Sugar Rush (Friend-Zoned 3)

Helena

With Felicity pulling at my hair to make a thin side-braid, my face bunches and one of my eyes closes from the pain. “Ow, turdette.” I hiss in a breath through my teeth. “That hurts.”

The tall blonde simply smiles cruelly. “Beauty is pain, assface.”

Today is Saturday, and we’re getting ready for The White Rabbit. The week passed pretty quickly, what with me working during the day then four out of the five nights I’d been at Max’s, hanging out, cooking with Ceecee, and eating like a piglet. I didn’t go last night, even though he asked. I felt Max and Ceecee needed time to themselves, so I set Max on a task. I told him to buy all the things to make ice-cream sundaes and have Ceecee make them both banana splits.

Later that night, I received a photo text message of Max and Ceecee smiling into the camera, both faces covered with ice cream and chocolate sauce. It was adorable, and I suddenly wished I was there.

My phone vibrates in my hand and I lift it, checking the display.

Max: Three hours ‘til I see your beautiful smile.

A giant smile breaks out on my face, so giant that my cheeks hurt. I’ve been getting these for five hours now. Every hour on the hour. The first said, “Seven hours ‘til I kiss your honey mouth.” The second said, “Six hours ‘til I see your pretty green eyes.” The third said, “Five hours ‘til I squeeze your sexy ass.” And the fourth said, “Four hours ‘til I wrap my arms around you. And when I do, I’m not letting go.”

It’s safe to say the man knows how to make a woman feel special. It’s also safe to say my heart is not safe when it comes to Max. He’s becoming far more of a distraction than I imagined. He doesn’t want to see me every now and again. He wants to see me every day. And when I tell him I can’t see him, he pouts.

It’s so freaking cute that my heart aches.

I’m not sure what’s going on between us, but it feels real. Like a real relationship. It’s not even about the sex. The last three nights I’d been there, all we did was kiss, cuddle, and talk on the sofa after Ceecee had gone to sleep.

I’m so confused about the role I’m supposed to be playing. It doesn’t really seem like a role anymore. Max was the one to tell me he couldn’t give me all of him, but it feels like he’s giving me every last piece of him. He’s burrowing a place into my heart, right next to the place reserved for Ceecee, and what’s more alarming is that I want them there.

Felicity pulls at my hair again and my mouth rounds in time with my eyes. “Ow, bitch! You did that on purpose!”

Her reflection eyes me hard in the mirror. “I’ve lived here my whole life and I can’t find a man who wants a serious relationship. You’ve been here a month—a freakin’ month!—and you get pick of the litter.” She pouts into the mirror. “It’s not fair.”

I scoff. “Max and I are taking it slow. We might not even work out, Flick.”

He’s counting on it, actually.

She rolls her eyes at me. “He’s been sending you messages all day long about how much he can’t wait to see you. He brings you cupcakes at work and wants his daughter to know you. I think this is more serious than you both realize. He’s super sweet to you, and he doesn’t even flirt anymore!”

He doesn’t? I ask, surprised, “He doesn’t?”

Her brows rise and she shakes her head slowly. “Nope. Well, not with me anyways. I haven’t seen him flirt with Willa either. Hell, I haven’t seen him flirt with anyone.” Her brows narrow. “You know what? Maybe we’ll watch him for a while tonight on the floor. See what he does. Because I swear to God, the woman who makes Max Leokov lose his flirt…” she tilts her head to the side, “…she’s the one.”

My heart perks up at the same moment my brain blows a big raspberry. I sigh. “You’re delusional. Clinically insane. You should see someone about that.”

Felicity chuckles. “You’re lucky I like you.” A wry smile follows her laughter. “Also, I bought you a dress to wear tonight, and,” my loud groan of disapproval is ignored as she speaks louder, over me, “and you are wearing it tonight.”

And here comes the whining. “I already told you I don’t like wearing dresses.” Straightening in my chair, I cross my arms over myself. “Nope, I’m not wearing it.”

Felicity leaves the room, calling back, “I think you might just change your mind,” when she reenters my bedroom, I can’t contain my gasp as she adds, “when you see it.”

In her hands is one of the most spectacular dresses I have ever seen in my life. It’s completely black, sleeveless with a jewel neckline, comes mid-thigh, and has a small frilled skirt around the waist, making it easy to hide a little pooch if you have one. The stitching on the entire dress is a yellowish mustard color.

I love it immediately. But I still can’t wear it. “It’s gorgeous, Felicity. And I love it. Really, I do. But—” I look into her eyes, pleadingly, “but I can’t wear it.”

Her face falls. “Okay. That’s okay.” She sighs, running her hand down the dress. “I mean, who cares if I went downtown to find you a hot dress to wear for your new man. You don’t do dresses. I should’ve been more thoughtful. But you could’ve at least tried it on, you know? For me?” She gives me puppy dog eyes and bats her ridiculously long lashes.

I roll my eyes at her antics and snatch the dress from her hands. “Fine, but just for you. And once I try it on, it’s coming off.”

Felicity claps and smiles. “Yay! Okay! Get your butt in there.”

Once in the bathroom, I change out of my yoga pants and tee, and slip into the dress. I gape at my reflection.

It’s perfect.