Bashful Read online

  Neither of us would remember tomorrow.

  Like I could forget.

  But it was Bash, after all. My best friend. Maybe having sex with him could fix all the broken parts between us. Maybe it’d stifle whatever chemistry I thought we’d have. Maybe he wouldn’t even be able to get it up.

  At least then I’d know for sure.

  He moved from my ear and placed his forehead to mine. Strands of hair fell over my face as I looked him in the eyes. “Yes, I said it out loud? Or...y-yes, something else?”

  “Yes, you can fuck me out of your system,” he said deeply, tucking the tendrils behind my ear. “So let’s try that kiss again.”

  Thirty-Three

  TENTATIVELY, MY HANDS MOVED, GRASPING the soft fabric of his shirt. I pulled him close, our bodies touching, and I was burned by the contact.

  We moved backward until the hardness of the wall was flat against my shoulders. Sucking gently, I took his lower lip between my own. He groaned, and it was so fucking hot. Warm hands trailed down from my back and straight to my ass as Bash lifted me and wrapped my legs around him. I could feel the bulge in his jeans grinding against my center, and if it were possible to spontaneously disrobe from horniness, I’d be naked as fuck right now.

  Fingers dug into my skin as we moved into my room and Bash turned off the light with his elbow. Soft, glowing moonlight danced through the half-open curtains, bathing my bed in a dim haze. He lowered us, and I needed to think of something other than the fact I was about to see Bash naked. I was about to have sex with Sebastian.

  Holy shit.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck, twining the strands of hair at the nape. I tugged gently, coaxing him close until he was fully against me and his jean-clad hips rocked into my core.

  I needed to think of something distracting or I’d be the one with the embarrassing ten-second orgasm story tomorrow.

  His tongue was tracing circles on my collarbone, nipping and sucking as he lowered his head.

  Pineapple on pizza. Old men with hairy backs.

  Bash’s P is so close to my V.

  My sweater and lace bralette had disappeared, and his mouth was back on my skin.

  Pee-Wee Herman. Hairless cats.

  Oh my God, that feels so good.

  I moved my hands to the hem of his shirt and pulled up as far as I could, the fabric bunching under his chin. He sat up and pulled it off from the back of his head, just like I’d seen in movies—the way only boys could. His smirk was unwavering as he devoured my body up and down.

  A shiver ran down my spine at the appraisal. I was so screwed.

  Dentures. Baseball.

  Bash wearing nothing but baseball pants—fuck.

  He traced his index finger on the waistband of my jeans, goose bumps following his trail along my sensitive skin. He slipped the button through the hole and slowly brought my zipper down, exposing my black lace panties. “Is this okay?” he asked.

  “Please don’t stop,” I begged, wriggling under his weight as his smile curved to the left side of his face.

  God, he’s beautiful.

  He leaned closer, his face near my center. Never breaking eye contact, he slowly slid the soft denim down my legs before kissing my calves. Chest heaving, I lifted onto my elbows so I could soak in the sight before me. Bash’s head was down and focused as he removed his jeans. Before I knew it was happening, I was at the edge of the bed, my fingers reaching out and tracing the ridges in his abdomen. That damn side-smile was back, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he watched me.

  He stopped me from my perusal, covering my hand with his own. “You’re breathtaking, Callie,” he whispered. Lifting me gently, he touched his lips between my breasts and lowered me to the bed. His hands branded my body, setting it ablaze until he hit the thin fabric of my boyshorts. I shuddered, his deft fingers pulling them lower and the cool air hitting my heated skin.

  I’m so glad I got that wax, I thought.

  “I’m not mad about it,” he said.

  I really need to stop thinking out loud.

  J

  Alarm clocks were made by the devil. With a newfound promise to set it on fire when I was more awake, I rolled over and smashed my fist on the large button, shutting it up. My head was pounding, and I needed water to quench the desert that’d taken up residence in my mouth. Maybe some Tylenol, too—but not for the headache. Oh no, for the soreness—the delicious, aching, just-had-amazing-sex soreness.

  Fuck. That totally wasn’t a dream.

  Slapping my palm against my face, I rolled over and saw that Bash’s jeans were still in a crumpled pile on the floor. Slipping on my glasses, I got up and threw on the closest clean pair of sweatpants I could find. I grabbed a shirt from my drawer which read ‘Surely not everyone was kung fu fighting’ and I couldn’t even bring myself to smile as I padded down the hall.

  It wasn’t easy to sort through the hazy memories of last night when my brain was acting like it had been taken over by a marching band. I grabbed a few pain pills and a bottle of water and chugged, the coolness soothing the ache in my throat. Coffee was pouring slowly into the carafe and I zoned in on the drips, the sound and smell calming my nervous stomach.

  Did he regret what happened? Maybe the plan to fuck him out of my system had backfired, because I was more confused than ever. He definitely had gotten it up. If I remember correctly, he’d gotten it way up.

  Needing something to do with my hands, I loaded the dishwasher and swept the floor, keeping busy. When the kitchen was as clean as I could get it, I started folding a pile of laundry that had been sitting in the corner of the living room for days. After I finished, I picked up the pile and headed toward my room.

  A quick flash of dark hair crossed my peripheral vision and panic rose in my gut. There were mere moments in which I could figure out what to say to him. I’d heard plenty of morning-after stories from Evie in the past, but they were all one-night stands with strangers. My one-night stand was with my best friend. What kind of greeting would break the ice?

  Hey, so, good talk. Let’s resolve all future fights that way.

  Here, have some coffee. I like your man-parts.

  Good morning, thanks for not putting it in my butt.

  I inwardly groaned. Nothing I said would ease the awkwardness. I just needed to get it out. We had a few hours before we had to be at the auditorium to get ready for tonight’s performance, and I needed a shower and a nap.

  “Morning, Sweets,” Bash said as he entered the room, kissing my cheek sweetly as he passed.

  Uh...okay.

  He raked his hand through his hair and tilted his head before nodding toward the bottle of pills. “Mind if I grab a couple of these?”

  I held them out robotically, my nerves in overdrive, words begging to escape my lips. He swallowed the pills dry and I grimaced as his throat bobbed as they went down.

  “So,” he began, moving toward me.

  Defcon two. Panic time.

  I darted around him and grabbed his boots and jacket from near the doorway.

  “So, uh—here’s these,” I blurted as I handed his belongings over.

  He stared at me with an oddly hopeful expression, and that along with my headache were enough to make my brain implode.

  “Thankyouforhavingsexwithme!”

  He withheld his laughter before sliding his feet into his boots. “You’re welcome? Sweets, that’s not what I usually hear after a night of great sex.”

  I hid my face with my hands before throwing my arms wide. “What the hell do you want me to say, Bash?”

  He reached out and motioned for me to come closer, but I remained firmly in place. Distance was safer.

  “Should I have said, ‘Hey, for a gay guy you’re amazingly knowledgeable at giving women multiple orgasms?’”

  With it out in the open, I felt a sliver of relief before his reaction happened in slow motion. All the color drained from his face as he looked at me hard, studying my expression.

&nbs
p; “What did you just say?”

  “It was a compliment, Bash,” I said, shielding my face with my hair. “It’s been a long time for me, and you were far better than—”

  “Did you just call me gay?”

  The tension from last night snapped back, surrounding us and demanding my attention. Something was wrong with the tone of his voice.

  Of course I called him gay.

  Why was he so offended? This was backfiring. All I’d wanted was to show my appreciation for the multiple Os he’d given me.

  “I mean, you brought that guy with you last night, saying you loved him and calling him ‘Babe.’ I just assumed that bringing him around our friends was your way of coming out.”

  His skin turned an awful greenish-gray, and I worried that the gallon of vodka he’d consumed was making its way back up. I quickly grabbed a bottle of water and handed it to him.

  “Gabe,” he whispered after he took a sip.

  “What?”

  “I said Gabe, not babe. He’s been my best friend since the third grade. He came up to see me perform, and I told him to make a weekend out of it,” he explained. “And I said I love you because he’s like a brother to me, and vodka makes me stupid.”

  “Oh.”

  Oh.

  Gabe wasn’t his boyfriend, he was just a friend. I replayed the events again in my head, and realized that whatever affection I thought I saw was in my head. Not once had they kissed, never showed any more affection than I would show Evie.

  I was so stupid.

  I’d completely overreacted last night, and from the look on his face, it wasn’t something that would be easy to forgive.

  He stood abruptly, crunching the now-empty water bottle in his fist. I stood frozen in place as I watched him slip on his coat and walk with purpose to my front door.

  “You know, ever since I came back, I thought that being patient with you was the right thing to do. I thought I was doing what was best,” he said, turning his head to look at me. “Just when I thought we were getting somewhere, you knock me fucking sideways.”

  I didn’t understand what he was saying. Wringing my hands nervously, I realized it was better for me to just keep my freaking mouth shut. We couldn’t fight, not now, not hours before we had to play lovers on stage again. He pulled the door open and was halfway out before turning around one last time. His eyes were hard and sad, his glare ravaging my soul.

  “Oh, and in case I hadn’t made it crystal fucking clear, Callie? I’m. Not. Gay.”

  Thirty-Four

  Bash

  I WAS PISSED, CONFUSED, AND that combination more than likely scared the shit out of the Uber driver. I practically shook the car as I closed the door. Taking the stairs two at a time, my hands shook with rage as I unlocked my apartment.

  This whole time, the three years I’d known her...she thought I was gay?

  I ripped into my room and changed into Nike shorts and a clean white tee. I needed a workout. If I didn’t get some of my frustrations out before the show tonight, I’d be too distracted to perform.

  The gym was almost a mile from my place. On any other day, Deftones would be coming from my earbuds and I’d jog there. Today, it was a full-on sprint, feet hitting the pavement with hard thuds, System of a Down raging in my ears.

  I ran my membership card under the reader and bypassed the locker rooms, straight to the free weights. Thoughts ran through my head as I stacked weight after weight onto each side of the bar.

  The entire time I was in England, I steered clear of relationships. Sure, I brought women home, but it was never anything serious. I made it perfectly clear that it was sex, no strings.

  No one came close to touching what I felt for Callie.

  I slammed the bar into place and lay on the leather-covered bench beneath it. Expelling a breath, I started my reps while I sorted out the myriad of emotions going through my head.

  Freshman year, my feelings for her had hit me like lightning. Callie had inserted herself into my life and there was nothing I could do to stop her. It started off small, noticing how her eyes sparkled when she laughed or the way the sun turned her hair golden. We started to hang out with each other almost daily, since Tucker and her roommate Evie were always out with some random hookup. And I loved it.

  I remembered when we used to fill sandwich bags with cereal from the dining hall before taking it back to her dorm with plans for movie marathons for hours on end. Callie made me watch those vampire movies about thirty times that year—the one with the werewolves and the heroine whose facial expression never changed. She loved them. I couldn’t remember a damn thing about any of those movies except the part where they explained imprinting. That’s how I felt about her—like it wasn’t a choice. It just was.

  In the spring of that year, the acceptance letter for my study abroad had come and I’d never felt so divided. Wanting to explore the world while getting an education was my number one priority—before Callie. It all changed after her.

  When I told her I was leaving, it wasn’t hard to read the emotions written all over her face. I was gutted when she congratulated me with sincerity, completely ripped to shreds because the small smile never reached her eyes. She distanced herself after that, avoiding me to the point I couldn’t even get ahold of her to say goodbye.

  Once I was settled, I messaged her consistently, letting her know about my adventures and asking how she was, but all I’d get in return was a ‘read’ receipt. After a few months, even those little receipts stopped, and I knew she didn’t want to hear from me anymore. Tucker insisted she was all right, and I practically punched the words I’m not dating anyone through his head—his penchant for gossip and his connection to Callie were the only slivers of hope I had to reach her.

  The third set of reps were finished, and I stood to shake out my sore muscles. My breaths were still shallow, and my heart was still hurting. Wasting no time, I strode to the leg press machine and pumped the heavy weights with my legs, controlling the pace.

  I thought back to the past few months. Being so close to her was torture, especially when there was nothing I could do but take baby steps to win her back.

  When I left, it fractured us. I was the one who broke her trust. I was the one who left.

  My dads told me time could heal all wounds, and that became my mantra with Callie. Every day, I made it a mission to make her happy without scaring her off. But the more time we spent together, the more I screwed things up. She said I’d messed with her mind, but that shit was a two-way street. Sometimes her moods changed so fast, I got whiplash.

  But I stayed the course, giving her space when she asked. Yeah, I had to walk on a few eggshells to give her the time she asked for after I’d almost kissed her. Walking away from her that day was the second hardest thing I’d ever done.

  Slowly, she had started to trust me again. Laugh again. She’d called me when she was scared that night on campus. She had texted me after her shitty date with Douchey McFratPants.

  And then she kissed me the way she did last night, and it was all I could do not to lose it right there on the stage. And then after the cast party, watching as she came apart under me, I knew she saw the love I had for her in my eyes. I wanted her to be my forever girl. Last night was the first time in a long time I felt happy, and it was because she was in my arms.

  And then this fucking morning happened and she laid the real cards on the table.

  She didn’t reach out to me because she felt the same connection—she didn’t even know we could have a connection.

  Gay? She thought I was fucking gay.

  Memories of her body against mine flooded my brain, and I winced. I didn’t know what to do. Everything was wrong. Acting tonight as if I were okay was going to be the hardest performance of my life. Looking into her eyes on stage was going to be really fucking difficult. Kissing her again at the end of the show? Damn near impossible.

  J

  Sweat dripped off my skin in rivulets when I got home from
the gym. The tension from this morning hadn’t dissipated, even after pushing myself to my breaking point during my workout. I stomped down the hall into my room, slamming the door so hard the photos on my desk toppled over and smashed on the floor. I didn’t even bother picking them up before grabbing a clean towel from my closet and trudging to the bathroom.

  After a quick shower, I went into the living room where Tucker and Gabe were sitting on the couch watching TV.

  “So,” Gabe said, checking his watch. “How did it go? I’m assuming pretty well since you’re doing the walk of shame at one p.m.”

  Tucker slapped Gabe’s arm. “It’s not the walk of shame anymore, it’s the trek of triumph. Get with the times,” he retorted. “Did you and Callie kiss and make up? Bury the hatchet?”

  “Oh, he buried something, all right.”

  If it were anyone else, I would’ve walked away from the heckling. Seeing as those two idiots were my best friends, they were excused. Still wanted to knock them both upside the head, though.

  “Guys,” I said, falling into the couch. “I told her how I felt and the look on her face—she looked like she wanted to deck me. She was so angry still, mumbled something about wanting to fuck me out of her system.”

  Both of their jaws dropped as they listened intently.

  “I don’t know, I had to make a split-second decision, so I told her ‘okay.’ Whatever I thought I knew about sex was replaced with this need to make her happy. It was—it was everything.”

  Tucker adjusted his bowtie and cleared his throat. “Oh my God. Oh my God. I knew it. All of my dreams are happening,” he said, fanning himself like he was about to start crying. “What happened next? Are you together now?”

  I rubbed my hands over my face and groaned. “This morning, she thanked me for having sex with her. Said she was surprised I was so good at giving her orgasms since I was gay and all.”

  Tucker stood abruptly and started pacing the already-thin carpet. “Excuse me? She WHAT? No offense, Sebastian, but you’re straighter than a ruler.”

  Gabe chimed in as he peeled himself out of the recliner in the corner. “Hold up, let me get this straight,” he said, rubbing his chin. “You banged, and then she told you she thinks you’re gay? I’ve never been this confused in my life,” he mumbled.