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“Wow,” I said exaggeratedly as I licked the fruit, swirling it into my mouth as if it was the best fucking meal I’d ever have. “This is better than the taste of pussy.”

“Alex,” Anastasia screeched and then playfully slapped me on the shoulder and pulled away the container. “This was stupid.”

“Did talking about pussy make your cheeks red, or was it the fact?—”

She held up her hands, her blush creeping down her neck. “Stop saying that,” she said and then looked down at the open container.

I grabbed the o from inside the Tupperware and took a bite out of it. “Still tastes like p?—”

“Alex.” She scolded me again.

“I was going to say pineapple.” I chuckled.

“Yeah, right.” She shook her head, and then we each took an r , still sitting on the floor in now a comfortable silence.

“This was good,” I said, my mouth full of the fruit.

She sighed, and when I looked at her, she was looking down at the container.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“I really needed this. I was worried today.”

“Worried?” I asked.

“Yeah. I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you, and I would hate if me being an uncalled-for asshole somehow got in the way of what could have been between us.” She paused before quickly adding, “Not that there’s anything between us... I mean, aside from maybe being friends.”

Is this what friendship looked like? I had a few acquaintances among the guys, like Dirks, but it was never like this, even though he lived next door.

With her, it was different. I liked having her around, but it wasn’t just in a casual, “let’s get pizza after practice” kind of way.

I wanted to know everything about her—the way her mind worked, her drive to push further in her career, even down to the little things, like whether she preferred her breakfast sweet or savory.

It wasn’t just her looks that drew me in, though those were impossible to ignore, it was her determination, the way she’d talk about her dreams, and how easily our conversations flowed.

And God, whatever perfume she wore, I wanted to bottle it up and breathe it in forever.

Knowing what she went home to every night, I wanted to keep her safe. She gave me a connection I’d never had before, something real and genuine, beyond the surface-level friendships I’d known. The least I could do was offer her a space where she felt protected, where she knew she wasn’t alone.

We had an unspoken understanding—she’d share her story when she was ready. Despite her awful husband, I respected her marriage. She needed a friend, someone she could lean on without pressure, and I was determined to be that, putting her needs above my urge to fix everything for her.

“Definitely friends.” I shook my head. “I don’t have many?—”

“Same,” she sighed.

“But I think human connection isn’t always simple. Take my parents for example. I love my family.” I narrowed my eyes at her, dispelling her point earlier about my parents. “But that doesn’t mean I love what they do to each other and how that makes me feel.”

“I hear you,” she responded. “But how does that relate to our friendship?” she asked, pointing between us.

“Not sure much yet, but I like to think we aren’t linear either. I can be mad at you for what you said and think it was wrong, but then also spend the entire day at the gym trying to figure out how to see you again.” I shrugged and plucked the last y out of the container.

“You spent the entire day . . .?” she asked.

“Ahhh, don’t listen to me. It was just a couple of hours.”

Her mouth dropped. “A couple of hours?!” She balked.

I shook my hand side-to-side, waving her off. “One.” I lied.

She stared as I slurped down more of the pineapple. There was another comfortable pause between us.

“What did you do today?” I asked.

She sighed. “I have a confession.”

I narrowed my eyes at her, confused, but she was smiling.

“I’ve been teaching kids how to skate after practice. I told Dimitri I have extra long practices, but instead I teach a couple kids lessons for an hour.” She leaned in and whispered, “They pay me.”

She looked so excited. I reached over and grabbed her thigh out of instinct. “I’m proud of you.”

She looked down at the physical touch, and I pulled away. There was a pregnant pause between us.

“Does it really taste like . . ..”

I looked in her direction, locking my gaze with her bright blue eyes.

“Like what?” I teased her, the corner of my mouth flipping into a smirk.

I knew exactly what she was going to ask, but I wanted to let her use her words first.

She scrunched her nose, and I watched the way the four little wrinkles appeared at the very tip of it. I laughed again because of her expression.

“Tell me, Anastasia,” I drawled out her name for effect, loving every second of making her uncomfortable.

We were even after this. She said something shitty last night, so tonight she got to shift awkwardly next to me as we talked about something as natural as a vagina.

“This is so crude.” Her hands went to hide her flushed cheeks.

“It’s natural.” I shrugged and then added a little moan as I finished eating the pineapple.

“Alex,” she shrieked, and then I grabbed the Tupperware from her lap, getting up and putting it on the counter.

I had to change the conversation because I was getting hard thinking of the taste of her sweet core on my tongue.

“Come on. Let’s put a movie on.” I gestured to the TV in the living area.

I heard her feet as she got up, but I didn’t hear her follow me, so halfway to the room, I turned around.

“What’s wrong?” I asked when I saw her leaning over the counter, fumbling with the ends of her long, blonde hair.

“Yo-You never answered my question.” She was standing in the middle of the living room, her arms around her body.

I raised an eyebrow at her. “We’ve done a lot of talking tonight. You’re going to have to help me figure out what I didn’t answer so I can figure it out.”

I took a step backward and leaned against the edge of the brown leather couch, crossing one leg over the other for stability.

She shuffled on her feet, gripping the edge of the marbled countertop. “Does my... you know what... taste like pineapple?”

I paused, letting her words sink in before I erupted into laughter again. “That’s what you want to know?”

She nodded.

“You’re married. You tell me”

She shook her head. “I obviously don’t know what my own... parts taste like.”

She said it like it was fact, but if she were with me, I’d be smearing her wetness all over her lips so she could taste it, forcing it onto her tongue to show her it tasted sweeter than any fruit. But I wasn’t with her... nor would I ever be.

“Has anyone ever tasted you?” I asked, trying my hardest to keep my interest as factual as possible.

Think about something boring like cutting paper.

“No.”

I winced as my hands went behind me to the back of the couch, and I gripped the leather. Although that wasn’t doing much because the sweat on my palms was making them slip.

“H-how does one do that?”

I stretched my neck to the side, my patience for this “just friends” thing waning.

I could very easily throw her over the countertop and taste her so she knew exactly how it’s done.

.. especially with a man who would treat her the way she was supposed to be treated.

Someone who would cherish her and never let her go to fuck around behind her back.

I would never ever physically lay a hand on her or let anyone else touch her if she were mine.

I let go of the couch and uncrossed my legs, trying desperately to think of mundane tasks like printing paper or cutting origami snowflakes while I turned around and willed my boner away.

Unable to look her in the face, I responded slowly. “Ask your husband to teach you.”

I couldn’t bear to see her expression, whether it was in question or surprise. I needed to shift this conversation because we were walking down a risky path, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop if we continued.

“Let’s watch something you want this time.” It was her only response after a few silent seconds, and I was thankful that my anger or frustration at the situation managed to settle my boner.

She walked around me and plopped onto the couch, kicking up her feet on the ottoman.

I shrugged, joining her on the other side, pulling the ottoman a little bit toward me.

“Hey,” she said jokingly.

“Share it with me. I’ll put it in the middle.”

“Ugh, fine.” She shifted, stretching out across the couch and taking up most of it, leaving me with barely any space to lean over and try to show her what she was doing to me.

Nope. Not going there. If this was Dirks, would I be wanting to show him my boner?

I suppressed a chuckle. No fucking way.

“What were you going to watch before I came by?” she asked.

I wasn’t about to tell her the truth. “Ah, I don’t know. I was maybe going to put on some?—”

“Liar,” she shot back, and I looked over.

Her head was tilted in my direction, arms crossed over her chest.

“Star Wars,” I confessed.

It was so easy to tell her what she wanted to hear, which is why holding back about her cheating husband, who was hurting her in more ways than one, was so fucking painful.

“Let’s do it. Start with the first one.” She settled onto the pillow as I pressed a button on the remote, playing the movie.

Moments after the theme song began, I heard her soft snores next to me. I grabbed the blanket I had added to the basket I purchased earlier next to the couch and put it over her, making sure I didn’t fall asleep so I’d hear her husband come home.

Her husband, I repeated to myself. I was a friend.