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“He what?” I practically spit. “What did you ask him to do?”

She continues to drink her water, avoiding answering my question, but then she says,

“He never wanted to have sex, and when we did, it was so… so boring. I once made a joke about having sex outside. I read in a magazine that it heightens everything, you know, the thrill of being caught, and he said only animals have sex outside. Then I suggested he… go down on me. One of my friends from dance said her boyfriend did it and it felt amazing, so I asked him and he said it was disgusting and then dumped me the next day, so I’ve been too scared, I guess, to be with anyone else since.”

She takes another sip of water and a strange feeling works its way through me. Anger maybe? The idea of someone treating her like that and denying her pleasure, and making her feel that way. I’m starting to see a side of Gabriella she doesn’t show, or rather hasn’t been allowed to show. A part of her that is fighting to come out, to be seen and wanted, and she just hasn’t found the right person to share that with; the idea of that makes my chest feel heavy.

“I think your boyfriend may have liked cock instead.” I say, in hopes of making her feel a little better.

She splutters, spraying water everywhere, and coughs. I rush over to her, taking the bottle from her hand and place it on the dresser.

Her head falls back and hysterical laughter erupts from her as she wipes her mouth with her fingertips, smudging her crimson lips ever so slightly as she does. She stumbles over her own feet and falls into my chest. I wrap an arm around her petite frame to keep her upright.

“Sorry… that… made me laugh,” she says quietly.

“Good. I like seeing you laugh,” I say, my eyes searching her face, taking in every delicate feature. I take in her big brown eyes, her flawless skin and the small beauty spot that sits just above the left side of her mouth. My attention is captured by her lips and the smear of lipstick. Without thinking I dust my thumb over the corner of her mouth and wipe away the lipstick. A small gasp falls from her lips and her hand flies up to cover mine as I cup her jaw. I should move my hand. But I don’t. Instead, I bring my face closer to hers, inhaling her cherry and floral scent that’s fast becoming my favorite smell. “But I’m serious. A woman’s asking you to eat her out and you say no, then you need your head fucking testing,” I say with a little more bite to my tone. “And for the record, you are absolutely the type of woman men go for. You’re perfect, Gabriella, and I’m sorry some prick made you feel less than.”

She smiles, flashing her perfectly white teeth. “He was a prick.” She sniggers, and I laugh right along with her.

“Any man who would deny you what you wanted, Gabriella, isn’t worth your time.”

She bites down on her full lip, making my heart race and my blood pump harder around my body.

“You always call me Gabriella, never Gabby… why?”

“Because you have a beautiful name. Why would I want to shorten it?”

I watch her throat bob as she swallows hard, making my now aching bulge strain against the fabric of my suit pants.

Her suggestive eyes have me weak, and I know I could cave at any second. Tonight we are pushing limits, and I don’t know how much longer I can resist. I could so easily bring my mouth to hers and taste how sweet I fear she is. But once I do there would be no going back. It would ruin our friendship because, ultimately, I know she doesn’t want me like that. She doesn’t see me like that, and I think her rejection would hurt more than battling with my feelings for her. That thought is sobering, and I grit my teeth and release her from my hold and step back, running a frustrated hand through my dark hair and turn away from her, exhaling.

Fuck.

“I’m going to get ready for bed.”

She says nothing, just nodding as I walk past her to the bathroom, slamming the door and storming over to the counter in search of a toothbrush and paste.

I brush my teeth so vigorously my gums bleed, but I welcome the pain, and the sting when I rinse with mouthwash.

I consider taking a cold shower, but a small knock echoes from the door. I open the door to find Gabriella clutching her stomach.

I close my eyes, accepting my fate. I open the door wide, gesturing for her to enter. She rushes over to the toilet bowl and gets on her knees, expelling the contents of her stomach into the bowl. I walk over to her and crouch down beside her, gathering her hair in my hands and begin my routine of smoothing my palm over the center of her back in circles in an attempt to bring her some comfort and reassurance as she hurls into the toilet bowl.

I wait until she’s done and pass her some toilet paper to wipe her mouth, and she collapses back against me. I hold her, waiting for her to catch her breath as she curls into my bare chest so perfectly as if she was made to fit in my arms. I wish things were different between us, I wish I could tell her how I feel, and act on my feelings and be with her the way I am desperate to be, but we aren’t meant to be, I know she’s meant for someone else, someone better, someone who deserves her in all the ways that I don’t. I’ve done too many wrong things in my life to be worthy of a woman like her. Being friends with Gabriella may be the toughest test of my restraint, and it’s becoming harder with every passing day to handle, but, if this is the only way I can have her, then I’ll take it, because a life without Gabriella in it doesn’t feel like one I want to exist in.

Chapter Fifteen

Gabriella

I am painfully hungover. I got an Uber here because putting one foot in front of the other was a challenge. I woke up alone with a text from Brad saying he had to sort something at the club. I don’t understand what he needed to do at 9 am on a Saturday that was so important, so I am going to take a wild guess that it was to avoid me.

I made a complete ass of myself last night, and sitting here at my mother's WA lunch at the country club is my punishment.

“…. and so I told Amanda that if she wanted to avoid the penalty charge, she needed to clear up her front lawn. Honestly, it’s a disgrace,” my mother whines.

I take another sip of water and then tear a chunk off my bread roll with my teeth, praying it eases the nausea while I internally roll my eyes at my mother’s conversation with her friends. Ishuffle in my seat, the tweed material of the skirt itching the backs of my thighs, making me want to rip it off.

My mom leans into me and hisses through gritted teeth. “Don’t eat your bread like that, Gabriella, and will you say something?”