Best Friends Don't Kiss

When I spot her junior year picture, I grin.

Still blond, still gorgeous, but always slightly eccentric, she half smiles in her photo, and her attire consists of the most outlandish, bright-as-hell T-shirt that has the famous Star Trek quote, Beam me up, Scotty.

For someone who isn’t a Trekkie, has never been a Trekkie, she still manages to pull it off with her blond hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun.

It’s things like this that make me wish I could’ve known Ava before college. That I could’ve seen in her action when she was a young teenager.

You would have loved her even then.

That thought makes me falter, hesitate, and I blink several times to clear the fog of confusion threatening to consume my brain. With a shake of my head, I continue to distract myself with pages of her yearbook.

But when the shower cuts off from the en suite bathroom, and a few minutes later, when the door opens with steam filtering into the bedroom, nothing can distract me from the sight before my eyes.

In nothing but a towel knotted above her chest, Ava stands there. Her cheeks are flushed red and her blue eyes are bright and her wet hair hangs down past her shoulders.

Fucking hell.

She is the epitome of every fantasy I’ve ever had, wrapped up into one tempting and irresistible package.

“What are you doing?” she asks, tilting her head to the side, and it takes me a hot minute to figure out what she’s even asking, her eyes pointed toward the book in my lap.

“Uh… Just checking out your…uh…junior yearbook.”

“Oh God.” She groans.

“It’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad? I’m pretty sure I wore a Star Trek T-shirt for that picture.”

“You did,” I answer and watch on with far too much fascination as she strides over to our suitcases and bends over to riffle through her clothes.

That towel, that fucking towel, moves up her thighs and just barely keeps her perfect ass covered. And my eyes don’t miss two rogue drops of water that slip down the silky skin of her thighs.

This is not good. At all.

My mind threatens to think about last night’s kiss.

My cock threatens to take full notice of Ava’s lack of clothes.

And my fingers itch to reach out and touch her.

It’s almost too much to bear.

Pretty sure it is too much to bear.

Before I know it, I’m closing the yearbook, setting it on the nightstand, and standing up to walk over to her. I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her back toward my chest.

She squeals a little in surprise, but I keep her body pressed against mine and whisper into her ear, “You want a little help?”

“Help?” she asks, leaning her head back to meet my eyes. But goddamn, it only makes her more tempting, elongating her neck and pushing her breasts up and nearly out of her towel.

“Yeah,” I respond, and my voice borders on ragged. “Help. With getting dressed.”

Ava turns to meet my eyes, and I just stare down at her, knowing full my well my eyes are showing everything I’m thinking right now. Everything I’m feeling.

She explores my unwavering gaze, and her chest starts to rise and fall with near-panting breaths.

But then she shocks the hell out of me by placing her clothes—a pair of lacy underwear, a minuscule tank top, and sleep shorts—into my hand.

Ho-ly shit.

She undoes her towel and lets it fall to the floor. And she stands there, completely and utterly naked. Just…miles upon miles of Ava’s gorgeous bare skin. Her pink nipples harden at the change in temperature and her breaths continue to come out in pants and those sapphire eyes of hers dare me to follow through with my offer.

It feels like it takes me a whole minute before I can stop gawking and actually do something.

First, her tank top. Slowly, I slide it over her head, the backs of my hands brushing her nipples as I adjust it on her body.

Her breathing turns stuttered and shaky.

But I keep going.

Her lacy underwear next, I kneel down in front of her and, with Ava’s hands gently gripping my shoulders, I slowly, so slowly, slide them up her legs, taking in every inch of the gorgeous view on my way back up.

I don’t stop until my face is a mere breath away from the apex of her thighs.

Fuck, why are you doing this, dude?

Frankly, I don’t know why I’m doing this, why I’m torturing myself—and teasing her—but it’s the most painful pleasure I’ve ever felt. And my now-hard cock can certainly agree.

I want Ava. That much is apparent.

But I don’t want to rush it. I don’t want to rush her.

I want to take my time with her. I want to savor every little touch, every new discovery, just…everything. I feel like I’ve been waiting a lifetime to see her like this, and hell if I’m going to ruin it with haste.