist and this was their idea of vetting me before sitting in the chair?” She just smiles that warm grin that recently started to make my heart pound like a snare drum in my chest. “Plus, my brother-in-law is going, so maybe that has something to do with it?”
“Oh, sure. I forgot about Stuart. Natalie is on the invite list for the bachelorette party,” Meghan confirms.
“And she’s very excited. She mentioned last night at dinner that she’s looking forward to the decorations,” I laugh.
“I still can’t believe that. That’s the last time we put Grandma in charge of decorating,” she adds, referring to the wall-to-wall dicks used as décor for Jaime and Ryan’s co-party.
We stare at each other for a few seconds, both still smiling, until neither of us know what to do or say. Finally, Meghan speaks. “Thank you for the milkshake. You made my night.”
“Mine too.” She has no idea. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I add as I make my way to her front door. Glancing down, I see a pair of old, worn tennis shoes by the closet door. A man’s pair of shoes. Josh’s shoes.
Her eyes follow mine, and her once bright eyes turn dark and stormy. I can practically see the sadness sweeping in, transforming her right before my eyes. When I open the door, I hesitate. Part of me doesn’t want to leave her here, alone, when she’s surrounded by so many memories and could-have-beens. But I also know that I’m not her keeper, and even though I consider myself her friend, if she’s not asking for help, I’m in no position to force her.
“Good night, Meggy Pie,” I say as I step onto her small porch.
She gives me a look that’s part amusement and part annoyance, but I’d take that over the look of angst that was there just a few moments ago. “Good night, Nicholas Adams, D.D.S.,” she sasses.
Throwing her a smile and a wave, I head down the steps and toward my car. I slip inside, noticing that Meghan’s still on the porch, watching me. I wait a minute for her to go back inside, but realize she’s waiting on me to leave first.
I slide my key into the ignition, put the car in reverse, and pull out of her driveway. Giving her another wave, I slowly drive away, those long legs still visible from the rearview mirror.
And even though I try not to think about those sexy legs and mouthwatering breasts – and those nipples, holy hell, those fucking nipples – I know they’ll accompany me as I drift off to sleep to images of my beautiful dental hygienist.
Employee handbook, be damned.
* * *
A six a.m. text wakes me from an amazing dream (one that starred a certain brunette with intoxicating green eyes and perky nipples). When I glance at the clock and my phone, I groan.
After getting home well after midnight this morning, I had a hard time falling asleep. Mostly because I was hard as a rock and refused to do anything about it, at least while picturing a certain someone who shall remain nameless.
Rhenn’s name greets me on the screen. I already know what his message will say before I even swipe my finger. If you’re not ten minutes early, you’re already late, according to my friend.
Rhenn: Where ya at? The mats wait for no one.
Me: On my way.
Throwing my legs over the bed, I ignore the swelling in my boxers and grab a clean pair of basketball shorts and tee. Workouts with Rhenn are always tough, but now he’s going to be exceptionally brutal in light of my tardiness.
Rhenn is my oldest friend. We met in grade school when I was being bullied by two junior high boys over my size. I was always a tad on the short side and always ridiculed over it. Rhenn found the boys pushing me around behind the dumpster and intervened. Actually, I believe he kicked one in the balls and told the other he would rearrange his face if he caught him messing with me again.
That was the start of our friendship.
Rhenn was always a big guy, but used his size for good. He owns the dojo where I teach a Wednesday Little Dragons class and help with his bi-weekly Friday self-defense class for beginners. I’m a first degree black belt, while Rhenn is a third. He’s an electrician by day and always seems to have no trouble finding a lady-friend to keep him company at night.
After brushing my teeth, I slip on a pair of shoes, grab my bag, and jump into my car to head toward the dojo. By the time I pull in, it’s quarter after six, which will probably result in an extra fifteen minutes on the treadmill.
Using my key, I unlock the door and am greeted by the heavy beat of AC/DC. Rhenn must have had a good night last night if he’s already hitting “Thunderstruck” for a warm-up. I ignore the man on the treadmill and slip into our private locker room to change. By Friday morning, this place always smells like a sweaty locker room, with towels thrown in the basket in the corner and empty water bottles loitering the benches.
It’s why Rhenn pays someone handsomely to come in every weekend and make the place not smell so…smelly.
When I’m ready to go, I join my friend in the weight room attached to the main dojo. He’s already pounding the road, or more adequately, the treadmill. Rhenn’s the type of guy, even with his big bulky frame, who thinks running five miles is fun.
I see no fun in running.
After stretching out my legs, I climb onto the machine next to his and slowly work up to a jog.
“‘Bout fucking time,” he pants, sweat already falling from his brow.
“Sorry. Late night.” My legs immediately start to feel the burn.
“What was it this time? Damsel with a flat tire? Grandpa broke his crown? You didn’t leave here until nine, which tells me it couldn’t have been anything too exciting. Like balls deep in a beautiful woman,” Rhenn says, throwing me a cocky smirk.
I snort. “O ye of little faith, my friend.”
Rhenn glances my way. “Really? Because if you were up all night screwing a woman then I’m willing to knock a few miles off today’s run.”
Without answering, I increase my speed.
“That’s what I thought. So what was it? The damsel or the tooth emergency?”
For nearly a minute, the only sound is the pounding of our feet on the treadmills and slight exertion (mostly from me). But that’s the thing about Rhenn; he hasn’t dropped the conversation. He’s just waiting me out, like always.
“Meghan.” I had to give him something.
“I already knew that, man. What was wrong with the damsel this time?”
The way he says it heckles my nerves, but I know he doesn’t mean any disrespect. Rhenn likes Meghan. Hell, he liked Josh. Everyone did. My friend just knows that I have a soft spot for my dental hygienist, and that I would do just about anything to help her. That’s what friends are for, right?
“Nothing, actually. I grabbed food after I left here and dropped off a milkshake.”
Rhenn looks my way, his eyebrows shooting skyward. “Is that code for something kinky?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, which causes me to reach over and punch him in the arm.
“Fuck off. I’m not like you. I don’t sleep with my friends,” I retort, referring to an incident in college, which left Rhenn short one female friend after he slept with her and didn’t return her calls.
“Low blow, brother. I was hammered.”
“Too hammered to answer your phone? The entire week after?”
Rhenn turns away, a regretful look on his face. “Yeah, well, sometimes, it’s for the best.”
We’re both quiet as we finish out our run together and hit the weights. It’s a light day, considering we just ran three miles. (Well, I ran three miles. He ran six.)
“So, I’m going to let you off easy today, and we’re gonna skip the mat,” Rhenn says as he’s spotting my bench press.
“You’re up to something,” I say as I push the bar up for the tenth time this rep.
“A date. Tomorrow night.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, sitting on the bench and turning to face him.
“I have a date tomorrow.”
“Shit, it’s not a mom, is it? We have a rule against dating moms of our students. Don’t you remember the Jackie incident?”
“Of course I remember the Jackie incident! It was my balls that kid kicked when he found me sneaking out of her room in the morning!” Shaking my head, I stand up so he can take the bench. “And that’s not it. I’m not dating a mom. I’m dating a perfectly respectable young lady, who happens to be home for the summer.”
“A college student? You’re dating a fucking college girl?”
Rhenn lies back on the bench and grabs the bar. “She just graduated.”
“High school?” I ask, knowing full well that if he answers yes to my question, I’m letting the bar, and all of its weight, drop on his chest.
“Fuck off, Dr. Adams. She’s in grad school. Twenty-four, which is a perfectly respectable age.”
“Fine,” I reply, keeping my eyes on the bar as it rises and lowers to his chest. “What does this have to do with getting off easy today?”
“You’re going with me,” he grunts before pushing up one last time and setting the bar in the cradle.
“What? The hell I am.”
“You said it yourself, you’re ready to start dating. Your dick probably hasn’t been played with since Collette, and it’s time to get back out there, my friend. There are so many women out there willing to help you out with your little problem,” he adds with a smirk.
“It’s not a problem,” I reply, finishing off my bottle of water.
“Dude, anytime you’ve gone more than a week without dick-action is a problem. And it’s been, what, nine months since the bitch from Hell stole your shit and left?”
I don’t confirm nor deny.
“So that’s why you’re going with me to meet Shelli and her friend Becca. You’re going to have a few beers and get to know this woman. And if you’re lucky, she’ll help you out with the dick-play part.”
“You’re horrible,” I reply, wiping my face with a clean hand towel.
“Actually, I’m fucking phenomenal. At least, that’s what the ladies keep saying.”
The shitty part is, the asshole is right. It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed the company of a woman (dental hygienist excluded). There’s no better time to get back on the horse than now, right? I don’t even have to waste time trying to find a date, since my friend has pretty much already arranged one for me. That beats the hell out of Internet dating.
“Fine. I’m in.”
“Of course you are,” he says, tossing his used towel into the basket. “You and your dick will thank me later.”
Ignoring his parting comment, I head to the shower, his laughter fading as I go. It’s now or never. No, I don’t expect the first woman I date to be “the one,” but it’d be nice if she wasn’t a cat-stealing, raging bitch on wheels.
Hell, I just need someone who likes to laugh, drink coffee by the Bay, and enjoys Mexican food as much as I do. Someone who kisses like a dream and maybe lets me hold her hand while we’re watching a movie. And shower sex. Someone who doesn’t mind getting wet and dirty, while you’re supposed to be getting clean.
Is that too much to ask?