Page 6 of Best Friends

As the next few weeks pass, I catch myself checking out other guys to see if it sparks anything inside me.

I’m wondering if maybe I’m bisexual. I try to imagine how they’d look naked, and try to be honest about whether or not that idea excites me.

However, fantasizing about getting naked with strange guys does nothing for me.

I don’t get hard or excited at the thought of touching them.

I definitely don’t want to suck their cock.

I don’t understand why being with Malcolm sexually turned me on so much. Is it because we have an emotional connection already? I never needed an emotional connection in the past when I hooked up with girls. Why would that matter more with a male?

Still confused about what’s happening to me, I avoid going to Frankie’s.

I don’t want to watch Malcolm hitting on girls.

But I don’t just avoid Frankie’s, I also avoid hanging out with Malcolm at all.

I can’t risk him finding out that I’m struggling with possessive feelings toward him.

The very idea he might figure that out is way too humiliating.

So I avoid being around him. I’m sure the weird feelings will pass eventually.

I’m in luck when a motorcycle show comes to town.

Large groups of people from out of town always means an uptick of crime in Whispering Pines.

That means I’m able to keep busy by picking up a lot of overtime shifts.

Working so much makes my absence at Frankie’s bar easier to explain.

Everyone understands that if I’m working extra shifts, I don’t have time to get drunk and chase girls.

Most of my coworkers don’t even seem to notice I’m not around much.

But Cheyenne and Malcolm notice.

Of course they do.

Cheyenne is the first to address my absence. “You’re coming by Frankie’s tonight, right?” We’re walking into the station after our shift.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” I mutter. “I worked a double and I’m beat.” I knew eventually she’d broach the subject of me not going to Frankie’s, so I have my excuses ready.

She groans. “Come on, Carrick. You haven’t been there in weeks.”

“I’ve been working a ton of overtime.”

“I know, but still.” She glances at me. “Look, I’m not saying you have to stay all night, but today’s Sandy’s birthday. We’re throwing her a little party at Frankie’s. You’re gonna hurt her feelings if you don’t even show up.”

I laugh gruffly. “She has no idea who I am.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” She fiddles absentmindedly with her holster. “She must know who you are. You’ve worked together for years.”

“You’re wrong.” I hold the station door open for her. “She doesn’t even know my name. She calls me Carl.” The door hisses closed behind us.

“What? No. She told me to invite you.” She avoids my gaze as we head toward the locker room.

“Oh, really?” I lift one brow. “Be honest. Did she use my actual name?”

Cheyenne blushes. “Well, I knew who she meant.”

I stop in the hallway, my shoes squeaking on the linoleum. “I’m right, aren’t I? She called me Carl? Did she tell you to invite Carl ?”

“So what?” She looks sheepish. “She’s not good with names, that’s all.”

“Yeah, I’m not going.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. She’d feel horrible if she knew she’s got your name wrong. It’s not intentional. She’s just awful with names.”

“Well, either way, I can’t make it tonight.”

“Why?”

“I just can’t.” I start to split off from her to head into the side of the locker room for men, but she grabs my arm.

“Carrick, talk to me.” Her fingers dig into my arm. “What’s going on with you? Malcolm and I are really worried about you. You barely say two words to anyone anymore. Even as antisocial as you are, that’s not normal.”

I do my best to sound sincere. “I’m sorry if I’ve been too busy to hang out with you guys at Frankie’s, but I only have so much energy.”

“Please,” she whines. “At least come by for one drink, and to wish Sandy happy birthday.”

Shaking my head, I say, “I can’t.”

She scowls. “You mean you won’t.”

Guilt nudges me because I don’t want to upset her. She’s right. I’ve been a horrible friend lately ghosting her and Malcolm. But I’m doing the best I can. She doesn’t understand how hard it is for me to be around Malcolm, and I can’t tell her why.

“Don’t be mad at me,” I say. “I’m really exhausted and I’m not sleeping well lately. I can’t handle the idea of making small talk when I’m this tired.”

Her gaze softens. “If you’re not sleeping well then something must be wrong. I wish you’d tell me what’s bothering you.”

“You don’t need to look so worried. I’m fine.

” I feel bad lying to her. I know I can trust Cheyenne, but I’m not ready to confess what happened with Malcolm.

It’s not really my place to tell her because it’s also Malcolm’s personal business.

Besides, Malcolm’s acting like nothing even happened between us.

He’s apparently been able to put it all behind him.

If she knew that bothered me, she’d pity me. That’s my worst nightmare.

She tucks her blonde hair behind her ear, looking stubborn. “I’m a good problem solver. But I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

I groan. “God, Cheyenne, nothing is wrong . You need to find an alpha or something so you can nag someone else for a change.” I regret the words the second they leave my mouth. She immediately looks hurt and my chest aches with guilt.

Her jaw clenches. “Excuse me for giving a shit about you.” Scowling, she turns and heads into the women’s side of the locker room.

“Cheyenne, wait,” I call, but she ignores me.

Feeling like a total jerk, I head to my locker.

I’ll apologize to her later. I’ve been feeling horribly hormonal lately.

I shouldn’t have snapped at her like that.

She’s just trying to help me, and most normal people want their friends to care about them.

Instead, I bite people’s heads off when they show concern.

I don’t even know why Cheyenne cares about me.

After a long, hot shower, I change into civilian clothes and head home.

I’m tired, grumpy, and starving. I have just enough energy to open a can of vegetable soup.

As I stir the bubbling soup, I sip a glass of red wine.

My phone vibrates on the island, and I glance over nervously.

I’ve ignored Malcolm’s texts and phone calls the last few weeks.

I’ll have to respond eventually, but I still don’t know what to say.

He knows me too well to hide my feelings forever.

When the doorbell rings, I scowl. The only people who ever drop by my house are Malcolm and Cheyenne, but they’re both at the bar celebrating Sandy’s birthday.

With my luck it’s a pack of Jehovah’s Witnesses on my porch, hoping to convert me.

I wonder what they’d say if they knew I’d sucked my best friend’s dick.

Maybe confessing that to them would get them to leave me alone for good.

I ignore my unwelcome visitor, but they keep ringing the doorbell. Feeling annoyed, I head to the door, glowering. When I open the door I find Malcolm on my doorstep with a six-pack of beer and a pizza box from my favorite pizza place.

“Howdy, C.” He looks uncharacteristically nervous as he grins at me. “I came by to see if you were dead, or just avoiding me.”

The sight of him does weird things to me.

My legs feel weak and my gut is instantly swirling with butterflies.

He looks so fucking good in jeans that hug his muscular thighs, and a yellow T-shirt that clings to his sinewy chest and biceps.

I’m embarrassed that I notice his body, and the cedar scent of him has my pulse skittering.

“What are you doing here?” I ask hoarsely, praying he didn’t notice me checking him out. “I thought you were all celebrating Sandy’s birthday?”

“I dropped by Frankie’s and wished her a happy birthday.” He shrugs. “But now I’m here.”

I frown. “You should have called first.”

He laughs. “Why, so you could pretend you’re not home?”

My face warms because that’s probably something I would do. “I wouldn’t hide from you in my own house,” I lie.

“If you say so.”

We stare at each other in awkward silence for a few moments.

“Can I come in?” His voice is soft and his light blue eyes intense.

“Uh…” I can’t very well say no. Knowing Malcolm, he wouldn’t listen even if I did. I hesitate, then step aside. “How can I say no to Tony’s Pizza and beer?”

He’s been to my place a million times and he’s never shy about making himself at home. Tonight is no exception. He moves past me, straight into the kitchen. He puts the beer in the fridge and sets the pizza on the counter. He glances at my pot of soup, shaking his head.

“What kind of pizza did you bring?” I ask to fill the strained silence.

“Your favorite. Tony’s cheese stuffed crust with pepperoni, mushrooms, and black olives.” He studies me, his expression very serious. “But I don’t want to talk about pizza, C. I want to know why you’re upset and why you’re avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding you.”

“Bullshit,” he says gruffly. “You need to talk to me. I’m not okay with how you’ve been acting.”

“I haven’t been acting any particular way.” My heart is thudding so hard I swear he can probably hear it.

“That’s not true and you know it.”

I avoid his gaze, my kitchen feeling unusually cramped. “I don’t know anything of the sort.”

He squints and steps closer. “C., I know you.”

I scowl. “God. Between you and Cheyenne I feel like I’m being stalked.” I move to the fridge and I grab two cans of beer. I hand one to him and pop the tab on mine. I take a sip, holding his obstinate gaze.

He sighs and opens his beer. “You might be able to fool other people, but you can’t fool me.”

I turn my back on him and shut off the fire under the pot of soup. “You and Cheyenne need a new hobby. I’ve just been busy and you guys are freaking out about nothing.”

He sighs. “Come on, C.” His voice is pained.