The Edge of Reason, page 15
“You know I haven’t. That was him trying to get to you. And besides,” she shifts again in her seat, moving away from me and glancing toward the window. I turn just in time to catch a smirk on the edge of her lips a second before her face is no longer visible to me. “You know he’s wrong about that whole no one else can get me off stuff?”
“He really never did?”
“No. He really never did.”
I need to ask her about that. About why that is. But this is absolutely not the time for that conversation.
An inadvertent smile pulls at me, the knot in my chest unfurling. “I did,” I muse, rubbing my jaw as I try to contain myself.
I reach over before I can talk myself out of it and drop my hand to her knee. She jumps a little, my contact unexpected, but she doesn’t look at me and she doesn’t push me away. She’s on the edge with me. A border so tightly strung and precarious, one wrong move has the power to wreck it all.
So I make an executive decision. I take a left instead of a right, heading toward the North End of Boston. To the restaurant I had in mind when her arms were wrapped around my chest, her hands over my heart, and she suggested dinner.
I’m courting my best friend. A woman who is likely to run in the opposite direction once I make my thoughts and desires known. Getting hurt sucks. It’s seriously not something I’d like to repeat. Ever.
But I’d rather try with her and fail than never know if she’d say yes.
Then again, what do I do if, when, she says no?
Can I deal with the eventuality of losing her? Because that’s what will happen. I’ll lose Margot. There is no middle ground with us. No in-between. It would be a nightmare. We’d have to rearrange our schedules so they didn’t sync up. My nurse. My professional other half. I’d no longer be able to hang out with her and our mutual friends. But most importantly, she’d be gone to me. No more late-night phone calls or texts. No more hanging out, no more drinks at the bar or watching television or milkshakes.
Is some of Margot, even if just as my friend, better than none?
I pull my hand back, returning it to the wheel, uncertain and second-guessing for the first time in my life.
“Julien was a horrible kisser,” she says out of absolutely nowhere. “Did I ever tell you that?”
“Um. No.”
“He was,” she breathes out on a sad sigh. “I had to do all the heavy lifting.” She turns to me and I can feel her pained gaze on the side of my face. “Then again, every single guy I’ve ever kissed has been bad at it.”
“Every single guy?” I cock an eyebrow in her direction.
“Ninety-nine percent of them. Is that better?”
“Am I the one percent? That might help me answer the question better.”
She laughs. “Andrew Albright, you’re always the one percent.”
“Okay. I’ll take that to mean I’m an incredible kisser. Go on. Tell me about the losers before me.”
“Awful. All of them. Too much tongue. Not enough tongue. Lips too thin. Lips too full. Bad breath. Too aggressive. Not aggressive enough.”
She reaches up, tugging out her messy bun, her fingers massaging her scalp as her long, thick, gorgeous hair tumbles down around her, the scent of her shampoo hitting me hard.
“Julien was a horrible kisser, and yet, I convinced myself I loved him when I knew I didn’t all along. I just wanted it so badly, you know? A boyfriend. A real relationship where someone gave a shit.” I can’t nod. I can’t agree. I just swallow hard, gripping the wheel, because I can’t hold her. “No one ever wanted me. Men only used me for sex. And even then, it was just to get themselves off with me as a means to an end. But Julien made a show of actually wanting me for me. Even if it was all a lie, I stupidly clung to that like an abused puppy helplessly taking affection wherever it could get it.”
“It wasn’t all a lie. He obviously cared for you if he kept trying to get to you.”
She shakes her head, her focus trained out the window. “I didn’t hear a peep out of him the entire time he was gone. Nothing until after he saw you kiss me. He’s a type, Drew. You know it as well as I do. The type who doesn’t like to come in second.” I can feel her eyes boring themselves into the side of my face. Yeah, I’m that type too. Thanks. Point made. Her hands drop from her head to her denim clad thighs with a loud slap. “Tonight was the first time anyone has ever told me they love me. And the bastard didn’t even mean it. He used it as a weapon. It’s wrecking me, inside and out.”
Jesus. I want to hit him all over again. This time harder. Do permanent damage.
“No one?” I parrot. “Not even when you were a kid?”
“No one. Never.”
Fuck. That’s just… I can’t. I can’t stand this. Because I love Margot. I know I do. There is no hiding it or pretending or lying to myself. I love her. And not just as my best friend. As a woman. As a woman I want to be with. A woman I can’t seem to get enough of or stop thinking about. As a woman I will fight for and destroy anyone who dares tried to hurt her.
And yet, I can’t tell her that. Certainly not now. Not after Julien came in and ruined her like that.
“After Julien left for England, I went to the bar and got really shit-faced. Like I always do when my life gets to be too much for me. But that time, I didn’t try to pick anyone else up. I didn’t want to bring someone home only to be disappointed again. I started believing I’m the bad kisser. I started hating all that’s wrong with me because, without all that, I probably wouldn’t pick one loser after another.”
“Nothing is wrong with you.”
“You see,” she interrupts. “That’s where you’re wrong. There is so much wrong with me that you have no idea about.” I clutch the wheel hard. I hate the way Margot thinks about herself. I’d give anything for her to see what I see in her.
“Is this an invitation to prove you wrong? Because if it is, we’re nearly at the restaurant and I’m driving in the North End. I have no ability to pull over and kiss the hell out of you to show you just how wrong you are without getting us hit by another car. But,” I turn to glance at her before going back to the road, “I can drive us to my place and show you there.”
“Friends don’t kiss, Drew. They don’t have phone sex either.”
Ah. Here we go. The crux of her inner workings. It’s a question and a warning and a statement and a plea. That’s when I see the despair in her expression. The frown she’s trying and failing to hide. Her huge, worried eyes lined lightly with a sheen of moisture. She’s deeply troubled by this twist in our relationship. By the gears I set in motion with one kiss and one phone call. The problem is, I don’t want to go back to the way we were before. I want to keep going forward, see where all this love and chemistry and friendship can take us. So I go with total honesty, even if she’s not ready for it and doesn’t want it.
“You’re right. Friends don’t.”
Only, she’s not taking it the way I want her to. She thinks I’m like Julien. Messing with her heart and her mind for my own sick pleasure.
“All I have are my friends. They’re my one constant. The one thing I can always count on. You most of all.” I wait. I watch out of the corner of my eye. “I can’t lose you too,” she whispers under her breath, turning away from me completely.
And there it is folks. My answer before I can even pose the question.
“That’s not a possibility. I already told you. I’m always here. No matter what, sweetheart, you can’t lose me.” I love you too much for that.
“Sooner or later, things change and loss is the inevitable by-product of that.” I want to argue with her. Tell her she’s wrong. But I’m not sure I don’t believe her. I’ve never seen anything else. “Okay,” she sighs out, as she shakes off all this rough stuff. “Enough depressing stuff. I’m starving.” She plants me with an eager grin. “I’ll give you whatever you want if you feed me within the next half an hour.”
It’s a joke. Right? I mean, obviously, it’s a joke. But is she daring me too? My frown grows into a full-blown cocky smile. If, sooner or later, things change and loss is inevitable, then fuck it. What the hell am I waiting for?
“Whatever I want?” I tilt my head playfully and she rolls her eyes, thinking I’m just being suggestive and flirtatious. “What if it’s you I want?”
She giggles nervously, shifting around on her seat. “Now you’re just teasing me.”
“What if I’m not? What if I’m being totally and completely serious?”
Eighteen
Drew
* * *
“Table for two please,” I request to the hostess who ogles me with open desire. She’s pretty in a young, I screw a lot of guys and would like to do the same to you sort of way. “No reservation.”
“Not a problem. Right this way.”
She touches my arm, holding on to me even though I’m holding Margot’s hand. I helped her out of the car and decided that I wasn’t letting her squirm away. I gave her my truth in the form of a direct question and she went quiet as the church mouse she’s been raised to be. The hostess leads us all the way to the back to a small two-person table.
“If I can get you anything, please do not hesitate,” she coos at me, fanning her insanely fake lashes and fake tits in the general direction of my mouth. I bet it works for her most of the time. On men like Julien. “My name is Jasmine and I’m fully at your service.” Oh, I bet you are.
“Except he’s mine, so no thanks.” Yep, those words were said aloud by Margot. I flip in her direction so fast I have whiplash. Did she just say that? That she’s mine? My heart skitters to a halt.
“Of course. Enjoy your meal,” Jasmine or Aurora or Belle or whatever her princess name is, purrs before slinking off.
“I bet she tells the chef I’m a bitch and asks him or her to spit in my food.” I blink at Margot, stunned. She shrugs as she takes her seat, picking up her white napkin from her place setting and laying it with precision on her lap. “Whatever. It was insanely rude that she was trying to snake my date. I won’t apologize for it.”
Did I enter some alternate reality? Have I been knocked unconscious and now I’m living in my ultimate fantasy world? Nope. Margot is wearing clothes, and her pussy isn’t grinding against my face, so I guess I’m awake and this is real. Taking the seat across from her, I fold my arms on our small table, leaning forward while leveling her with my most discerning stare.
“Who are you right now?”
She rolls her eyes. “She was being super disrespectful to me.”
She was so I nod my head in concession to that. “Did you mean it? What you said? About being mine?”
She does a snort-scoff thing, but she doesn’t answer yes or no either way. I can’t tell if she’s blowing me off or if she’s just afraid to be an adult and answer a direct question about how she feels about me. What she wants.
“Margot?” I press.
Her eyes narrow at me. “Stop talking, Drew. I mean it.”
“You’re being a coward. Talk to me.”
“I am not being a coward,” she bellows, smacking her hand on the table and rattling the dishes. She quickly glances around, remembering that we’re in a nice Italian restaurant, but I don’t give a shit about the other patrons. Screw them.
“You can yell at me. You can yell at me all you want. Just talk to me.”
“Why did you have to do this?”
“Because I was tired of not doing it.”
“Please,” she dismisses, her eyes narrowing. “You’re not serious. I know you’re not. I know how you see me. That night on the phone wasn’t anything real. I’m not a fuck toy,” she hisses, trying to control the level of her voice. “I don’t want to be used. There is no friends with benefits situation going to happen.”
I shake my head, looking away. I’m fuming. “Never said there was.” The waiter picks this moment to come over and I turn my attention over to him, ordering for both of us because I know it will piss her off good.
“What if I didn’t want that?” she asks when the waiter leaves.
I lean back, my hands falling to my thighs. I’m losing my patience with her. “I know you did. It’s your favorite. I know you better than you know yourself. But if you’d like to change your order, I’m happy to call him back. You can have whatever you want, Margot.” Clearly, I’m not only talking about dinner.
“No. It’s fine,” she mumbles. “You ordered exactly what I wanted. As always.”
Fucking hell. Can’t she just try? She wants me! I know she does. I see it. All the motherfucking time, I see it. Adapt!
“Are you going to ignore what you promised me? I believe you said you’d give me whatever I want if I fed you within half an hour. We’re ten minutes into that and I’ve already ordered our food and wine.”
Margot curses something out in a very unladylike tone that makes my cock twitch in my pants. She wants to throw something at me. I can see her rage building. Her eyes are practically glowing with her fire. It’s insanely sexy, and I wish I didn’t think that right now because all I want to do is bend her over my knee and spank her perfect ass.
“I usually like it when my dates propose sex to me at the end of the meal. At least wait until I’ve had my salad.”
“You jest.”
“I jest.” She slams her hand on the table again. “Because you’re insane. And messing everything up.”
“Or making it so much better. Margot, this,” I wave my finger between us, “could be so much more. Can’t you even entertain that as a possibility?”
She huffs out, loud and harsh and unforgiving. Her arms cross over her beautiful, ample chest and her legs cross over the feature I’d most like to become acquainted with, and she’s essentially shutting me down. Again.
The truth is, Margot started this with the I’ll give you whatever you want stuff. She just doesn’t like my terms. But she will. It’s her uncertainty that’s holding her off. Her mistrust of my intentions. Am I after her simply for sex or something more? That’s what she’s wondering. Part of me is extremely tempted to lay it all out for her, tell her everything. But an even larger part of me knows that Margot is nowhere near ready for that.
Baby steps. Going slow. Treading carefully.
And really, how many times can a man be rejected in one meal?
Or maybe she’s just met her limit after what happened with Julien tonight and my pushing her for something the way he did is hitting too close to home? That possibility slams into me like a sledgehammer to the chest. I don’t want her to think I’m like him. I want her to trust in me that I’ll never be like him. But right now, I get the comparison, the uncertainty.
So I pull away, giving her some mental space while guiding us back into normal conversation. Back into Drew and Margot. Best friends. A place where she’s safe and happy, and I’m drowning.
Dinner came in under twenty-eight minutes. I won, but I already lost so what difference does it make.
Margot ate her dinner with the diligence and focus of an intern inserting their first chest tube. I didn’t gloat or challenge. That’s for another time. That mind of hers is stewing and I let it, while I try to regain some semblance of control.
I’m angry with her. The thought of attempting something real with me so abhorrent to her, yet she’ll yell at hostesses, flirt and drink with that Rex guy and hand over her body to fuck-wit assholes who don’t know how to pleasure her? That’s total crap. I’d give her just about anything she needs if she’d look me in the eyes or kiss my lips or fucking admit that her heart, her soul, her body all belong to me.
Pathetic? Maybe just a bit.
I’ve certainly never made concessions like this for a woman before. Just ask Aria.
But I can’t go back now. That kiss. That phone call. Every touch that isn’t anywhere near platonic. They’ve become my drugs, feeding my addiction and driving me forward to stave off withdrawal. This is what happens when a guy falls in love with his best friend. He becomes this guy. The one at a total loss of what to do or say next.
“You know I really did consider tonight a date, right?” I say, as we stand outside waiting for the valet to come and deliver my car for us.
We skipped dessert and if she were her usual Margot self, she’d have called me out on that. Dragged me down the street to all the famous pastry shops here on Hanover Street and demanded a cannoli or some gelato that we would have shared. She didn’t, and I have to wonder if it’s because she’s desperate to be rid of me. She finally twists to face me, maybe surprised by the sound of my voice after so much silence. Her eyes peek up at me from beneath her lashes. Then she frowns. Too goddamn bad.
“That night I came to your house and nearly kissed you on your couch, without the provocation of pissing off your ex, was the night everything sort of fell into place for me.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d shut the fuck up now.”
I grab her by her upper arm, practically lifting her up and off the ground as I drag her over to an alleyway alongside the restaurant. Her lips part, a startled gasp strangles in the back of her throat as I press her body against the rough bricks and slam my mouth down on hers.
Why? I have no clue. I don’t even know how I got here. There was no thought behind it. No, I have to kiss Margot, or I want to really mess up everything I was just trying to not so cautiously build. It just happened and now I’m here. With my lips on Margot’s. I can taste the earthy sweetness of the wine and the fiery bite of her spicy dinner. Feel the heat of her enraged body against mine as she hate kisses me back.
It’s absolutely perfect.
She licks my lips, and I don’t waste time over-thinking, or even thinking at all. I dive in as her mouth opens wider, inviting me in to ruin her for good. My tongue sweeps against hers, gliding and pressing and commanding.
Last time, I only got a tease. A gentle brush of her sweet mouth. Not this time. This time I plunder the depths of her, my tongue dancing with hers. Taking. Coaxing. Fighting. Our mouths move together with such passion you’d think we’ve been doing this together forever. Our lips move, sliding together, perfect counterparts in a play we’ve already mastered. She bites my bottom lip angrily, and I bite hers back, sucking it into my mouth to ease the sting before I follow that move up with her tongue. Her fingers rake through my hair hungrily, angrily, tugging painfully on the ends, and I growl into her, getting the most perfect whimper in return.
