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I held back a sigh at her question. “No. I happen to think that the right person will think our friendship is pretty damn cool. How many people can say they have friends from first grade? And not just someone they have coffee with a few times a year?”
“Not many,” she conceded.
“The right person will see what we have as beautiful. And if they don’t see that, they obviously aren’t the right person.” It might sound sappy but I believed that. There had been a few women over the years who didn’t like my friendship with Sophie, but I refused to give it up, to give her up, for anything.
We reached Sophie’s little blue house and climbed the stairs with our arms still linked. She turned big brown eyes up at me again, this time with a gentle smile.
“You really believe that Stone?”
I nodded and ran my fingers through her silky blond waves. “You know I do.”
“Our friendship is pretty great, and I think it’s beautiful too.” For a moment there was a flash of something I couldn’t quite figure out, but I knew it was more than general platonic affection.
“You’re beautiful, Soph.” The air crackled between us and I don’t know who leaned forward first, maybe it was her or maybe it was me, but suddenly, there under the yellowish-orange glow of her porch light my best friend and I were on the brink of kissing. My lips brushed hers, gently, a whisper of a kiss rather than an actual kiss.
It could have been an actual kiss, and it would have, until Sophie freaked out. Her eyes went wide and she took a step back, fumbling with her keys and practically shoving the door open. “You are too, uh, beautiful that is. See you tomorrow. Good night, Stone!”
She shut the door before I could return the good night, but that was all right.
Some guys might see her reaction as a rejection, but the good thing about falling for your best friend was that I could read Sophie’s every expression. And that wasn’t rejection. It was anticipation at first, and then fear mixed with want.
She wanted me to kiss her, and that scared her.
It was a damn sight better than rejection.SophieStone had kissed me. And I let him. My goodness I didn’t just let him kiss me, I wanted him to. When he leaned in, I felt my own body lean in as well, felt my nipples harden and my breath hitch in anticipation. My mouth was dry, and I had to fight the urge to lick my lips or do anything else that might draw his honey brown gaze to my mouth. The air had crackled between us last night, and even now, in the cold light of day, I couldn’t figure out why.
He was Stone and I was Sophie. We were best friends. He was the guy who’d gone one town over to buy my first box of tampons, the one who punched out Scotty Lincoln for snapping my bra in the sixth grade, and the one who’d been my date to senior prom when my boyfriend had broken up with me the week before.
He was not the guy I lusted over. Not the guy I wanted to kiss and rake my hands all over his body.
“What the hell is wrong with me?”
All morning my mind kept replaying the events of last night on an endless loop. It was enough to make a girl go crazy. Hell, maybe I’d already gone crazy and this was just one of the symptoms, imagining there was something there with my best friend when there absolutely was not.
Couldn’t be.
There was no way Stone could ever be anything other than my best guy. My closest friend and confidante. His friendship was the most stable, long-lasting relationship of my life. His mom, Maggie, had been and still was like a mother to me. I couldn’t ruin everything over…what?
What was it, really?
Jealousy. I rejected that notion straight away, because jealousy meant that there was some hint of attraction and I’d squashed that in the ninth grade because his friendship meant more to me than some fleeting romance. That was still true today, though I couldn’t discount that there must have been some kind of jealousy at play last night.
Of course there was, you saw Babs. Sometimes I hated the brutally honest voice in my head that refused to let me lie to myself. Ever. Clearly Babs was a much better, way bubblier version of me, and that’s why I was jealous of her. Her. Not whatever relationship she had with Stone, but the woman herself.
Babs was even taller than my five-ten with about twenty fewer pounds on her hips and backside, which made her look long and lean. Her giant surgically enhanced chest made her waist look even smaller, and the muscle tone that took over her body said she would be a Rockstar in the bedroom. Hell, that had to be it. Babs was a sexier, blonder version of me. She was a version of myself that was perfect for Stone.
