“Smart, aren't you?” I smirk at her, and Suri swats at me. “I am smart. Smarter than some of us, who hack themselves to pieces!” She sticks her pink tongue out, wiggling it in a way that tightens my pants. “I bet you hadn't shaved in days. Am I right?” She folds her arms in front of her slim waist, giving me a pointed, wifely look.
I shrug and shift my feet, putting a bit of space between us as I look her over. “What about you, Madeline? Paris treat you ladies right?”
Suri grins. “I’m surprised you know your kid lit.”
I shrug. “Lizzy's house.” I mean Lizzy’s childhood home, where I hid out for a few months when the shit with my dad and the whole sex-slave mistress situation got real sketchy. “She said she got the Madeline books to give to Martine or Marino or whatever her name is. Her little sister.” As in, from Big Brothers Big Sisters. I shrug. “But they ended up in Lizzy’s bathroom.”
“Where you read them.” Suri giggles, lightly touching my elbow with the back of her hand. Her eyes linger on mine half a second too long, and I can't ignore the emotion that I see in them: not just friendship, but something more akin to...adoration. Maybe I’m seeing things.
A second later, the look melts off her face, and she reaches into her purse for a little pack of tissue. I shuffle my feet as she dabs my jaw. Her thin brows pinch together as she draws it away, opening her purse again, this time to pull out a small bottle of water. She pours a few drops on the tissue. Instead of letting her wipe at my face again, I grab the thing from her and do it myself.
I can tell she doesn't like that. She tries to keep her face neutral, but I know her well enough to see the way her mouth pulls down just a little at the corners. Disappointed.
I don't get it. Am I supposed to let her mother me? Why would she want to? It’s not like my own mother ever did. I ball the tissue up and toss it onto my bed, not caring if the blood stains my dingy gray blanket.
It wasn't always like this—things so complicated between Lizzy, Suri, and I. For years Suri's parents called us the Three Musketeers, and we were friends. Just friends. I f**ked it up first by getting a hard-on for Lizzy. Then Lizzy met Hunter West, they got engaged, and I put a cap on my feelings. Around the same time, Suri and her fiancé, Adam, had a messy split, and I was laid up in rehab, still half dead. I think Suri needed the distraction of me. I’m not gonna lie: I love her for it. I will always love her for it. But I don't love this. The expectation.
What the hell does she want?
I'm looking into her eyes, trying to think of something funny to make her smile, when Suri leans in and puts her palm on my chest.
“Cross,” she murmurs, looking earnestly up at me as her fingers move slowly over my shirt. “Did I do something wrong?”
I blink down at her. “No.” Yes—and this is it! I look at her hand on my chest and think about how wrong it is: the way I'm thinking about her tits, freed from her bra, squeezed by my fingers. The way some wicked part of me knows, I could f**k her if I really tried.
And damnit, wouldn't I like to?
I can't jerk off anymore—not since the crash. At first I thought it was the stroke or something messing with my junk, but then I went to Marchant's perv ranch and some chick named Loveless got me off in less than twenty seconds, so I know it's not the hardware. When I'm alone it's just...not happening. But when I'm with someone like Suri...
Gritting my teeth, I move her hand off my chest. I lay my right hand over her shoulder, looking into her eyes again, like maybe mine will tell this story for me. Her frown deepens and I clench my jaw. C'mon, ass**le, grow some balls.
“Suri,” I say, my voice dipping low and deep, “be careful how you touch me.” When her frown deepens, I heave a big breath. “Doing something stupid with you is the last thing I would want.” I swallow, feeling like that shell-less turtle again. “You're one of my best friends. I just want to be careful...”
Her hazel eyes are large and earnest. “You’re worried I might get hurt?”
I nod. “I'm…uh…I’m used to a lot of no strings sex. The problem is, right now, I'm not ready for anything...serious. Anything at all,” I add. “And Suri, you're hot.” It's just, it's all friendship and friendship boners. I don't want Suri in that way.
Suri's nodding like she's getting it, and I'm so relieved I feel like laughing. Then she wraps her arm around my neck, leans in close enough to kiss me, and lifts her delicate hand to stroke my cheek. My dick betrays me as she mashes her br**sts against me.
“There's nothing to worry about, Cross. I know you can't make promises...and that's okay with me. What I feel for you—” She looks into my eyes. “What I feel for you is unexpected, but I love it.”
My lungs stop, mid-breath. What?
Suri takes my hand and tugs me over to the bed. I follow mostly because I don't know what else to do. When she pushes me down onto my back, I let her climb on top of me. Because I'm a bastard and my c**k is cheering like a Red Sox fan in 2004. Because it feels so good to have a woman's body hugging mine after so long without.
Then she leans down, cloaking me in the curtain of her hair, and she kisses me like I never thought Suri would kiss. Holy blueballs, I can't help but kiss her back! I squeeze her hip and grab her ass. I try to grab her ass. Both arms raise, both hands move to cup her taut ass-cheeks. But as my right hand grabs her through her silky dress, my left just hangs from my arm—dead weight.
That's all it takes to break the sex spell Suri has on me. I blink up at her, and the wrongness of it hits me even harder.
“Suri.” I'm panting as I crawl back toward the headboard. She crawls after me, but when she gets close enough that I can smell that damned perfume, I hold my right hand up. “Suri...”
Her lips part, and it's weird as hell to see her like this—like a vixen. She scoots a little closer, and my c**k throbs painfully against my slacks.
“I told you Cross, I don't care about the details. I just...” She makes a funny little face—her shy face—but it's quickly transformed into something surer, something fierce. “I just want you, Cross. Is that really a bad thing?”
Jesus Christ.
I push myself up on my elbows, trying to think past the throbbing in my pants. “Suri, I'm not saying that it's bad.” I flick my right hand at her. “Look at you. You're gorgeous. Any man would want, you know. I'm a man, Suri, so yeah, I want to f**k you upside down and sideways. But you're my friend.”