Page 11

Muir

I pace restlessly across the plush carpet of the dimly lit hotel room. My eyes dart to the door every few seconds, like if I just focus hard enough, Fitz will come walking back in.

Why is my heart pounding? Why am I so on edge? Why am I freaking out so much about Fitz seeing his ex-girlfriend?

Stupid questions because I already know the fucking answer, I'm just not wanting to deal with the fact that my feelings for my best mate have only grown since we've started doing stuff.

They've solidified.

Any doubts or uncertainty I had about what I did or didn't feel for him are now a thing of the past.

Maybe the answer was right in front of me all along but I was too scared to notice it, to acknowledge it, to express it.

But it's clear as day now.

There's no way for me to deny it any longer—I'm in love with Fitz.

I drag my hand through my hair and release a pent-up breath. I was an idiot to think I could have no-strings fun with Fitz.

There are strings.

So many freaking strings.

Explains why my stomach is churning and I'm tied up in knots, pacing back and forth in the hotel room like some jealous, insecure boyfr?—

No. No. Nope.

Not even going to think the word.

I'm getting way ahead of myself here.

Fitz and I are best mates who happened to get married, are only staying married because of some weird clause in Gramps's will, sometimes make out, and have, on one occasion, exchanged handies in the shower. I have no claim on Fitz. He's a free man and can act accordingly.

I'll just drop by her place, grab my stuff, and then we can go out.

It was nice of him to say that, but as soon as I was alone, I immediately felt guilty. Here I am, solely focused on what I'm feeling and what him going to see her means for me, and I haven't really given any thought to Erin's feelings.

She's probably been going through it.

I'm sure she loved Fitz and has some unresolved things she may need to get off her chest. Or the time apart might have made her realise she still has feelings for him. Maybe she's even changed her mind and is open to moving to Scuttlebutt for the sake of their relationship.

"Which I am totally fine with," I repeat to myself over and over, each time trying to sound more believable. I stop pacing and stare at myself in the mirror. The truth is ugly, but I have to say it aloud. As I stare into my own eyes, the words fall from my mouth. "I would totally not be fine with that."

I whip around and start pacing again, careful to steer clear of the mirror. There's only so much self-reflection I can take at one time.

I stub my toe on the edge of the bed and start hopping, clutching my foot. "Stupid fucking bed," I cry out. Once my foot stops throbbing, I lower it to the carpet and take in the next issue I can obsess about.

The one-bed situation.

When we arrived, Fitz dropped me off at the lobby, so I checked in and took our two bags to the room while he went to see Erin.

The first thing I noticed when I stepped into the room was the one giant king-size bed. One.

As in singular.

As in we're going to have to share a bed for the next three nights since the sofa in the room is about half our size so not an option.

I did call reception to see if we could switch to a room with two beds, but the lady said that since the hotel is fully booked due to some big concert, there was nothing she could do.

I wasn't exactly disappointed when she said that, just like I'm not exactly mad about the situation in the first place.

I'm just a little…on edge.

Maybe it's the Erin thing, or maybe it's the dawning realisation that thinking and fantasising about moving things to the next level is one thing and taking that bold leap is another thing entirely.

What if he hates it?

What if I hate it?

What if neither one of us knows what to do and it's an unmitigated disaster?

Worse, what if we do it, and regardless of whether it's good or bad, it stuffs up our friendship? How are we supposed to go back to being just mates after having each other's dicks in our bodies?

I need booze to help me with these thoughts, so I get up and march over to the mini fridge.

"Fuck."

It's empty. I wondered if this place was fancy enough to have a stocked minibar, but a shot—or five—would go down well right about now.

A soft beep followed by a faint click fills the air, and the door opens.

I spin around. "Hey."

"Hi."

"That was quick."

"Told you I would be."

He places the box he's holding on the floor and kicks his shoes off. I can't tell what mood he's in, but I'm picking up that things didn't go too well.

"Is everything okay?" I motion to the small sofa by the window. "Wanna talk?"

"I'd rather eat, actually. I'm starving."

"Cool. I'm knackered, though."

"Yeah. Same. It was a long drive."

"It was." I look around the modest room. "If this place doesn't have a minibar, I'm guessing they don't have room service."

That draws a small, tired smile out of him. "I spotted a Maccas on the corner as I was driving in."

"A Big Mac sounds good."

"Let's do it."

After finishing our meal, we head back to the hotel room. The city buzzes and beeps around us, lights flashing everywhere—from cars, shopfront windows, traffic signals, lampposts. People walk a lot faster than we do, brushing past the two slow-moving country boys.

I miss Scuttlebutt already.

It doesn't take long to reach the hotel. Once we enter the lobby, I stop. We were kinda quiet over the meal, the long drive catching up to us both, so the one-bed situation had slipped my mind.

I need to forewarn him. "There's been a bit of a mix-up."

"With what?"

"Our room." He frowns, and I go on. "You may not have noticed when you came in before, but there's only one bed. I spoke to the receptionist, but they're booked out, so there's nothing they can do. I'm sure Linus booked a twin room, but?—"

"He didn't."

"What?"

"I'd bet you my left nut this is exactly the room Linus booked. He probably even requested one bed."

"But why would he—ohhh."

Fitz's tired eyes sparkle a little. "Doesn't bother me. You?"

"I'm fine with it," I reply.

"Just no passing wind." He points a finger at me. "Your farts qualify as crimes against humanity."

"Fuck off." I raise my finger in return. "What about you and your snoring? I didn't bring my noise-cancelling headphones."

He grins and sticks his pinkie out. "Deal. No snoring in exchange for no farting."

I think we both know both things are going to happen regardless of what pledges we make, but I hook my pinkie around his anyway. "Deal."

Twenty minutes later, I'm showered and in bed, waiting for Fitz to finish up in the bathroom before we turn off the lights.

Our course starts at nine sharp tomorrow, and I'm not looking forward to it. I don't share Fitz's borderline certifiable passion for periodontics. Dentistry has never been my strength, and while I recognise it's good to be up to speed on it, I can think of a hundred other things I'd rather be doing than learning about subgingival scaling and flap surgery.

Like making out with my best mate and copping another handy.

My eyes fly to the bathroom door—still shut—and I listen out for the shower—still going. If I were smart, I'd be rubbing one out while he's in there so I stop being so easily arousable.

But I didn't think of that, did I? No.

I bang my head against the headboard a few times and lift my knees to mask my half chub straining through my boxers.

He was quiet over dinner, and I suspect his meeting with Erin was playing on his mind. Was he hoping for a reunion? Was she cold to him? Did she say something to upset him?

Normally, I'd ask.

But normally, I'm not this invested in his romantic life.

Like always, I only want what's best for him, but I can't deny that I have a stake in things, too. Even if I'm not sure how far that stake actually extends.

The bathroom door opens, and a thick cloud of steam billows out.

"Fuck, I really needed that," Fitz says, flicking the bathroom light off and traipsing over to the bed.

I barely register his words, instead focusing on what he's wearing.

A towel.

Only a towel.

He gets closer, and I can clearly make out the beads of water still clinging to his sculpted chest, each muscle defined under the sheen of his damp skin. The towel is slung dangerously low on his hips, highlighting the V-line that disappears beneath it. His brown hair is wet, tousled messily, a few strands clinging to his forehead.

My mind races ahead.

He can't sleep in that towel, surely, and I doubt he'd bother with the towel at all if he was wearing undies, which means… Oh boy.

"Have you set an alarm?" he asks.

It takes effort, but I manage to pull my attention away from his body. "I did."

"Cool."

He digs out a charger and plugs his phone in. "I won't do one, then."

"Yeah. No need," I agree.

And then, without warning, he unhooks the towel, rests it over the back of the chair, and slides under the sheets, like it's no freaking big deal.

Which maybe for him it isn't.

And shit, hello wakeup call!

Here I am, going off in my head like some lovesick teenager, imagining all sorts of…scenarios…when the only thing Fitz is interested in is getting a good night's rest. He'll be just as tired from the day as I am, plus he's still obviously processing all the Erin stuff.

I need to get a grip.

So I lean over and turn off the light on my side of the bed. "Goodnight," I say, getting comfortable, facing away from him.

A few seconds pass.

"Yeah, goodnight."

Fitz switches his bedside light off, and darkness settles over the room. But it's not totally dark since the curtains aren't blockouts. And it's not totally quiet, either, as the hum from the city five floors below drifts into our room.

I can't fall asleep.

The bed's uneven. The pillow is too soft. The sheet is thin and scratchy. I try not to move around too much since I don't want to disturb Fitz, but despite being exhausted from the long day, I just can't seem to get comfortable.

"Can't sleep?" Fitz asks.

"No," I answer. "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you." I feel his fingers slide over the material of my boxers and then… "Ow. Did you just pinch my arse?"

"Yes. And from now on, I'm pinching you every time you say sorry when you don't have to. I couldn't sleep anyway."

"Why not?"

"Dunno." The mattress moves as I assume he rolls onto his back. "I'm tired as fuck."

He flicks the light back on, and I turn around to face him. He's sitting against the headboard, the bedsheet pooling at his waist, his chest and washboard abs on full display.

My eyes drift up to his face, and when I notice he's frowning and deep in thought, I stop ogling and fall right back into best friend mode. I sit up next to him.

"You've been a little off since getting back from seeing Erin," I say, broaching the one subject we've avoided all night.

"Yeah." He plays with a loose thread on the bedsheet. "I have been."

"Did it not go well?"

He sighs. "Actually, it went fine. I asked her how she was doing, and she said she was glad to be back in Brisbane. She gave me back my stuff. We wished each other well. It was all very…cordial."

"Were you hoping for something more?"

"No. I…"

"What?" I whisper, my heart thumping so hard I'm convinced he can hear it.

"I… All I could think about was you."

"Me?"

"Yeah. I saw how you were in the car when I brought it up, and I didn't like the thought of you pacing up and down, waiting for me to return."

"I was not pacing up and down," I say. "It was more of a rectangle designed to avoid the mirror. May have involved an accidental toe stubbing on the bed."

He looks over at me, his butterscotch eyes probing mine. "Really?"

I shrug as the feeling of stupidity creeps in. "Yeah."

"Why?"

"I think you know why."

I drop my gaze. A few moments later, a warm hand slides over mine. "I think I do know why. And I think it might be the same reason why I've been more concerned about you and how you're feeling than I have been about seeing my ex-girlfriend."

His hand tightens around mine, and I lift my eyes to his. "Oh."

"Yeah." His grin comes easily. "Oh."

He releases his grip then brushes his fingers up my forearm. My whole body flushes with heat. I lay my hand over his, stopping the movement.

"What does it mean?" I ask.

"It means that I like you, and you like me."

"But what does that mean?"

I lean in towards him expectantly as if he'll somehow provide the words that will magically explain everything that's happening between us. But it's unfair to put this all on him.

"I don't know, mate," he answers, lifting his hand off me and running it through his hair. "This has caught me by surprise. I've never felt this way about another bloke before."

"Not even back in Wilby's wild single days when he would helicopter his dick while getting changed?"

Fitz chuckles. "Especially not then." He looks at me again. "And I'm not just talking about the stuff we've done, although I've enjoyed that very, very much. I mean my feelings for you, as a person, are changing. Growing even stronger. Becoming something different, something more than just friendship feelings."

"Yeah. Same here."

He looks over at me, searching my eyes. "And are you okay with that?"

"I'm starting to be, yeah. It takes a bit of getting used to, seeing you in a different light after all these years, but it doesn't scare me."

"Doesn't scare me, either." He says the words as if he's verbalising his thoughts and feelings in real time.

Maybe he is? Who knows.

Things feel like they're happening in a whir, while also in slow motion at the same time. It's taken us almost twenty years to get here, but on the other hand, nothing can prepare you for sharing a bed with your best mate, talking about how your feelings for each other are changing, and wanting to do…stuff.

It's a lot.

Our eyes meet.

Then our lips.

The next thing I know, he's climbed on top of me, and we're kissing with an urgency I've never felt before. It's like we've given up on talking to communicate in another way.

A better way.

The anxious nausea that's been coursing through me all day melts under the weight of his body. My hands charge through his hair, grab at his pecs, grip his arse.

His bare arse.

He stops kissing me and leans back slightly.

"Too far?" I ask.

"No, you dingbat. But I wouldn't mind copping a feel of your backside."

I grin. "Well, why didn't you just say so?"

I slide out from underneath him, slide my boxers down my legs before kicking them away, and swap positions so that now I'm straddling him. We keep kissing. He slides his palms over my cheeks and gives them a firm squeeze.

"Feels good," I mumble into this mouth. "Keep going."

"I fucking intend to," he murmurs back.

His hands squeeze and knead and press into my arse, and as he's doing that, he's ever so slightly pulling me up his body. I only notice when I start to resemble a triangle, and my spine can't take the weird angle.

I straighten, my thighs halfway up his chest, my hard cock sticking out, the tip barely a few centimetres under his chin.

"You okay?" he checks, sounding a little breathless.

"Yeah." My eyes drift from my cock to his face. "Lightheaded, but okay."

"That's not surprising." He repositions himself, and closes his hand around my cock, his fingers tightening with purpose. "This big fella is taking up a lot of your blood supply."

He drops his chin and looks at my cock. It's right there in front of him. So close.

I know what he wants.

I want it, too.

But…

"I don't usually… I haven't…" I huff out a breath. "What I'm trying to say is I've never had casual sex before. It's dumb."

"That's not dumb." He lets go of my cock and slides his palm up and down the outside of my thigh, which is somehow more and less intimate at the same time. He aims those light-brown eyes I know so well at me and says, "Then let's not make this casual."

I peer down at him. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I have zero interest in being with anyone else. And before you overthink things and try to figure out what this means, let's keep taking our time with it and see how things unfold, but as we do, we don't fuck around with anyone else."

"So, we'd be…exclusive?"

"That's right." He rests his hand on my knee and gives it a small squeeze. "Does that work for you?"

"Yeah." I breathe out a smile. "That works for me."

How does he always know the right thing to say or do? It's like he knows me better than I know myself sometimes.

"Anything else worrying you?"

I shake my head. "I'm sure that there will be in the future, but I'm good for now."

"Cool. In that case…" His eyes meet mine, a playful grin forming on his lips. "Mind if I go down on you?"