The Boyfriend Blog

Lizzie’s smile lights up more than the room—it sparks something in my heart. “What would I do without you?”

“You’ll never have to find out.” I brush a stray hair from her face. “Want to tell me what happened?”

“Yes. But first, I have to get out of this God-awful dress.” She starts walking down the hall and then turns to look at me. “You don’t have plans tonight, do you?”

I shake my head no. She smiles and continues to my bedroom. I go to the kitchen, and when I hear my bedroom door shut, I slide my phone out of my pocket. I pull up my older brother’s number and shoot him a quick text.

Me: Change of plans. I can’t make it for dinner tonight.

Calvin’s reply is instant.

Calvin: No worries, bro. We still on for coffee Monday morning?

Me: Yep. See you then. Tell Mom and Dad I’m sorry I can’t make it. Raincheck.

Calvin: Tell them yourself.

I almost feel guilty for canceling on our dinner plans because I canceled with Mom and Dad last week, but I’m sure they don’t care. Calvin is their favorite anyway. He can woo them over dinner with his fancy business talk.

Me: I’m busy.

I’m about to put my phone away when it vibrates with another text.

Calvin: Tell Liz I said hello.

He knows me too well. Smiling, I stuff my phone into my pocket again, pull a bottle of Lizzie’s favorite rosé from the cabinet, and pour each of us a glass.

“What can I help with?” Lizzie says a few minutes later as she walks into the kitchen.

I glance over my shoulder and nearly swallow my tongue. Jesus C, she’s too pretty for words. There’s nothing sexier than a woman wearing a man’s shirt, and Lizzie in my shirt is my own slice of heaven. Her makeup is gone, and her hair is down from the knot she had it in, leaving loose, brown waves hanging around her shoulders.

She looks fresh and clean and so damn beautiful.

Lizzie pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and looks at the shirt she’s wearing. “I hope you don’t mind me borrowing a shirt.”

I shake my head. “Not at all.”

“I might never give it back.” Gripping the front of it, she pulls it to her nose, closes her eyes and inhales. The movement causes the hem to ride up her bare thigh. “It smells like you,” she whispers.

Don’t do it, man, don’t look, I tell myself, because ogling my best friend after she had a shitty night isn’t cool, and all it’ll do is make me want her that much more.

Clearing my throat, I nod toward her glass of wine. “Take that into the living room and get comfy. I’ll be right there.”

I don’t have to tell her twice. Lizzie takes both glasses while I grab a few seconds to myself. Pushing my fingers through my hair, I take a deep breath and try to think of anything that’ll take my mind off of how it would feel to wrap my arms around her lush body and claim her sweet lips.

“You coming?” she hollers.

Shit. Here goes nothing. I grab the ice cream and a spoon and walk into the living room. Lizzie is curled up in the middle of the couch, my University of Illinois t-shirt stretched across her tan legs, and her feet tucked under her butt. She pats the cushion, and I sink into the spot beside her. She takes the spoon and digs in for her first bite.

“You spoil me,” she mumbles around the ice cream in her mouth.

“Someone has to.”

She moans, scoops out another spoonful, and holds it up for me. I take the offer and watch her go in for more.

>

“You know,” she says, licking the spoon clean. “One of these days, you won’t have to spoil me anymore.”