7

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I can’t say I’ve been friends with a girl before. Not real friends. Not even “I’m just doing this until she lets me fuck her” friends. But now, somehow, I find myself doing friendly things with Aster. Studying at the library, meeting up for lunch, getting groceries.

As friends.

Jerry doesn’t know about this, of course. Aster wants him to think she’s moved on and practically begged me to keep our friendship a secret; I want to keep this on the down low so Jerry doesn’t start putting two and two together and realize I’m moving in on his girl.

Tonight we’re at the library, sitting opposite each other at a table in the classical literature section, laptops open. I have a paper due at the end of the week and Aster—who’s a criminology major, I learned—is reviewing notes for a quiz tomorrow. I’m so wrapped up in my writing that it takes the moans a second to interrupt my thoughts.

I freeze and listen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, and a second later I hear it again: a soft female moan. Of pleasure.

I peek at Aster over my screen. She’s hunched over her laptop, just the top of her hair visible.

Another moan.

Not from Aster.

My heart sinks in disappointment even as it grows two sizes when Aster lifts her head and her eyes meet mine.

“Am I imagining that?” she whispers, covering her mouth with her fingers.

Another moan.

“Definitely not,” I whisper back. To say I’m disappointed Aster’s not sitting across from me with her hand down her pants would be a phenomenal understatement. It’s been a whopping ten days since we had tea at her place and if I thought it was painful to lust after her when she had a boyfriend, it’s ten times harder to lust after her when she doesn’t have one. Because now there’s no reason we’re not fucking except...we’re not.

The moans rise in volume and frequency, breaking off with a tiny, stifled yelp that signifies an orgasm. Aster’s gaze darts to the long rows of books to our right as a male groan rattles through the room and we twist in our seats to locate the sound.

“Yeah, like that,” he murmurs, voice carrying in the otherwise quiet space.

“Fuck,” I mutter, dropping my face into my hands.

I haven’t hooked up with anyone since I moved in with Jerry a month ago. I might not do commitment, but I’m a one-woman man until I get the girl. Then it’s onto the next one. And right now the only girl preoccupying my thoughts is Aster, whose cheeks are flushed as she hears the guy’s raspy breathing, the wet sounds of sucking, his guttural encouragements to the girl going down on him.

I think of Sindy.

I think of Jerry.

I look at Aster. She’s got her hands steepled in front of her and she’s examining her unpainted fingernails. I wonder if this is turning her on. It’s turning me on. I wish that was her mouth on my dick, my hands in that silky hair, my voice ordering her to take it.

The guy comes with a satisfied cry, deafening in the quiet library.

I’m so hard it hurts.

I try to swallow but my throat is too tight. I would give anything to fuck Aster right now. Do anything. Say anything.

“I’m not even jealous,” she whispers.

I freeze. “What?”

“Of them,” she says, pretending not to notice the couple scurrying out of the book stacks ten feet away, still adjusting their clothes. “I don’t even wish that was me.”

“You...don’t?”

“No. Since Jerry told me he, well, you know, I haven’t even been tempted. Haven’t thought about it.”

“Like, at all?” My dick is throbbing and my ego is stinging. We’ve hung out half a dozen times and she hasn’t even thought about fucking me? Hasn’t even contemplated it? Here I am working out extra and taking care shaving and she’s not noticing?

“I tried. Shamus asked me out and we had lunch, but I—”

“Wait.” This keeps getting worse. “You went out with Shamus?”

“Yeah. And he was so sweet and funny and all I could think was, It doesn’t matter. People are assholes and I’m just...done.”

My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. “Done with...sex?”

“Yeah. Sex. Love. Everything. What’s the point?”

I dart a glance back toward the library hookup spot. “Orgasms?”

Aster sniffles. “Maybe I’m broken. Isn’t that stupid? It’s not like I’ve had a wonderful life and nothing bad has ever happened, but this is the first time I didn’t see it coming.”

I try to forget about my dick and concentrate on what she’s saying. “What kind of bad stuff?”

She sighs and shuts her laptop. “It doesn’t matter. I guess Jerry was just another lesson I had to learn.”

I gather up my things and keep pace as she exits the library, the February night dark and cold. “You need exposure therapy,” I say, my breath billowing in front of me in a white cloud.

“Exposure therapy?”

“Yeah. You should be exposed to the thing that scares you, so your brain understands there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

She stops in her tracks and narrows her eyes at me. “Are you suggesting I watch people have sex?”

I try not to laugh. I also try not to come in my pants at the idea. “No. I’m inviting you to a wedding. It’s this weekend, down in Lawrence. Come with me.”

“That sounds like an awful idea.”

“That’s why you should do it. We can confirm whether or not you’re really broken.”

“Who do you know that’s getting married?”

“My friend Brix. From the...” I trail off, but it’s too late.

“Bachelor party,” Aster says. “Where Jerry cheated on me.”

“But back to the wedding,” I begin.

Aster’s eyes are flashing with anger. “Maybe you should tell your friend Brix that his marriage is destined to end in destruction and failure and his heart will be replaced with a bottomless pit of bile and hatred.”

I try not to flinch. “I’ll be sure to include that in my toast.”

“I really don’t think I’m the right person to invite to a wedding, Aidan.”

“On the contrary. Every terrifying thing you’re saying is exactly the reason you should come. And it’s on Valentine’s Day—do you really want to be half a mile away from Jerry when you could be in beautiful Lawrence, Washington?” 

She finally looks intrigued and not just disgusted. “That’s a better reason than exposure therapy.”

“Call it whatever you want. The wedding is Saturday afternoon. We’ll drive down first thing in the morning and drive home late that night. And maybe by the time we get back, you won’t be so depressed and scary.”

That earns me a laugh, her smile making her ten times prettier. And even though I’m still the asshole half-responsible for this mess, I also feel like the asshole that just might clean it up.