Rules of Friendship: Friends-to-Lovers Standalone Romance Novel Read online

  “You don’t have to pretend with me,” he affirmed, watching for any signs of faltering on my behalf.

  “I’m not pretending,” I assure him. I was pretending. “I’ll probably pass out before nine. I have an exam tomorrow and my brain is mush from cramming all afternoon. I doubt I’ll last long.”

  “If you change your mind—”

  “I won’t,” I cut him off, smirking when he rolls his eyes at me. So immature, yet so cute.

  “But if you do,” he counters as he lifts his hand to tap the end of my nose with the tip of his finger, “you call or text, and I’ll be home.”

  I know he means it, but I won’t change my mind. I notice that I’ve allowed myself to lean on him lately way more than I should and I shouldn’t. One day Dawson would meet the woman that would steal his heart. He’ll give up anything for her—including the closeness we have—because she will be the one he’ll vow to protect and cherish. I need to let go just enough to ensure that when that happens to him, I’ll still be okay.

  It is painful to think about, but it is something I have to do. I can’t hang on to a dream.

  Dawson

  “What’s up with you?” Kevin flops down on the barstool at my side, already half hammered. “Because you’ve been hiding over here in the corner all night and I’m starting to think we need to have some relocate-your-balls-and-remember-you-are-a-man intervention or something.”

  “Just staying out of your way, bud,” I tell him with a smile I don’t quite feel. “You’re on the prowl, and I don’t wanna give the ladies anything to look at that takes the attention away from you.”

  “What gives?” The guy isn’t as gullible or as drunk as I thought.

  “Reese.” One word. It is all I need to say. Kevin and I have worked together for close to four years, and I met him a year before that. He knows the history between Reese and me. He also knows about her mother and the toll it has taken on her. He understands my need to shelter her, protect her even. It is something I don’t remember ever not doing.

  “When are you gonna take a chance on her?” I look over at him, my beer pausing against my lips, and arch a brow in question. “Don’t look at me like that. You know yourself the thought has crossed your mind a hundred times or more.”

  “We’re friends,” I retort, noticing that my words sound unconvincing even to my ears. “It doesn’t matter if the thought or any other has crossed my mind, it’s not worth risking what we have.”

  “What makes you think you’d be risking it? What you have with her now could make everything between the two of you more solid and secure.”

  “It’s not like that with us.” Or at least her.

  Before he can answer or push anymore, a group of ladies step up, causing Kevin to instantly lose interest in our conversation.

  “Hello, ladies.” He turns around on his stool and begins eyeing them up and down. I can’t help but chuckle at Kevin's over the top reaction. The guy seriously has no pick-up game. He’s a complete menace in the ladies department.

  “Hi.” I am distracted by a soft whisper near my ear, and turn quickly, almost butting heads with a blonde that is entirely too close. I’m talking tits smashed to my side, lips hovered two inches from mine, maybe less. “You here alone?”

  “Waiting on someone,” I say, backing away from her a bit. In the process, I bump into someone else on the opposite side of me. A soft giggle erupts to my left, and I find not only do I have a blonde at one side, but also a brunette at the other. I am sandwiched in the middle and watch as they share some hidden signal between them that only they understand.

  “A smart girl would never leave someone like you waiting,” the brunette coos. Yes, fucking coos the words before biting her lip. She may have meant for it to look sexy but fails. She looks more like a starving woman trying to suck off her lip. “Her loss could be our gain, Tamara,” the blonde says to the brunette who I now know is Tamara.

  “You are so right, Nina.” And the blonde girl is Nina.

  The scary part is that they both look hungry. I’m not sure escaping fully intact is going to be an option for me any longer. My palm fists on the counter before me as sweat begins to dampen them. Kevin is no help. He’s already taken two of the girls to the pool tables, and the loud giggles indicate they are offering him the attention he craves.

  “What do you think about letting us keep you company until whomever it is that was stupid enough to leave you alone arrives?” Nina is practically drying humping my side, and Tamara is tracing small circles over my arm with the tip of her finger.

  I don’t answer, because I know no matter what I say or do, these two aren’t the kind of girls that give up quickly. Instead, I grab my phone and send an S.O.S. message that will hopefully lead to my rescue mission.

  Or I’m praying like hell it will.

  Me: I need your help! NOW!!!

  I send another text message quickly after that one to eliminate the probability of her thinking this is some joke.

  Me: Full. On. Clingers. Stalker mode, scary as fuck clingers. I’m at Edwards on fifth. Hurry! Situation level consists of code red. Life of being locked in a fucking closet and used as a sex slave for the rest of my life scary here. Please hurry!

  The pause feels like it lasts forever before Reese responds.

  Reese: Being a Sex Slave shouldn’t terrify you. I would think it would excite you instead.

  Me: Stop stalling this is Defcon 5, Reese. I need you now! They’re touching me in places that I don’t want to be touched. And I said no. No means no! Right?

  I grin to myself as I imagine her staring at her phone with humor from my frantic texting.

  Reese: Stop the freak-out, you big baby. I’m already on my way. But to warn you, I’m not getting dressed up to come to save you. I’ve been vegging out on the couch and honestly don’t care if I scare people with my appearance.

  The greatest thing about this is that she genuinely doesn’t care. Reese is who she is and if you don’t like it, too bad.

  For the next fifteen minutes, I stare at the door, begging that the next time it opens, Reese will fill the space. Don’t get me wrong, I like women. But these so-called women? They are she-wolves looking for their next meal. Spoiler alert: I’m their meal. Where are you, Reese? I’m about to be wild animal bait here.

  Though Nina says it was an ‘accident,’ she manages to grope my dick when she drops her napkin in my lap. I’ve had Tamara’s tits smashed to the side of my face more times than I’ve ever admitted and I think I have friction burn on my hand from Nina’s consistent shuffle against me. She may have even moaned a time or two. I refuse be the meat in their sex sandwich. Maybe if I remain perfectly still with uncomfortable terror in my eyes, these wanton wolves will go find their next meal somewhere or with someone else. One can only hope.

  Even in my unsettled position, I can’t stop myself from smiling when Reese steps inside the bar. She is wearing a pair of tight yoga pants, boots still untied, and my oversize jacket that hangs to her knees. Her hair is still piled on top of her head the way it was when I left her a few hours ago. She’s also wearing her glasses instead of her contacts. Even in her state of disarray, I find her beautiful.

  The moment she spots me, she looks to my left and then my right before a smirk covers her lips. Yeah, real funny, Reese. I only was about to get eaten alive by these all-baring, paws-on-my-pants animals. No big deal. I understand without having to ask that I am not going to like what she is about to do.

  Rounding the bar, she moves in behind me and reaches out to tap me on the shoulder. “Hiding out in bars I see?” I swivel around, the quick movement finally giving me some much-needed space, and both wolves . . . I mean . . . women finally step away. Were they still close? Yes, personal space invasion close, but at least I have a few inches on each side now. I give Reese a quizzical stare, and it does nothing to dampen her current act. “Avoiding the situation is not gonna make it go away, Dawson. You missed another appointment today, and I
’m tired of trying to express to you the urgency of this matter. It isn’t just a rash or some allergic reaction. It has started to spread Dawson, and it oozes.”

  I arch a brow because she has lost me already. I have no idea what angle she is going for here but it sounds like I’m on Team Loser in this game she’s playing . . . fake or not.

  “When it flares up again, and the puss starts soaking through the material of your boxers, you’ll be crying for me to make it all go away. Instead of handling the situation,” Reese says with a straight face, waving her hand in the area of my cock, “you keep coming out to bars, meeting girls, and spreading the ick from your dick.” Ick? Dick? What the fuck, Reese?!?

  By this time, the blonde at my side slowly inches farther and farther away.

  “The ick from my dick?” I finally ask, narrowing my eyes at her as I notice another group of spectators watching this show closely. Their noses are wrinkled in disgust.

  “Yes, that is what I’ve chosen to call your infected genital area because I don’t know what exactly it is you’ve contracted. All I know is that it smells awful, Dawson, as in vile. You need to get yourself checked out immediately.”

  Reese crosses her arms over her chest, as if daring me to argue with the approach she’s picked. Really, Reese? I knew this was my only way out but had no idea you’d prey on my precious junk that is now the real victim here. By the way, the girls are now looking for an escape of their own. I guess the sacrifice of my manhood, totally healthy in case there is any doubt, to lose these animals worked because they are no longer hungry for my prized package.

  “Oh and that last girl you were with is threatening to cut off your dick again. She left like twelve messages about murdering you for whatever sick shit it is she contracted from your infected dick. Her words, not mine.” Reese shrugs. “But in reality, that is precisely what your situation is, an infected, nasty, smelly and—”

  I hold my hand up to stop her, and she smiles proudly. “I get it.”

  In that very moment, I wonder if my pal here has chosen the right profession. Reese would've made one hell of an actress.

  Nina mumbles something I can’t quite understand before she spins on her heels and hurries toward the opposite side of the bar. Tamara starts brushing at her clothes, hell, even her arms, as if trying to wipe away any traces of contact with me. Her actions of course only make Reese laugh out loud before quickly covering her mouth to hide it.

  The sound of the bar stool Tamara sits in screeches against the floor, and she practically falls on her ass because she can’t seem to get away fast enough.

  “Seriously?” I ask as I finally stand up from the stool. I’ve chosen to remain seated during the entire time Reese ran on with this crazy as shit skit she planned. “Puss and odor,” I add, shaking my head when I notice she is still in character, “real smooth."

  “You said it was Defcon Five,” she declares, shrugging innocently, “I had to think fast.”

  “And that was all you could come up with?” I reach out and hook my arm over her shoulders, pulling her in for a noogie because I know she hates them.

  “Knock it off. I don’t want your cooties.” She pinches my side, and I release my hold on her with an involuntary grunt from the sharp pain she’s caused. “Great.” She starts to imitate the movements of Tamara, as she frantically starts to brush herself off. “Now I’m infected.”

  As she turns around and begins walking toward the exit, looking as proud as ever, I slap her ass hard. This time, it’s her turn to squeal loudly. Payback’s a bitch, bestie, I think as I smile to myself.

  “Let’s go home, baby.” She glares back at me when I pick one of the many annoying pet names she hates. “I’m in the mood to cuddle my sweet little princess.” Getting a rise out of Reese is addicting. The sad part is that cuddling with her on the couch or in bed while watching a movie is really the perfect way to end an evening.

  Reese

  I roll to my side, feeling for my pillow, pulling it closer, as I hug it tightly. The material of my pillowcase still has the faint scent of Dawson on it after he decided last night we were watching a movie in my room. Not that I mind. It just makes my dreams that much better. I didn’t have to imagine what he’d look like sprawled out in my bed in only a pair of shorts that sometimes highlight his big bulge; I had the visual front and center.

  Let’s just say that in my dreams, he only wears the shorts for a few minutes before I strip them from his body and proceed to drive him crazy. As in I’d have him holding me beneath his chiseled rock-hard body within seconds as I scream out his name over and over. We would test out so many positions and places that by the time morning hit, there wouldn’t be a place we hadn’t christened throughout our apartment. In my mind, the sex is off-the-charts too. Oh so good.

  I should feel guilty for the way I constantly objectify him in my mind. It is so wrong, but it feels so right. These Dirty Dawson Dreams, or DDDs as I’ve now nicknamed them because that acronym just sounds sexy, have caused me to go through batteries more often than usual. BOB, you know, the battery-operated boyfriend, is getting quite the work-out lately. The need growing much more significant with each passing day.

  I sigh and start to settle back into a peaceful sleep before panic hits me. Shooting up out of bed, I search for my phone. When I see that it’s well after nine in the morning, I hurry around my room, getting dressed in a rush. I was supposed to meet Heather for a study session at Starbucks around ten, and she is the most impatient person I know. If I am even a few minutes late, I’ll never hear the end of it.

  Bursting out of my room, I dart for the bathroom, only to freeze with my hand on the doorknob. A rush of excitement washes over me as I lean in closer and hear the water running in the shower mixed with the sounds of our small radio playing just inside. The idea of Dawson being naked, soaped up with his hands skimming over his chest and—I shake my head to clear my thoughts.

  Get over it, you horny hussy.

  I’ve gone in and out of the bathroom a million times since we’ve lived together while he was showering. Why was it so different now?

  Well jeez, Reese, you did spend the last several hours dreaming of your best friend doing unimaginable things to your body while returning the favor on a repeated basis. Admit it: You had dirty dreams and your best friend was the star. It just feels wrong to barge in now.

  Was I honestly standing here in the hall having a full on conversation with myself about sexual fantasies, and my naked and very wet friend? I seriously need a date with reality.

  Blowing out a deep breath, I let the thoughts go and push open the door. Ignoring the outline of Dawson's body moving behind the curtain, I focus on the task at hand instead. Brush teeth, wash face and brush hair in that order. Ignore the sounds of the water hitting the shower floor or the slapping sound of—.

  I immediately freeze, holding my toothbrush in one hand, the tube of toothpaste in the other as I focus on nothing else but the repeated slapping sounds. Wait . . . slapping sounds? A moan filters around me too. Holy. Fucking. Shit. Dawson lets out a low erotic pleased whimper, whispering something that I can’t quite make out. I then hear, “So good,” fall from his lips. Oh. My. Hot. I slowly turn my head toward the shower, as if moving too fast may announce my presence. I see a clear silhouette of him behind the fogged shower curtain, large package standing at attention that has my attention, and there is no longer doubt of what he is doing.

  “Are you seriously jacking off?” I immediately cover my mouth, regretting that I allowed the words that were floating around in my mind to escape my mouth so quickly.

  The curtain moves, almost as if he hit it, as he spins around with lightning speed. “What the fuck, Reese? What are you doing in here?”

  “I needed to get my toothbrush.” As proof to show I’m not some sort of creepy shower stalker, I hold up the toothpaste and brush as an example, as he remains hidden behind the curtain.

  “And you didn’t think to let me know you were comi
ng in?” I want to laugh because the reality of the situation has suddenly hit me.

  “No,” I say with a giggle I can’t hold back, “because I never thought I’d be walking in on a jerking session with you stroking your prized pony.”

  “Prized pony? Really, Reese? Now, do you mind?” I can see him place his hands on his hips, his body then facing straight at the curtain with his legs slightly parted. So what do I do? Look down, Reese. Look away from the bulge. Keep your eyes on the floor. “A little privacy would be appreciated, Reese.”

  Was he going to finish? Please continue the sexy show, Dawson.

  Silence settles over the bathroom before it is interrupted with the sound of him moving the curtain. “Or you can stay and join me in here for a better view, babe. Maybe offer up a little assistance.”

  I can feel his smirk through the curtain. I look up, swallowing hard. So hard I swear the sound of it echoes throughout the bathroom, bringing even more attention to my discomfort. He is watching me, smirk painted on his face with one eyebrow quirked, apparently waiting for my response.

  Did I mention my palms are sweaty? Or the fact that my legs are shaking?

  After the night I’ve had, the dreams I’d dreamt, a big part of me wants to start shedding my clothes to prove a point. To make my dirty dreams a reality with him starring with me and doing delicious things to me. Oh, and let him ease the ache my night left inside of me. But this is Dawson, my best friend, the guy that has seen me at my worst a million different times. He hassles me often and treats me like a sister; however, my thoughts are not brotherly at all.

  So instead, I do what I’ve done so many times before. I fire back with the best insult I can hurl as the heat in my neck rises to my cheeks. I pretend and tuck away my feelings.

  “I don’t think me getting any closer will help, Dawson,” I challenge. I almost contemplate charging through that curtain and offering him some hands-on assistance. I spin around and walk out of the room, my legs still feeling weak and jelly like. I know already that my attempt was feeble. In my defense, most of my brain cells were again fried by the idea of what he was doing while I’d stood only a few feet away.