Morning light blazed through the window, nudging Bex awake. She wasn’t quite ready to open her eyes, and the rest of her senses came back slowly, tugging her from a hazy dream.

A headache loomed at the base of her skull. She was dizzy, still a little drunk, and so not ready to move.

Must’ve been some night…

Her body was heavy and way too warm, arms and legs tangled up with those of the man she’d brought home. She couldn’t quite tell where she started and he began.

He was still passed out, his face pressed between her boobs, silky hair tickling her bare skin. She shifted beneath him, enjoying the sudden press of something hot and hard against her thigh.

Hello, morning wood.

The man groaned softly in his half-sleep, and Bex let out a satisfied sigh, wondering if they had time for a little romp before she headed out for the day. A proper orgasm was the fastest cure for a headache she—

Wait…

I didn’t bring anyone home last night. I never bring anyone home. It was just me and…

Her eyes flew open, heart hammering in her throat as she jolted fully awake, the events of last night crashing through her mind like car wreck.

Nachos.

Tequila.

Henny.

Oh, God. Henny.

Bex peered down at the man nuzzling her chest, sliding her fingers into his dark hair and brushing it back from his face, praying he was somebody else.

Anybody else.

No dice.

Her best friend was fast asleep, his mouth parted, breath hot on her bare flesh.

The room tilted sideways, her head thudding as her heart dropped right into her stomach.

This was bad. Beyond bad.

Henny grumbled and rolled over onto his back. Bex held her breath, but he was still sound asleep.

Gingerly, she lifted the sheet and scanned her body. The shorts, hockey jersey, and bra she’d had on last night were noticeably absent, the flesh beneath her breasts pink from the press of Henny’s face. She was still wearing her blue lace panties, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t come off at some point last night.

Or that Henny hadn’t simply worked around them.

Steadying herself for the killing blow, she cut her eyes to Henny.

Completely naked.

And still hard.

And… wow. Double wow. Her best friend was packing some serious mojo. It was the biggest, smoothest, most perfect cock she’d ever seen, like something sculpted by some old Italian master. The sheet tented over him when she let it drop back into place.

Holy hell.

Surely if that monster had been inside her last night, she’d be able to feel it this morning.

Taking a steadying breath, she did a quick mental inventory. Her entire body ached, but she could blame the cheap tequila hangover for that—not a night of wild sex.

Right?

Silent as a mouse, she trailed her hand down her stomach, slipping inside her panties to better investigate the situation. The brush of fingers over her clit sent a shock of desire through her core, so unexpected she almost cried out. She was slippery and needy, though it was impossible to tell whether it was her body’s natural response to having a warm, hard man in her bed, or whether it was leftover from last night.

Her head swam. She tried to remember something from last night—anything—but all she got was a blur. A flash, then it was gone. The headache crept across her brain, burrowing in like an animal.

It was no use. Bex had no idea what had happened in this bed. All she knew was that now, despite every warning in her heart, she almost… almost… wanted it to happen again.

She skimmed over her clit once more, and this time her thighs clenched.

God, that feels good…

“Holy fuck.” Henny’s voice startled her, and she yanked her hand out of her panties and turned to meet his eyes, her cheeks burning.

He was watching her, his own eyes wide with shock, followed by confusion, followed by—most unmistakably—arousal. Raw, unguarded lust.

Her breath hitched. “I was just…”

“Yeah. I noticed.”

Henny sat up against the headboard, the sheet falling down to his waist. His bare chest rose and fell rapidly, muscles rippling as he shifted away from her. Bex waited for him to crack a joke, to admit this was all some elaborate prank, to spoon-feed her the logical explanation she was so hungry for.

But Henny only gaped at her.

“How did this happen?” he demanded.

“I was hoping you could tell me.” Her gaze swept over the firm ridges of his abs, landing in his lap. He was still hard beneath the sheet, a realization that sent another bolt of desire through her core.

But still, Henny offered no explanation. No jokes. Nothing.

“Turn around,” she said. It was a little late for modesty, but she was hanging on by a thread, looking for control anywhere she could get it.

Henny swung his legs out over the side of the bed, his back to her as he raked a hand through his hair. She tried not to notice the adorable way it stuck up in the morning, or the way his sculpted shoulders flexed, or the way her own body still pulsed with heat.

Keeping one eye on Henny, she rose from the bed and yanked her robe off the door hook, wrapping herself up good and tight as she headed out of the bedroom in search of answers. And a hot shower. And coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.

She stumbled on something in the hallway, catching herself on the wall. “Fuck!”

“You okay?” Henny called out.

“Yeah.” She glanced down at her feet. “Found our clothes.”

The living room was a disaster, too—couch cushions on the floor, salt spilled across the coffee table, the empty tequila bottle tossed into the pot of her poor snake plant.

Tequila. Never again.

Standing in the middle of her living room, Bex got a flash—a memory? A dream?—of Henny pulling her into his lap on the couch, kissing her neck. Nibbling her ear. Both of them laughing.

“I’m still hungry,” he said.

“Too bad you ate all the nachos.”

“Guess I’ll just have to eat you…”

No. It had to be a dream. It wasn’t a memory. Not a real one. She and Henny would never, ever cross that line.

All evidence points to the contrary, sweetie.

Bex headed into the bathroom, hoping a searing hot shower would help clear her head.

It didn’t.

When she finally returned to the bedroom, Henny was still sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

“Whatever happened last night,” he said to the floor as she entered, “I don’t remember anything.” He blew out a breath and finally turned to look at her, guilt etching new lines into his face.

Tightening the tie on her bathrobe, Bex forced a grin she wasn’t entirely feeling. “Ouch. Guess I need to work on my game.”

Henny didn’t laugh.

“Hey,” she said, softer now. Her first instinct was always to comfort him, to erase those lines from his face, but she held back. She wasn’t upset with him—they’d gotten themselves into this mess together, after all—but she wasn’t ready to touch him yet. The moment felt fragile as a bubble, like if either of them said or did the wrong thing, their entire relationship would pop right out of existence.

“If it makes you feel better,” she said, “I don’t remember anything either.”

“Nothing?”

“Just…” Your hands in my hair. Your mouth on my neck. Guess I’ll just have to eat you. “…the tequila. Everything after that is a blur.”

He held her gaze for a minute, assessing. Then, finally, “I’m clean, Bex. Haven’t been with anyone in… well, a while, and I just had a checkup with the team doc. But I’m pretty sure we didn’t use a—”

“I’m on the pill.”

Henny blew out another breath, nodding.

“And I haven’t been with anyone since—”

“I know,” he said, holding up his hands. “It’s okay. We’re good.”

Typical Henny.

Bex tugged the towel from her hair, squeezing out the excess moisture and wrapping her curls up in a quick bun. Henny just sat there, spacing out on her bed.

She shouldn’t be surprised. Sex had always been an off topic for them. She could joke with him to an extent, but he’d usually shut it down before she went too far. And even though there hadn’t been many men in her life, Henny never liked hearing about them. Not in detail.

Still, she wished they could sit down and talk about this.

Turning to face him again, she said, “Henny, I was—”

“I’m—”

“But—”

“You’re—”

“Sorry.” Bex held up her hands. “You go first.”

“I was just gonna hop in the shower. Is that… okay?”

No, it’s not okay, Henny. I’m pretty sure we had sex last night but I can’t remember and everything is about to fall apart and I really, really can’t deal with this right now and you’re asking me about the shower? Seriously?

“Bex?”

“Huh?” She blinked back to reality. “No. I mean yeah, of course. Go ahead. You remember where the towels are, right?”

Remember where the towels are?

God. Bex was pretty sure she couldn’t get any more pathetic.

Henny didn’t move from the bed, just continued to watch her, waiting. “Um…”

“Oh! Sorry. I’ll just… I’ll make us some food. In the kitchen. Out there.” She clamped her mouth shut and scooted out to give him some privacy, not that it mattered anymore.

Because they’d seen each other naked.

Because they’d almost definitely had sex.

Because everything was a disaster of epic proportions.

* * *

While Henny showered, Bex made some extra-strong coffee and popped a couple of sesame bagels into the toaster. Last night, Henny’d promised her a big breakfast today, but she didn’t think either of them could handle it.

What had they done?

It’s just Henny. Come on, girl.

She let out a soft sigh, staring at a magnet on the fridge—a stuffed pink shrimp she’d gotten at the Bubba Gump restaurant back in San Francisco. She’d picked it out for Henny a year ago, thinking he’d get a good laugh, only she’d never sent it to him.

Now, it seemed to be laughing at her.

Bex closed her eyes. So they’d had a few too many shots, fooled around, possibly slept together. No need to get all soap opera on each other. They weren’t teenagers anymore. They were thirty-year-old adults, and they’d seen each other through the best and worst times of their lives, emerging unbroken every time.

This would be no different. Another funny story in the lifelong history of Bex and Henny, no more or less significant than the time they dared each other to eat worms, the time they ditched their respective prom dates to go watch a meteor shower together, the time they got two weeks’ detention for recreating the When Harry Met Sally orgasm scene in the school cafeteria.

They just had to get through this awkward morning, maybe take a break from seeing each other for a few days, then everything would go back to normal.

So what if the thought of sleeping with Henny sent a warm current rippling through her body.

So what if she was tingling and breathless.

So what if she was wet again just thinking about his hands on her body…

“You good?” Henny appeared in the kitchen doorway, damp hair curling over his ears. He was dressed in last night’s clothes—rumpled jeans, light gray Henley that clung to his muscular chest.

Stop noticing his muscular chest!

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Bex turned around, stretching up on her tiptoes to grab a couple of mugs from the cupboard above the sink.

“Jesus,” Henny whispered. Suddenly he was right behind her, his breath hot on her exposed nape. With the lightest touch, he ran his thumb down the back of her neck, making her shiver. “You, ah… you might wanna wear your hair down today. Or put on a turtleneck. And a scarf.”

She turned around to face him. “Why?”

Henny’s eyes were dark, his pupils dilated. He touched the back of his neck, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “There’s something…”

Bex stalked into the bathroom and grabbed her compact, angling herself to see the back of her neck in the mirror over the sink.

There, right where the ghost of his touch lingered, was a purplish bruise ringed with small red marks.

Teeth.

Oh my God. He bit me.

A bite like that could only happen one way.

From behind.

Bex closed her eyes as another flash shimmered into focus behind her eyelids…

Bex, pressed up against the wall in her bedroom, her bare nipples aching and hard. Henny, one huge hand pinning her wrists over her head, the other tangled in her hair. He slid his leg between her thighs, growled in her ear, told her all the things he wanted to do to her. Bex had never been so turned on, so needy. She arched her back in response, moaning as he licked and sucked the tender skin of her neck and back, crying out in sheer ecstasy when he finally bit down.

Her core pulsed as the memory replayed…

“I’m sorry,” Henny said from the doorway. “I guess things got a little… intense.”

Her compact hit the floor, the small mirror popping out.

“You’re lucky that didn’t break,” Bex snapped. “The last thing I need is seven years of bad luck.” She stormed past him, but Henny was faster, grabbing her arm and spinning her back around.

“Hey,” Henny said. Then, softer, “It’s me. Us.”

Bex sighed. Henny was right. She was acting like she’d woken up with a stranger, not a man she trusted with her life.

“It’s crazy, but it’s over,” he continued. “We were drunk. We did… whatever we did. Doesn’t mean anything has to change between us. Right?”

She nodded automatically, but was that even possible? Sex always changed things, no matter what the circumstances. Would they ever be able to hang out, have a few drinks together without thinking about last night? Without worrying that it might happen again?

Without wanting it to happen again?

Taking a deep breath, she locked all those thoughts away and pulled him into a hug. Forget not touching, forget the fragile bubble. They’d been friends for too long for something like this to come between them.

“Just… don’t be weird, okay?” she said, her words muffled against his chest. He smelled different today, like her soap and shampoo instead of his, but it was still Henny. Still her best friend. “I can’t handle it if you get weird on me now.”

His chest shook with a small laugh. “I’m not the one being weird, Bex.”

Okay, maybe he wasn’t being weird, exactly. Just distant. But that almost bugged her more. Why wasn’t he freaking out? Whether he could remember it or not, was the idea of sex with her really so inconsequential to him? Was sex in general inconsequential to him? How many women had be been with? How many mornings had he woken up just like this, hazy and hungover, eager to make his escape?

Slow down, crazy train.

“Sorry,” Bex said, finally drawing herself up. She was being ridiculous. Henny was the only man in her life who’d never disappointed her, twenty-five years and counting. That wasn’t about to start now. “You’re right.”

He flashed his trademark smirk. “Care to put it in writing?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Listen, I need to take off,” he said, checking his phone. “Gotta hit the gym, then run some errands. You guys opening the pub today?”

“Fee’s uncle gave us the green light on the plumbing, so we should be okay.”

“I’ll stop in later. Sound good?”

The knot inside her chest loosened, and Bex finally allowed a smile. Working out? Stopping in at Big Laurie’s? That was all normal. Normal was good. Normal was just perfect.

“Good,” she repeated, nodding for emphasis. She wasn’t sure whether she was trying to convince Henny or herself, but she was already feeling a little better about the whole thing. Meeting Henny’s eyes again, she said, “So we’re… okay?”

He cupped the back of her head, stroking her ear with his thumb. The gesture was meant to be comforting, but now it made her shiver. Suddenly she was noticing things about him she’d never paid much attention to before—the violet ring around his ocean-blue irises, the brush of his calloused fingers on her ear, the perfect cupid’s bow of his full lips—lips that had probably closed around her nipples last night, sucking and teasing…

He pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes.

“We are always okay,” he whispered.

After a beat, he pulled back and kissed her forehead—something he’d done hundreds of times. Maybe even thousands. It was a gesture so familiar she couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t done it.

So why, after all these years of hellos and goodbyes, was she suddenly trembling?