Author: Cheryl McIntyre

She takes clothes out of her dresser as I cover myself up and I watch her disappear out the door.

***

I wake up pressed against a warm body, smooth legs tangled with mine. I blink a few times, trying to remember who the hell I went home with last night. I glance around the room, not recognizing my surroundings. The Grandmaster Flash poster next to the Credence Clearwater fabric scroll throws me off. There are different sized, silk butterflies hanging from the ceiling at varying heights and it makes me dizzy.

Mother of God, my head hurts like a bitch and my mouth tastes like shit. The girl shifts, a soft sigh leaving her lips, and I try to get a look at her. Long, golden hair lies across the pillow and I freeze.

I know that hair. I’ve spent many nights imagining what it would feel like to run my fingers through it.

Lucy rolls, burying her face in my chest. The scent of her shampoo hits me and images flash through my mind.

Oh, my God.

I was coming after her last night. I ditched the girl that was ready and willing. I couldn’t get Lucy’s face out of my head, no matter how much I drank. I wanted her and was done letting Jessie control me. I was drunk enough to not care about being fucking homeless. I had full intentions of telling her this. Hell. I wanted inside her so fucking bad I had full intentions of telling her all sorts of shit.

And then…Lucy took care of my drunk ass. She cleaned up my puke and watched over me. She told me I wasn’t a loser.

I let my hand skim over her hair. It’s softer than I envisioned and I like it way more than I ever should. I think I kind of like everything about this hippie chick.

This can’t be good for either of us.

9

Lucy

I shift my leg, snuggling closer to the solid warmth beneath me. My inner thigh rests on something that feels suspiciously like a… Oh, my… Holy shit. I slowly open my eyes. Yes, that’s Park’s naked chest under my face, so that means my leg is definitely on an ever hardening penis. Park’s ever hardening penis.

How did we end up under the same blanket? I was so careful to use my own separate cover since he was drunk and naked.

Park Reed is naked, in my bed, with my thigh on top of his goods. I feel his chest vibrate under my heated cheek and I know he’s awake—and he’s laughing at me. Probably because my body went completely rigid with the realization that I’m touching him intimately.

“That had better be nothing more than morning wood you’re sporting there, buddy,” I say. I mean to say it bravely, as if I am completely unaffected by his—him, but my voice is thick from sleep and it sounds kind of sultry and sexy. I feel him go fully erect under me and I turn to stone. Okay, that has nothing to do with a morning reflex.

“I need you to move away from me right now, Lucy,” he breathes and I’m not sure if I can. My body is screaming at me, begging me to move closer. This is not me. This is not who I am. I do not just hook up with guys. Even if they are undeniably gorgeous.

“Lucy,” he pleads, and I roll away, tucking the comforter in between us.

“Sorry. We had our own blankets last night. I didn’t mean to lay on you.” I close my eyes and fight to even out my breathing.

The definition of lust is: an intense sexual desire or illicit appetite.

I know. I looked it up.

My appetite is intensely, and illicitly, desiring sex with Park right now.

Lust is a bitch.

I wish I didn’t like him. I wish I could think of him as the dog Jessie insists he is. That would probably—though admittedly, not entirely—help this attraction. I take a long, even breath. I will not be another notch on his bedpost.

The bed moves and I tip toward him. I open my eyes and he’s propped on his elbow looking down at me. Maybe it’s because he just woke up, or the massive hangover I’m sure he has, but his eyes are that warm brown from the first time we met. Not the cold, shadowy eyes I’ve gotten used to lately. All his features are soft, open, and it makes me want to crawl back on top of him.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “For helping me last night. You didn’t have to do that.” He shakes his head. “Most people wouldn’t have. So, thanks.”

I nod my head. “You were really drunk. How’s your head?”

He shrugs. “I’ll live.”

I bite my lip and sit up. “You hit it when you fell. It wouldn’t stop bleeding.” I take another deep breath. “You scared the shit out of me.”

He prods his head with the tips of his fingers, searching for the wound. I place my hand over his and guide his fingers to the large bump on the back of his skull. He hisses when he makes contact. “Ah. Okay.” I drop my hand and he offers a half smile. “Sorry for scaring you.”

“Did you drive like that?”

Park winces. “No,” he states adamantly. “I don’t drive when I drink.” The way he says it makes me wonder if there might be a story there, but I don’t ask.

“I know it’s not my place to tell you what to do, but you…might want to think about cutting down. You were passed out on your back. You could’ve choked and died if I hadn’t found you out there.” I cringe with the memory, but he seems unattached, as if I’m talking about someone he doesn’t know.

“I’ll die when I die, Lucy. We all have an expiration date.”

I throw the blanket off my legs and get up. I don’t know why his blasé attitude irks me so much, but it does. Maybe he doesn’t comprehend how bad it was, but I was there. I remember.

“Okay, well, I have to get ready for work, so…” I cross my arms and wait for him to get the hint. I actually have awhile before my shift, but he’s irritating me. He cocks his head to the side and stares at me.

“You’re pissed.” It’s a statement, not a question, and absolutely no inflection whatsoever.

I breathe out a surprised laugh. “Go home, Park, and do whatever it is that you do while waiting for your time to expire.”

He sits up, careful to keep his lower half covered. “It’s been awhile since someone was pissed at me about what I did to myself instead of what I did to them.”

His honesty catches me off guard. And then his words slam into me. Everybody should have someone that cares. Someone that doesn’t give up on them. Someone to always care what they’re doing. Right at this moment, I make it my goal to be that someone for Park.

“I’ll go get you some clothes. You go take a shower. There’s Ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet. And when you’re done, I’m going to check your head, and make you breakfast.”

His eyes widen in surprise. “You’ve done enough. I should just go.”

I head to the door without looking back. “Go take a shower, Park. You still smell like alcohol. I think it’s coming out of your pores. And there should be an extra toothbrush in the top drawer. Please use it.”

I hear him chuckle as I shut the door behind me.

***

It’s been almost a week since I had breakfast with Park. In that time, he’s made a point of trying to repay me. On Sunday, he was on the fire escape smoking a cigarette when I came home from grocery shopping. He scaled the railing and bounced down the steps in his hurry to help me carry the bags up to my apartment. On Monday, he helped me clean his bathroom, singing to me the entire time. It was fun until we got into a Comet fight and he used the back of his hand to wipe the green powder from my nose. He paused, his eyes meeting mine, his Adam’s apple bulging in his throat as he swallowed tightly. I started breathing heavily and he closed his eyes, backing away from me. The sexual tension wound around us, growing hot and unmanageable.

On Wednesday, I found him in the laundry room. He kept me company while our clothes washed and we talked about music. It should have been a safe subject, but he got really excited and passionate about it, which just made me that much more attracted to him. Especially when I realized he has great taste. I got uncomfortable due to my rising desire and made an excuse to get away, even though my clothes were still drying. I don’t think he bought my generic explanation, but he made no mention of it. Instead, he insisted on bringing my basket up to my apartment for me—with everything folded.

Now it’s Friday. I’m working the midnight shift. And guess who comes sauntering in with all his gloriousness. Yep. Park plops down, alone, in the back booth that I’ve come to think of as his, and pulls out a book. He’s fresh from a show and his hair glistens with the sweat he worked up performing for all the screaming college girls.

I sigh. I can’t believe he has a book. I didn’t take him as a reader and now my attraction hitches up about ten more notches. Pretty soon it’s going to be too high to ignore. I don’t know if that scares me or excites me.

“Hi,” I say as I stop next to his booth.

He sets the book aside and turns his heart fluttering grin on me. “Hey, Lucy.”

“What are you doing here all by yourself?”

He trails a finger over his bottom lip as his gaze scales over me, and my breath catches. Does he do that on purpose? Does he even realize he does it? It’s like he swallows me whole every time he looks at me.

“I thought I’d come check out those buffalo strips since I never got to.”

I arch a brow. “I don’t know,” I tease. “You couldn’t seem to handle the spiciness. Are you sure you’re ready for the heat?”

He drops his hand and now his tongue moves over his lip. He meets my gaze. “I’m ready,” he says, his voice gravelly.

I clear my throat. “Milk?”

Smirking smugly, he leans back and picks up his book. He opens it and starts reading. “It does have its health benefits,” he murmurs.

“Yes it does,” I agree, eyeing his sculpted arms. He glances up at me, turning his head to see me better. He arches his brows.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing. I’ll put your order in,” I add before backing away from his table.

Park sits there all night until my shift is over. After I’m safely in my car, he hops into his own and leaves. He doesn’t go home, however, because when I get there, his parking spot is empty. But when I cook Saturday Breakfast, he shows for the first time in a month.

I feel the shift happening. I just don’t know where it’s taking us.

10

Park

Guy shows up as I’m leaving for the diner for Lucy’s midnight shift. He brushes his blonde bangs out of his eyes and hops in my car without question as to where we’re going or why. This is the kind of friendship we have. He’s been my best friend for most of my life. First day of kindergarten, I was scared shitless. I used to be a mama’s boy, and I wanted no part of being somewhere she wasn’t. I watched my dad come and go too many times. I didn’t trust that my mom would still be there when I got home. Guy could sense my fear and instead of using it against me, he looked out for me. Every day for the first two weeks of school, he was glued to my side, acting as a shield. And when I finally adjusted, he and I became inseparable because I wanted him there, not just because I needed him there.

In high school, shit turned around. He came out and a lot of people didn’t accept he was openly gay. They gave him shit on a daily basis and I tried to be his shield. But I’m just not as good as he is. I slacked on my job a lot and he never complained about me being a horrible friend. He never complains about anything. He’s that kind of person. Calm. Easy going. The super glue of our group.

In all the years I’ve known him, we’ve been in three fights. One over which Transformer was better, Optimus Prime or Bumble Bee. We were kids and that was serious shit. But obviously I was right—Prime all the way.

Our second fight was over a girl. Something I didn’t think would ever happen, not just because he’s gay, but because we’re that close. I never thought a girl could come between us. That time he was right. I was so wrong and deserved his wrath. Hope—she was my…well, I’ll never know what she was to me, but she was the one and only girl I have ever loved. And she was—is—his best friend. I never minded sharing him with her or her with him. Together, we were the perfect trio. Until we weren’t.