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Chapter Four
Nick
I should be ashamed of myself.
I should leave this house, never to return. I should bleach my eyes and hypnotize my mind so I can’t remember the way her breasts pressed against the thin shirt, the way her nipples beaded hard, begging to be licked.
See? That right there.
Friends don’t think about their friend’s nipples.
Bosses don’t picture what it would be like to taste his employee’s soft skin.
That’s why I’m going to Hell. I’m a terrible friend (and boss). The hard-on in my pants proves it.
Who’s the worst friend in the history of all friendships?
Nick Adams, D.D.S.
I’ve never had this problem with any of my employees, but especially not Meghan. She was always happy, safely tucked away in friend-zone Meghan. Josh would bring her lunch or take her to the deli down the street from the office. He was a great guy. The best. She’d laugh and smile, giving all of her love and affection to one man. And that was fine. I was in a relationship and didn’t find her attractive.
Okay, lie.
She has always been pretty (gorgeous, really), but completely off-limits.
I didn’t want her.
And I definitely didn’t pop hard-ons in her living room and imagine touching her nipples.
Fuck, this is messed up.
So bad.
My stomach growls, reminding me that I have yet to eat. The sad part is, there’s only one thing I imagine putting in my mouth right now, and it isn’t the double cheeseburger in the bag.
Ignoring the discomfort in my pants, I grab a paper plate from her kitchen and the bottle of mustard from the fridge. By the time I’m back in the living room, pulling my burger from the bag, Meghan returns. She’s wearing a form-fitting t-shirt that hugs her body, and a bra. She’s definitely wearing one now. She’s also still wearing the cotton plaid boxer shorts that make her legs look incredibly tan and a mile long.
Dammit.
That won’t help the hard-on.
“Sorry about that. I wasn’t expecting anyone,” she says sheepishly, grabbing her milkshake from where she left it on the table and sitting on the couch across from me.
“I should have called first. It’s my fault for assuming you were up for company.”
“No, it’s fine. I actually don’t mind the visit.” She glances around the room, as if waiting for the ghosts to make their nightly appearance.
Meghan pulls her legs up to her chest and quietly drinks her shake. Her movements make those tiny little shorts appear that much smaller, all but disappearing in the V of her legs. Ignoring her attire, I dump the fries on the plate and squirt a blob of mustard. Taking the fries two at a time (because it’s practically a law that they must be consumed in pairs), I drop them into my favorite yellow condiment and pop them in my mouth.
“Gross!” Meghan says, a look of horror on her face.
“What?” I ask, dropping two more fries into the mustard before eating them.
“Mustard? What’s wrong with ketchup?”
“Nothing’s wrong with ketchup,” I tell her. “I put it on my burger.”
“But you dip your fries in mustard?” Again, she looks horrified, her mouth hanging open as she watches me eat.
