“You’re buttering me.”
“A little. You like it.”
“A little,” I say, blushing something fierce by now. “I don’t have a dress.”
“We’ll get you one.”
Interesting. My non-reply is apparently all the confirmation needed. We change topics and finish dinner, then Netflix and chill with bottom-of-the-barrel wine, all giggles and other lightheartedness.
When it’s over, I ask him at the door, “How serious are we pretending this is?” gesturing between us.
“Pretty serious,” Drake says, as if it’s a simple matter of fact.
“Shouldn’t we lay some ground rules… get our story straight, and stuff?”
“We should.” He steps in for a hug and then dips his mouth to my cheek to proffer another kiss. If I’m not mistaken this one is longer, softer, warmer than the one before. This one makes my heart pulse a little bit fast, and ushers tingly fuzzies all the way down to my toes. “Thanks for dinner,” he tops off in a low, nice voice.
“Anytime. You know that.”
“Yeah, I do.” Drake’s grin reaches the corners of his eyes. “See you Saturday, babe. G’night.”
“G’night, you.”
Horrible thoughts assail my mind the whole way home and into my dreams. Fantasies, more like. Featuring Drake. And me.
And What. The. Fuck.
Two
Drake
This all seemed like a good idea until roughly six minutes into the trying-on-dresses part. My best friend Harlow’s a dang fox, a foot shorter than me, with spellbinding curves that look very nice in charmeuse. Not like I never noticed she was sexy before. But damn, was her hair always so long and thick? Did all her soft places always make me this hard?
Forty-five minutes and approximately the same number of dresses later—I lost count after she made my head spin with dress number three—Harlow steps out looking both amazing and depressed. My heart trips on something hot when I notice the way her hips sway in the fitted dark-blue/green off-the-shoulder gown, and my heart cracks when my gaze rakes slowly up her body to see that her eyes are filled with tears.
“Babe.”
That only makes her start to cry harder. “Why are you doing this to me?” Harlow sobs. “I hate my body in all of these.”
“You… what?” I practically yell out. “Have you looked in a mirror?”
“Duh.” She rolls those big dark wet eyes.
Now I’m confused. This is why I never dated one woman for long. They’re complicated as all get-out. Either Harlow’s fishing for more compliments, a performance she deserves an Academy Award for, or she really doesn’t see how smokin’ she is.
“If you need me to worship you, just say so.”
Harlow frowns. “You’re patronizing me?”
I pull her into my arms. Too happy to have her against me. And a little disturbed I’m having these thoughts. She lets me hold her and finger-comb her hair until her tears dry. She doesn’t even complain when some of the tangles hurt.
“Not only do you have the most dynamite fuckin’ body I’ve ever seen, Har…but this color…” I slide my hand down to the small of her back, lightly pinching the silk-soft fabric, “…looks beautiful against your skin.”
“What did you say?”
“The color. What’s it called, hunter green? Viridian? Spru—”
“Not that. The other thing.”
I grin, more’n happy to praise her again. “You look incredible, babe.”
She looks up at me so her chin presses against my sternum. Her breath on my throat. It’s been some time since I’ve been tempted to kiss those lips. Not because they aren’t kissable. Clearly I’ve been distracted, or foolish, or blind, or something.
“You’re just saying that because we’re friends, Dray.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I meant it.” I graze my hands up her back, stopping to hold a fistful of her heavy dark hair. “You’re gonna give me a boner wearing this godforsaken dress.”
“Ew!” She giggles, and playfully smacks my shoulder. Harlow’s adorable when she blushes. “Liar,” she quips.
“Want me to prove it to you?” I raise an eyebrow. Harlow stops giggling but her cute round cheeks stay red as apples. She clears her throat, and together we step a foot apart.
Her gaze flickers down and then up as rapidly as a shooting star.
And now she knows.
“Dark teal,” Harlow whispers.
“Mh.”
“Drake. Focus.”
I glue my gaze on hers. She’s smiling, and trying and failing miserably to hide it. For a second I think she might’ve been right, it could get weird, now that my dick’s been locked and loaded by the sight of her, and she damn well knows about it.
“The color of the dress. It’s teal,” Harlow says.
“Let’s get it.”
She makes a cagey face at me then goes back to the fitting room to put back on her regular clothes. They aren’t as body-hugging but that image is branded in my head.
We buy the dress and go out for lunch, somehow avoiding any further awkwardness. We’ve been friends since I can remember. Been through a lot of the ups and downs of growing up together. Probably gonna take a lot more’n my happy nine-inch cock to drive a wedge between us.
“So what’s our story?” Harlow gets all business, putting on her serious face. “What’re we going to say if people ask about us?”
“We’ll keep it simple. We met through friends. Had a nice first date, really clicked. All that romantic shit.”
“What friends?” she probes. “Where’d we go on our first date? How long ago?”
I scrub my hand down my face. “Okay. Gonna need more time to think about this.”
“Understood. Let’s just go over some ground rules, that sound easier?”
“Great idea. You first.”
“Alright…how ’bout we start with the physical stuff, like, no grabbing my ass at the event, no staring at my tits.” She slides me a look. I frown, hard. “No ruining our friendship. No sex.”
“If you said at the event to just one of those, that means all the other stuff is on the table for afterward? Before?” I play, except that I’m actually totally serious. “Both?” I add. “Not including the friendship-implosion part. Cuz I dig you. And y’know… I would starve.”
“Hardy-har-har, Drake.”
“A’right, a’right,” I surrender. “We’ll have to kiss?”
“Probably, yeah.”
“When?”
“I dunno. Sometime during the ceremony. With witnesses.”
“Perfect. Let’s have our first real fake-kiss at a splashy event with a hundred other people watching. I’m sure that won’t look unnatural, at all.”
“You know, you’re right,” she says. “Maybe we should…practice first.”
I do like the sound of that, and from the impassioned look blazing across her onyx eyes, she’s not hating it either. I pat the empty seat beside me. “C’mere, babe.”