My Brother's Billionaire Best Friend

I don’t know where it’s coming from, but goddamn, it needs to stop.

I blink my eyes with the intent to look down at Maybe, but she’s no longer beneath me.

What the hell?

I blink my eyes again, and her smell disappears.

Piece by piece, my world falls away, the sound getting louder and louder and louder until…I wake up.

Fucking motherfucking hell.

I reach out toward my nightstand and slam my palm against my alarm, permanently ending the obnoxious sound.

My cock screams inside my boxer briefs, and my stomach aches with the need to come and do it hard.

I check the time to see it’s already ten past seven.

I was dreaming. About Maybe.

Which is no surprise, given how far I let it go last night like a fucking idiot.

With my heart pounding inside my chest and my breaths coming out in erratic pants, I look down at my primed cock and groan.

I rub at my eyes and take deep, steady breaths until my heart slows down to a normal pace.

What in the hell was I thinking?

About Maybe’s perfect, untouched, tight pussy, you bastard.

Completely unsure what to do with this insane realization, I scrub a hand over my face and stand up from my bed. I adjust my now half-hard cock beneath my boxer briefs and head into the hall and toward the kitchen to make some coffee.

As the pot brews, I grab my phone from the kitchen counter and scroll through work emails. But before I’ve even managed to pour myself a cup of coffee, I’ve found my way back to my text conversation with Maybe.

And that’s how you sext, kid.

Such a douche thing to say, I almost choked on it.

I just didn’t know how else to stop my one-way train to hell.

I set down my phone on the counter and pour myself a coffee before I do something stupid like text her to explain.

But my distraction technique only works for about two minutes. I pick up my phone again, ready to lay it all out there when it pings with a text.

Only this time, it’s not her. It’s her fucking brother.

Evan: Mind if I conference into the morning meeting today? I have some things I want to update the marketing and finance teams about related to Simply Baby. And you’re a real dick for passing the torch on crazy Frank Wright. LOL. His daily calls are a true joy. Right up there with a root canal.

Evan: Oh, and I talked to Maybe yesterday after her interview with Rainbow Press. Just wanted to say thanks for helping her out. I owe you big time, bro.

Oh yeah, you helped her out, all right, you dirty bastard, my mind taunts.

Jesus Christ, I am in serious trouble.

Maybe

At exactly noon, I let Bruce know I’m taking a long lunch and head to Jovial Grinds.

I’ve been a powder keg of nausea and excitement and uncertainty since last night, and a morning full of Bruce, his -isms, and his favorite Doo Wop CD have not done anything to help the situation.

I know the whole sexting thing with Milo ended unconventionally, but no matter how much I dissect our every exchange for technical merit and artistic value, I can’t forget that he did, in fact, request an actual picture of me in my underwear and sent me one of his own.

That has to mean something.

Practice-run, instructional-value-only sexting shouldn’t include show-and-tell…right?

RIGHT?

It’s the second, intense-inflection RIGHT? that has me here, in search of another opinion.

And oh baby, I’m getting it. From the instant—and I do mean instant—I stepped through the door, Lena has been in full investigation mode regarding what she calls “Phase 2” of the plan.

Thankfully, there’s only one customer inside the coffee shop, a sixty-year-old regular by the name of Winston who loves naps as much as he loves coffee.

While he snoozes behind the New York Post, I sit across from Lena and ramble through the events of last night as calmly as humanly possible.

Which is to say…not in the least bit calmly at all.

“I don’t think I did the whole segue from interview talk into dirty talk like you probably pictured… I mean, I know I didn’t. We were joking and stuff like usual, and then I pretty much just asked him how often he sexts with people. He didn’t really give me an answer, but I asked him to sext with me. He seemed hesitant in the beginning, but eventually, he did it. I mean, we did it. We sexted,” I spit out in a rush. “I actually sexted with him, Lena. He even sent me a picture of his bulge, and dear God—”

“Wait a minute.” Lena stops me mid-sentence, and a giant, amused smile spreads across her lips. “You mean to tell me you actually sexted with him last night? Full-on junk pictures exchanged, dirty-talking sexting?”

Eyes as wide as saucers, I nod. “The pictures were in our underwear, but yeah.” I pause briefly before jumping to add, “And he ended it abruptly.”