“Mmm,” he hums. “As incredible as that sounds, I actually need to run.”
“You do?” There’s no hiding the disappointment dripping from my voice, my heart plummeting quickly as it sinks in that I’ll have to settle for a lonely bed tonight after all.
“I do,” he confirms, wiggling out of my grasp and slipping out of bed.
“Let me get your number,” I insist, doing my best to resist dragging the captivating, addicting man back into my bed.
“This was fun, but I can’t.” He shakes his head and bites his bottom lip before tugging his pants back on and looking around, most likely trying to remember where he left his shirt.
“Sure, you can,” I coax, turning on the charm. “You had fun, I had fun. We can have fun again.”
“Look, I’m already in love with two men I can’t have, the last thing I need is a third.” A blush rises in his cheeks as the words leave his mouth.
“Two men?” I repeat. It’s no shock to hear he’s in deep with the guy he always comes into the bar, and occasionally leaves the bar, with. But there’s someone else too? Is he like I am?
He gives me a wry half smile, giving up looking around for his shirt and running his fingers quickly through his hair to tame it.
“It’s complicated.”
“Well, if you ever need to uncomplicate things again, even for one night, you know where to find me.”
“I do,” he agrees with a smile, leaning over the bed and brushing a kiss to my lips. “I’m going to clean up real quick in your bathroom and then go.”
“Okay. I’ll see you around.” I force a casual tone and watch as he walks out of my bedroom, my heart in my throat.
Chapter 2
Hudson
I shift my ass against the floor, trying to get comfortable. The carpet is absolutely disgusting, I wonder if anyone ever vacuums it. Do apartments usually hire someone to do that? Or do they figure since no one lives in the hallway it doesn’t really matter?
Glancing at my phone for the millionth time, I get the distinct feeling I might be a fucking idiot. I told myself I’d only wait ten minutes for Bishop to get home. Ten minutes is all it takes to get from Twisted Cherry to here. And after the first ten minutes came and went, I swore I’d only wait ten more. That was over two hours ago and still no sign of him.
My stomach roils as worst case scenarios run through my mind. Someone jumping him, a horrible car wreck that has him lying on the side of the road half-dead, a thousand other horrific scenarios that make bile rise in my throat. But the best case scenarios aren’t exactly fun to imagine either. Did he go home with the bartender? He has every right to, of course, but I hate the thought of it anyway.
Footsteps echo down the hall, and I scramble to my feet, smoothing out my pants so it doesn’t look like I’ve been camping out on the floor outside his apartment for half the night. As soon as he comes into view, my heart beats a little faster, the sick feeling in my stomach replaced with a flutter.
“Bish,” I say his name, and he looks up. Instead of his usual smile—albeit sometimes reluctant—he looks exhausted. Not just physically exhausted either. There are bags under his eyes, and I can’t help but wonder if they’ve been there before this, and I just haven’t noticed.
I think back over the past few months, picturing his face and trying to recall if he’s looked this tired the whole time. But all I can see is a million expressions I’ve grown addicted to over the years— his irritated scowl when I say or do something stupid, his flushed, needy look as I take him apart with my mouth or slide my fingers inside him, the determined look he gets when he’s the one on top, the relaxed, happy expression that’s more rare than it used to be...
“I told you not to call me that stupid nickname,” he complains, but it lacks the usual venom that accompanies our back and forth. As he draws closer, I notice his clothes are wrinkled, and he smells like sweat and sex.
“Where’ve you been?” I ask, doing my best to keep the accusation out of my tone. I don’t have any right to tell him who he can and cannot go home with and vice versa. The system has been working well for us for years, so why would I want to go and fuck that all up now?
“Out,” he answers.
“I got that,” I mutter with annoyance as he skirts around me to his apartment door. “Mind if I come in?”
Bishop pauses with his hand on the doorknob, the key in the lock. His shoulders sag, and he lets his head fall against the doorframe.
“I don’t think so.”
The answer takes me by so much surprise my breath catches in my throat, and I have to go over it more than once in my mind to be sure of what I heard. I’ve known Bishop for twenty-five years, nearly our entire lives, never once has he told me no. When we were fourteen, I dared him to eat a worm, and he did it without question; when we were sixteen, I said it would be cool if he jumped off the ravine and he did it—and broke his arm for his trouble; and when we were twenty-five, I pulled him into bed for the first time after a few too many shots of tequila. Never once has he told me no.
“Did I do something?” I ask, my tongue feeling too thick for my mouth and my heart thundering loudly in my ears as I try to think back over the night. Sure, I was flirting with that guy whose name I already forgot, but he flirted with the bartender too. It’s what we do.
“It’s everything, Huds. I just...I think we should take a break.”
A humorless laugh bubbles past my lips. “A break? Who are we, Ross and Rachel?” My voice sounds hollow as I try to force some levity into the situation, as I do my best not to let him see that I’m seconds away from falling apart.
“Ross and Rachel were dating, we’re not even that,” he points out, not looking in my direction, his hand still on the door like he might flee into the apartment at any second.
“Because we both agreed it would complicate things. We talked about dating five years ago, remember? And we said we didn’t want to risk our friendship.” Now I’m sounding panicked, and maybe later I’ll remember to feel embarrassed about this whole situation. I’m getting dumped by a guy I’m not even dating and I’m not taking it well.
The impulse to grab him and kiss him until he forgets this whole stupid idea grips me, but something tells me that, for once, kissing him stupid won’t fix anything.
“You’re an idiot,” Bishop says, sounding as tired as he looks, finally turning his head so I can see his face. His expression is flat, his eyes lacking their usual spark, and it’s all I can do not to fall at his feet and beg him to change his mind. I do still have some dignity.
“I know,” I agree. I’m not sure what stupid thing I’ve done now, but I’m sure he’s not wrong.
He turns the door handle and steps inside, but before he can close the door on me, I reach my hand out to stop it. “You just mean the sex stuff, right?” I check, a whole new fear rising up inside me as the possibility of never seeing my best friend again surfaces. “We can still hang out? We’re still friends?”
“We’re still friends,” he agrees. “I’ll see you, Hudson.”
“Yes,” I answer reluctantly, using every ounce of self-control I possess not to push my way into his apartment and kiss him until he remembers how good we are together. “See you.”