1
“Hank, honey. Time to get up.” Hank’s mom, calling through the door, wakes me from my sleep.
Disorientated, I sit up with a jerk. The blanket falls, exposing my bare breasts. Gasping, I pull the sheet up to my chin, squint, and do a long blink. My contacts are dry, which makes them feel stiff and scratchy and my vision blurry. Each blink offers a short snapshot of my surroundings.
I know where I am. Mortified, I drop my head and cover my eyes with the sheet. Why had I agreed to come here? What would make me throw caution to the wind and risk ruining a friendship?
Lust. That’s what.
“Hank, Dad says you have a tee time in one hour. Time to get up, sleepyhead,” his mom calls.
“Sweet Jesus,” I whisper. Panic seizes me as I glance to my left. Lying next to me is my best friend’s older brother, Hank. I’ve known Gigi and Hank my entire life. This is her childhood bedroom, now a converted guest room, and the voice on the other side of the thin door is their mother, Ms. Becky. I’d rather face all of hell’s demons than have her find me here, in her guest bed, naked, with Hank.
“Hmmphh? To slee....” Hank mumbles and his warm body rolls away, exposing his firm, well-defined backside. I close my eyes and count to ten. Now is not the time to get distracted by his assets or lost in the memory of how wonderful last night was. Now is the time to get the hell out of Dodge. I clutch the sheet to me as I shake his shoulder.
“Wake up,” I whisper. When he doesn’t move, I lean close to his ear. “Wake. Up. Your mom is at the door.”
He opens his eyes, or at least the one eye I see as he’s lying on his stomach.
The doorknob rattles, and I fling myself back, pull the covers up over my head, and try to burrow underneath him.
“I’m up, Mom,” Hank says, not even moving an inch.
“Well hurry. Dad’s anxious to get to the course.” Her voice fades, indicating she’s moving down the hallway.
“You can come out of hiding,” he says.
I flip the covers off my face, then clench them to my chest, “Hush. I don’t want them to know I’m here.”
“I figured. I don’t think they’ll care if they find you here.” His voice is a low baritone and I worry it will carry.
“Whisper,” I say. “I don’t care what you think. I don’t want them to know. I don’t want Gigi to know. I don’t want anyone to know.” Just saying it makes my stomach clench with apprehension.
“I don’t see the big deal.”
I sit up, rest on my elbow, and face him. “Of course you don’t. Let me tell you how it will go down if anyone finds out about last night.”
“This should be good,” he mumbles.
I continue, “I’ve been divorced a year now. Everyone wants to set me up because they think I need to be getting serious again. If our family gets wind of this...they’ll go nuts.” I shake my head. My mother would put an announcement in the social page of the paper, the engagement section, not five minutes after gaining this knowledge.
“I’m not so sure they’ll react like you think.” He’s a guy so he doesn’t understand the way a mother’s mind works, or his sister’s for that matter.
“You tell no one.” I point to emphasize my words.
“How do you figure you’re getting out of here if not through the front door? Dad and I are headed to the golf course. My mom is staying home.” I give the room a quick scan. I want to leave unseen.
“There’s my exit.” I point to the window. I roll away and sit up again, tucking part of the sheet under my arms and wrapping the rest around my backside. I search for my clothes.
“The window? Really?”
“Sure. Trust me, it’s easy. I’ve done this before. Lots.” I wave my hand to emphasize that it’s no big deal.
Hank raises a brow. “You’ve done...what before?”
“Oh my God, not that. I mean, I haven’t done this”—I point to him—“but I’ve snuck out the window. With Gigi.”
His lips twitch. I’m prepared to slap my hand over his mouth should he start laughing.
“What if someone goes outside and sees you? It’s”—he turns to look at a clock—“eight-thirty.”
“They won’t know I’ve come out the window. They’ll think I’m coming from the back.” Gigi’s bedroom is on the side of the house. Gigi and I have run every possible scenario. This is something I’ve done often enough I could label it a skill. “And you’ll be in the kitchen distracting your parents. Close your eyes.”
“Huh?” He rests his arms behind his head and yawns. It must be nice to be so relaxed.
“Close your eyes. I want to get out of bed and get dressed.” I’m not ready to be naked in front of Hank in broad daylight. I’m pretty confident my backside isn’t as well defined as his.
“Do you not remember last night?”
“Just shut up and do it.” When he closes his eyes, I toss my pillow over the top of his head. I swing my feet out of bed and lower them to the ground. The crinkle of a wrapper halts my flight.
I peer over the edge of the bed where condom wrappers lay scattered.
“Holy shit,” I whisper and look over at Hank to find him smiling.
The light of day casts a whole new perspective on last night’s choices, and even though I thought I was making a sound decision, it’s obvious now I was conned by lust...and alcohol. Enough to impair my common sense and my moral compass, but not so much I can’t remember.
“Hurry, I want to get up, too.” He grunts when I punch him in the gut.
I slide out of bed, pulling the sheet with me. Hank pulls back when I’m three feet away, my bra and panties are just out of reach. I give a firm tug and meet resistance. Hank still has the pillow over his eyes, but is it enough? Will he look? I snap the sheet in a hard tug and let go when he resists. The fabric floats back, covers his head, and I dash to scoop up my panties and bra. I have one leg in my jeans when another knock at the door startles me, and I fall back onto the bed. When the doorknob rattles, I roll onto the floor and try to crawl under the bed, but bump my head on the frame. I don’t fit.
“Hank, here’s coffee,” his mom calls.
Hank jumps off the bed and snatches up condom wrappers. He puts his pants on with amazing speed, tucking the wrappers into his front pocket. I jump up and hop toward the closet as I pull on my pants, stopping only to gather my shirt, purse, and boots. I ease the folding door closed. The closet is empty save for a few Rubbermaid bins. I dress with deliberate movements, careful not to bump a wall, pausing, one arm in my shirt, the other midair, when the low creak of the bedroom door opening paralyzes me.
“Oh, you’re getting dressed. Good. I thought you might be having a hard time waking up. You got in pretty late. Did you have a good time last night?”
I cover my mouth with my hand to keep from snorting. He’d better say he had a fabulous time. I press my head into my palms. What is wrong with me? I’m talking about Hank. Yes, last night I experienced alter-my-psyche, toe-curling sex with him, my best friend’s brother. It’s the last part that makes me want to hurl. If our acquaintance was recent, not a familiar one with the baggage of a past, if I wouldn’t have to hear about it for years to come from my family or his sister, if I knew he could walk away after a few more encounters wanting nothing more, I wouldn’t hesitate to repeat last night. Often.