Sugar Rush (Friend-Zoned 3)

He swallows before scratching his brow. “That Nina’s a rug-muncher?” He nods, completely oblivious. “Yeah. So?”

Oh my godfather, Ash. Has no one taught you anything about women? Deny, deny, deny!

Nat’s turns to her husband in false calm. “You didn’t think I should know about this?”

Sitting on the sofa, he reaches into the bag of chips and shoves some into his mouth, then garbles, “If she wanted you to know, she’d have told you, baby.”

Face turning a nice shade of pissed-the-hell-off, she reaches into her back pocket, pulls out her cell, presses a few buttons, and then holds the phone to her ear. My eyes widen.

Uh oh.

After a few seconds, she screams into the phone, “You like taco and you never told me?”

As Nat continues to hurl weirdly supportive abuse at Nina through the power of telecommunication, Ash chuckles at me. “Oh, now you’ve done it.”

I wince. Yikes. Reaching for my own cell, I type out a quick message, hoping she won’t be pissed.

Me: Um…surprise?

A moment later, my display lights up and I mope.

Nina: You are so fucking dead, bro.

Nat paces, flailing her arms animatedly and rambling, “…because, hey, I know lesbians! I’m totally cool with lesbians! What I’m not cool with is my lesbian sister hiding her sexuality from me like I’m a goddamn anti-lesbite!” She pauses in her tracks, listening, before her brows narrow dangerously and she fires back, “It totally is a word! Google it!”

I look over at Ash and mutter, “You think she really didn’t know?”

He looks over at me, brows raised, before looking at the scene his wife is making, then looks back to the TV, reaching for more chips. “She really didn’t know.”

Nat sighs. “I’m not going to tell them. Relax, Max. But it would’ve been nice for you to tell me yourself and for me not to have found out through the youngest Kovac spawn.” She smiles softly and I know Nina is apologizing to her, probably by calling her a moron for not working it out sooner. “So I hear you’ve got yourself a girl, huh? What’s her name?” Nat laughs. “Amelia. Nice. Sounds like she’s a real lady.” She grins. “So does that make you the man in the relationship?” Her smile falls. “Hello? Nina?” She holds up her cell, looking irate. “Bitch hung up on me!”

I shrug and tip my head slightly. “Calling a woman a man will do that.”

Nat stares down at the phone as if it offends her, and even though she’s acting like a turd, I know she’s happy to be in the know. Maybe Nat finding out isn’t so bad. Pushing her cell back into her pocket, she mumbles through a pout, “Sensitive beaver-eating mole.”

Uh, yeah. Okay. Maybe not.

***

Helena

When Max told me he and I were going out on a date, I prepared myself for the best date ever. That was my first mistake. My second mistake was building it up in my head. And when I say I built it up, I mean I made it into the freaking Eiffel tower. Then he came to pick me up dressed in dark jeans, a black button-up shirt untucked, his white sneakers, and his too-long-to-be-tamed hair carefully tousled, and my heart let out a long, dreamy sigh.

By that point, my engine was already revving. I sashayed over to him, smiling innocently, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, hoping for a taste of what was to come later in the night. His bright smile faltered when I pressed myself against him, leaning up to kiss under his jaw, letting my hand linger on the silver belt buckle at the waist of his jeans.

He cleared his throat before he rasped, “What are you doing, cupcake?”

Of course he could see right through me. I wasn’t hiding what I wanted from him. Not in the slightest. My light jeans a contrast to his dark ones, I pushed my breasts into his chest (thank the lord for high heels), my silky tan tank brushing deliciously over my stomach, spurring me further, and breathed, “Having dessert.”

His arms went around me then, one firmly wrapped around my back, pulling me devastatingly close, while the other hand slid down my body, over the curve of my hip to cup my butt. He made a low noise of arousal in his throat, and the hand splayed on my cheek squeezed. “We’re gonna be late for dinner.”

I pouted, looking up at him with what Nat calls my Bambi eyes. I had practiced this look growing up. The time spent practicing clearly paid off. There was little I would ask for that my parents would say no to when I pulled these babies out. I lifted my fingers, spacing them an inch apart. “Not even a little play?”

He looked down at me with those liquid golden eyes and I knew I had him. He sighed dramatically before kissing my mouth, and he didn’t do it half-assed. He never did. He kissed me deep, taking his time, tasting me. “How can I say no to you?” Grinning, I lowered myself, slow and sexy, ‘til I knelt in front of him. He looked down at me questioningly, and then I reached up to undo his belt. His eyes widened a moment before he broke into a grin. “Rock’n’roll, baby.”

He lifted his shirt a little to help me out. It took no time at all to unbutton him and lower his zipper, and then with a swift yank, his jeans and boxer were around his knees. He was only semi-erect, but still looking too big and much too thick to fit entirely in my mouth. I wrapped my fingers around him, ignoring Max’s hiss, then looked up into his eyes.

I knew men liked that. I had been friends with a guy in college, a total horn-dog, who once told me that guys loved when a woman was on her knees, looking up at them innocently. Even more so when the woman was wearing lipstick, apparently any color would do. He also told me that men loved when a woman maintained eye contact during a blowjob. I was about to test that theory.