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But I couldn’t.
So, I lay there, reveling in the feeling of having someone close. Of havingherclose.
Mara’s phone began vibrating on the bedside table, and I hurriedly untangled myself from her embrace, hoping I could silence it before she woke up. After the kind of day she had yesterday, she deserved every ounce of slumber she got.
I pressed the lock button to silent the phone, then saw it was Birdie calling. I wasn’t sure what Mara had told her yesterday, but I figured it would be best to fill her in so she could be gentle with Mara. I swiped to answer and quickly padded out of the room, glancing back once to make sure Mara’s eyes were still closed.
They were, so I shut the door and swiped the screen to answer, whispering, “Hey, Birdie, it’s Jonas.”
“Jonas?” She seemed confused. “Where’s Mara? Is she okay?”
“She’s sleeping,” I said, feeling instantly guilty even though we hadn’t done anything wrong. “I asked her to stay over after what happened yesterday.”
“I saw the news,” Birdie said, concern plain in her voice. “How’d she handle it?”
I reached the living room and dropped onto my couch. Mara was right—it was fucking unbearable. “She was like a different person, Birdie. The second she saw him, it was like she made herself as small as she possibly could.”
“Oh gosh,” Birdie breathed. “Poor Mara.”
“I know. Security took him out, and we didn’t see him in the parking lot or anything, but she’s been worried that he’s going to look up her address and find her in private this time. And I can’t blame her. He was very agitated at the press conference, and he was surrounded by fifty people.”
“I’m glad you had her over. I worry about her living alone sometimes.”
We were both quiet for a moment. A ping sounded in my ear, and I looked at the screen to see a low battery notification.
“Did anything... happen?” Birdie asked.
The heat to my cheeks, neck, and ears was instant. “Nothing at all.” Besides me fucking myself while your best friend was in the shower.
“Will you have her give me a call when she wakes up?”
“Sure thing.”
We hung up, and I went to the kitchen to grab an extra phone charger from the junk drawer. Once I found it, I plugged the cord into the wall and set her phone up to charge.
The screen flashed at me, and I couldn’t help but see two text messages.
Hayden: Can’t stop thinking about the way my cum looked on your tits. Come over?
George: Lonely tonight. Call me.
I quickly set her phone face down, my stomach souring. Why the fuck was I reading her text messages? And why was I so damn upset to see two guys in her phone?
She had an active sex life before our arrangement, and she’d have one after. I knew that—she wasn’t shy about it. But the image of her being fucked by another man, his cum shining on her naked tits, made me want to punch something more than I’d ever wanted to in my life.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
I was her friend. Herfakeboyfriend. We’d slept together in a bed and done nothing. If she stayed the night again, I’d be in the guest room. I was helping her. That’s what friends did.
But that fucking image wouldn’t get out of my mind, so I got to work making Dad’s scratch pancake recipe. When I was younger, Mom always cooked throughout the week, but Dad went all-out breakfast on weekend mornings. He squeezed oranges for fresh juice, made scrambled eggs with extra cheese, and always had the best buttery toast to go with it. But my favorite was always the pancakes.
I had the recipe memorized by now, so I got to work, mixing together the flour, baking soda, and salt in one bowl before getting the wet ingredients together.
I had bacon in the fridge too, so I laid it flat on a baking sheet and put it in the oven before mixing together the pancakes and cooking them on a griddle.
Even though I normally waited until I was at the office for a cup of coffee, I had a coffee pot at home. I got it down from the cabinets and rinsed it out to start a pot with grounds I kept in the freezer. All the smells of the kitchen brought me back to my childhood, waking up to the smell of bacon and the gurgling sound of a brewing coffee pot.
I was so lucky for my childhood. I never wanted to take it for granted.