Page 9 of Ripe & Ready (Friction Fiction #1)

I ’ve spent more years of my life longing for Derek than not. So when I wake up in his arms, my first thought is this has to be a dream.

Maybe the whole thing was. Maybe when I open my eyes I’ll be back at the start of our trip. Still jet-lagged and anxious, gearing up to trek into the jungle to spot Calliope and Neptune for the first time.

Maybe I was bitten by that spider. Maybe it wasn’t just a harmless tree spider.

Maybe it was actually venomous and I’m in some kind of slow-motion, venom-induced haze.

Caught in the liminal space between life and death, where your wildest desires stop feeling so out of reach and everything you’ve ever wanted folds itself into a perfect little fever dream to ease you into the afterlife.

Maybe this is peace. Maybe this is me, dying.

Honestly? Not a bad send-off.

But then I hear the soft rustle of leaves outside the hut, the early hum of the Congo waking up.

The lingering mix of musk and coconut body wash on my skin floods my senses and I feel him.

Derek’s warm body is curved against mine and his hard cock tucked against my ass is a very persuasive reality check.

I’m here. I’m in the Congo. With my best friend. And maybe we’re in love.

He nuzzles into the curve of my neck offering me a few lazy kisses and throwing in a couple sleepy nibbles for good measure.

“Morning,” he mumbles, voice all rough and raspy and weirdly hot considering the sun’s still not fully up.

My own hardness pressing against his when I roll to face him. My lips part with the threat of a moan I manage to keep quiet.

“Did you sleep well?” I ask.

He rubs the sleep from his eyes and smiles. “Best sleep of my life.”

“Same.”.

“So…” he trails off.

“So…” I echo.

“More gorillas today.”

“More gorillas,” I nod.

“A whole new group.”

“A whole new group.”

“Are you excited?”

I squint. “Won’t they look the same?”

His mouth quirks, fighting a grin and losing. He lightly pushes me off, but I laugh and pull him right back in.

“You fucked me with a banana last night,” I say.

“Not literally with the banana,” he corrects, all faux seriousness. “But yes… banana was utilized in an… unconventional way.”

“Very unconventional,” I say.

“How do you feel about that?”

I hesitate, trying to find the guilt I know I’m supposed to feel. But it’s not there. Instead I feel this annoying little burst of happiness. “Less embarrassed than I thought.”

His eyes light up. “So I need to keep a bushel of bananas on hand for the future?”

It’s a full-body effort not to crack a smile. “I’ll stick to silicone based lubricants, thanks.”

He chuckles, pulling me closer. “Fair. But admit it… it was kind of iconic.”

A groan escapes me as I drag my hand down my face. “I’m happy my asshole is still intact.”

“Me too,” Derek says, rolling on top of me. A feral, contagious grin on full display. His brown eyes lock onto mine. “I’d like to use it again. And again. And again.”

His gives me quick kisses before he hops up off the bed, “Now get up. Jupiter pack awaits!”

He disappears into the bathroom and I stay there a moment longer, watching him go. Still sore, still slightly sticky, and still completely, stupidly enamored.

The jungle’s calling and for once, I’m not scared to answer.

Much of our day in the jungle starts out exactly the same.

Same unbeaten path through thick forest. Same oppressive heat. Same friendly Obed, steady, and somehow leading us deeper into the wild without a compass or a care. The gorillas? Still lounging, still eating bugs, still very much unimpressed with us squishy, ogling humans.

And even with all the repetition, something feels different.

The world is brighter. Or maybe I am.

I wouldn’t say there’s a pep in my step. I’m still very much concerned about where my feet are landing in this endless jungle where, according to Obed, there’s apparently a house-sized spider with a taste for tourists, but each step feels a little more sure. A little more like I belong here.

I guess a good fucking’ll do that for you.

“What are you most excited about today?” Derek asks, jolting me out of my thoughts.

I act like I’m weighing options, but we both know the answer. “Another night with you, obviously.”

“No, that doesn’t count. What are you excited about out here?” He gestures to the wild expanse of jungle stretching in every direction.

I try to take it all in. The endless green, the tress that rustle overhead, the smell of my own sunscreen fighting with the wet, earthy heat of the jungle, and all this noise. Bugs, birds, whatever else is out there making a racket I can’t even see.

Mud sucks at my boots as I trudge across the uneven terrain. “I guess… doing it together. Having memories we get to carry with us.”

There’s a pause, then a hum that says I’ve thrown him a bit.

“I probably won’t ever do anything like this again,” I add. “So… I guess I want to make it count.”

“Good plan,” Derek says. “So how do you want to do that?”

How do I want to do that? I got what I wanted. I’m here. With him. I’m not scared of that anymore. So what else is there? Lead the group? Swing from a vine? Stare down a silverback? That’s never going to be me.

Though maybe that’s not the point.

“I think I just want to remember it,” I finally say. “Like, actually be in it. Not counting down the minutes until it’s over or worrying about what could go wrong.”

Derek slows a little, falling in step beside me. “That’s new.”

“Yeah,” I say, quietly. “It is.”

We keep walking. The trees shift around us, same trail, same jungle, but I’m really seeing it. The way the light filters through the leaves, the calls of birds overhead, the way Derek’s hand brushes mine every few steps even when he’s not trying.

“I used to think trying new things was dangerous,” I murmur. “Like… if I stepped outside my routine or let myself want too much, the world would take it away. Or it’d blow up in my face.”

Derek doesn’t say anything. It’s one of his many superpowers. He knows when to let the silence hold things.

“But then I got here and everything was weird and hard and buggy and kind of horrible,” I chuckle. “I don’t know. Somehow… it was still worth it. Because I was with you.”

Derek’s hand finds mine, this time on purpose.

A few paces ahead, our group comes to a stop.

Obed turns back to us, gesturing toward a downed tree stretched over a narrow, muddy creek. It’s slick, damp, and definitely not OSHA-approved. A few people glance at each other, visibly uneasy.

“We cross here,” Obed says casually.

It’s not dangerous exactly, but the drop into the creek is a good five feet. Manageable, but not ideal. We could climb down, trudge through what looks like shin-deep water, and haul ourselves up the other side. There’s adventure in both options.

The tree is faster.

I open my mouth to make a joke. Something sarcastic and deflect-y and very me, but then a woman near me shifts nervously. She’s older, maybe in her sixties, and her hand’s already tightening around the strap of her pack like it might anchor her in place.

Before I can think better of it, I speak. “I’ll go first.”

Derek turns to me, one brow raised.

Obed nods, stepping back to give me room.

I step onto the log.

It wobbles. My foot slips a little, and my heartbeat lurches into my throat, but I keep going. One step, then another. Careful. Steady.

This isn’t some monumental act of heroics. I’m not Indiana Jones. This isn’t a movie. Hell, you’re probably thinking, “He didn’t even do anything.” You’re right. I didn’t. Not really.

Each step still feels like a win anyway.

Because for once, I’m not doing this despite who I am. I’m doing it because I’ve started to believe what Derek sees in me.

Courage isn’t something you’re born with. It’s something you build one wobbly-ass step at a time and maybe it gets a little easier when someone keeps showing up to remind you that version of yourself exists.

I think my courage is a lot like my love for Derek.

It didn’t happen all at once. It came in quiet waves. Through choices, small moments, and the slow realization that it wasn’t going anywhere. That one day I’d wake up and know I couldn’t live without it. I needed it to move through the world, to feel stronger, to feel like me.

Loving Derek has always been the easiest thing I’ve ever done.

Even when it didn’t make sense. Even when it hurt. Even when I told myself I shouldn’t.

It didn’t start with a grand gesture. It started in the quiet. In glances, inside jokes, in the way he made space for me without ever asking for anything in return.

Maybe I wasn’t always brave enough to say it, not to him, not even to myself, but the love was never hard. It was always there. Waiting for me to catch up.

Because loving him feels like breathing. Like blinking. Like something my body’s always known how to do.

Now, standing here, unafraid for what feels like the first time in my life, I know this: I may not have been brave from the start, but I was always his.

That man behind me still offering encouragement I don’t even need has been doing that since the day we met and I know, without a doubt, that when I reach the other side… he’ll still be there.

I hate this, by the way. Let’s be clear. But I’m learning that hating something and doing it anyway with my chest out and my head up aren’t mutually exclusive.

What I don’t hate is feeling like someone believes in me enough to make me believe in myself.

I don’t look back until I’m across.

When I do, the older woman behind me nods. Grateful.

The rest of the group follows. Not emboldened by my epic feat or anything. More likely wondering why I was going so slow and looking like I was contemplating the meaning of life while crossing a tree.

Derek’s the last to go. The anchor of the group. The one who always makes sure everyone else is safe before moving on.

When he lands in front of me, he’s got that look again. Like I did something huge.

“One banana and suddenly you’re leader of the pack,” he says.

“You were right. I needed the potassium.”

He laughs. Hard. The real kind that takes over his whole face.

The group keeps walking, but we don’t move. We stay there and the seconds that pass by feel like an eternity I’m willing to waste with this man.

He lets out a breath, then, almost like a confession. “I’m glad you were the one who got us out of our own heads. I don’t think I could’ve.”

I give it a beat to be sure I heard that right. “That’s a lie.”

He shrugs, eyes searching mine. “I’ve done a lot of reckless shit, Andy. Climbed mountains. Jumped out of planes. But choosing you and waiting, hoping you’d choose me back? That’s the scariest thing I’ve ever done. I couldn’t just leap. I needed to know there was a net.”

Around us the leaves rustle, far-off bird calls drift through the trees, and somewhere up ahead, someone calls Obed’s name.

But I stay right where I am, and Derek reaches for my hand.

“If we both fall, at least we’ll cushion the landing,” he says.

I blink, throat tight.

“Don’t cry,” he adds, bumping my shoulder. “You’ll spook the gorillas.”

“No promises,” I mutter.

We start walking again, and for the first time in a long time, I’m not chasing after something, and I’m definitely not running from it. I’m part of it. I’m not tagging along on one of Derek’s adventures. This time, he’s meeting me where I am and somehow, that makes it ours.