One Final Chance: a friends to lovers, stand-alone novel Page 5

  “I’d rather keep drinking,” she says, obviously not knowing that’s the point of the game.

  “Come on; it’ll be fun.”

  “How do you play?” I could have sworn we played this together once, but I guess not.

  “We take turns writing funny and/or inappropriate things down. Something that would make the other person laugh. The point is to try not to laugh, but when you laugh, you drink.”

  “’Kay,” she agrees, and I split the pad of paper in half, handing her a pen along with it. Then I try to think what I could say as she is already scribbling something down.

  “Ready?” she asks, and I have nothing. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

  “No. But let me see what you got.”

  She shows me the paper, which declares, “Leo has a little dick.”

  “You know the definition of funny, right?”

  “Yeah, I’ll write it for you.” She tears off the first paper and tosses it aside as she writes again.

  When she shows me, I do laugh. “Your face? You think my face is funny?” I ask her.

  “Yup, so drink up.”

  I take a swig of liquor, still searching for what to write down and catch her staring at me. “What?”

  “Nothing.” She shrugs. “Thanks for cheering me up.”

  “Always!” I tell her and then it hits me what to write.

  “What you got?” She leans toward me, and I show her my note. “Call Cocoa for a good time.”

  She cracks up laughing, and I pass her the bottle as she asks me, “So you really don’t remember who Cocoa was?”

  “No, not at all.” I shake my head. I’ve tried to pinpoint who she was and just can’t.

  “Was she a stripper?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well, did you meet her at the Paper Lion?”

  “I think.”

  “You think?” She scoffs.

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Oh my God, Parks, did you tell Mallory?”

  “Uhhh, no way. I told her I wound up at the strip club, but not that some chick gave me her number.” And the lies just keep coming.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re like Mr. Honest.”

  Fuck, that is the farthest thing from the truth. I swallow a gulp of liquor and know I’m so fucked. Jesus Christ, there is something terribly wrong with me.

  Eleven

  Fallon

  “I still can’t believe you aren’t gonna tell Mallory about Cocoa,” I scold Parks, the alcohol making me forgot about all my worries. We are both drunk off our asses and lying on the couch together. Our game of Straight Face went on for way too long.

  “I still might,” his voice is slurred, and I close my eyes, resting my head against his shoulder. The image of touching his cock pops into my head, but I push it away.

  “You should.”

  “I know,” he says with a chuckle.

  “I want to see her again; it’s been years.”

  “I’m sure she’d love that . . .” His words trail off, and I open my eyes, zoning in on him.

  “Really?” I ask, turning my body toward his. His breath is warm against my skin as he looks over at me the way he always does, and it awakens everything inside me. God, I want to kiss him—hell, I want him to kiss me.

  But that can’t happen. I’m just drunk and horny. He stretches his long body next to mine, completely oblivious to the thoughts running through my head. His closeness makes me think of my hand on him the other night. And I wonder if he ever told Mallory about it. Cocoa is nothing compared to what I did. She’s gonna hate me if she finds out. Even if it was an accident . . . well, not really, but it wasn’t my fault. It was because of that stripper.

  “I’m going to bed,” he says, seemingly out of the blue, and I check the clock. It’s after midnight, so I should get to sleep, too.

  “Night,” I tell him as he gets up and walks into his room, closing the door halfway. I can still see him, and I watch as he strips his T-shirt off. The muscles in his back flex as he moves to shut his light off.

  Tearing my eyes away from his door, I focus on the ceiling and hate how conflicted I feel. I shouldn’t be having these feelings toward Parks. He has a girlfriend, and if I think for a second I can act on these feelings, it makes me no better than one of the girls Leo brought home.

  Reaching for the bottle of tequila, I take a swig. The entire thing is almost gone. Damn, we drank a lot tonight.

  Parks starts snoring, and I try to lift my drunken ass off the couch so I can go to bed, too, but I fall back against it and laugh to myself. Fuck, my eyes are heavy, and before I can think or stress anymore, I drift off into the blackness . . .

  “Suck it!” Parks orders me, and greedily I wrap my lips around his huge shaft. And when I say huge, I mean that it’s so big my mouth aches for it. His eyes are on mine, watching me on my knees, making my pussy tingle.

  “God, yes,” he grunts. I suck him hard and fast, not seeming to get enough of him. Then he yanks me to my feet, lifts me by my hips, and tosses me on his bed.

  He slowly stalks toward me, and I let my knees drop open, inviting him to take what he wants.

  He gnaws on his bottom lip as he guides his body over top of mine, intertwining our fingers together as he makes me wait . . . panting and yearning for him like I never have.

  Then he asks me, “Ready?” and before I can respond, he’s shoving himself inside me.

  Oh God, Jesus Christ. Finally, this is it . . .

  Gasping awake, I realize I have one hand knotted into the top of my hair and the other down between my legs. My eyes fly open but then slam shut against the bright morning sunlight.

  “Damn, did I wake you?” Parks’ voice startles me, and I scramble to sit up and hope he didn’t notice where my hand was. I manage to peek over the side of the couch and find him standing in the kitchen. He’s fresh from a goddamn shower and wearing just a white towel around his waist, seemingly unbeknownst to my wet dream. My eyes eat him up . . .

  Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.

  Damn it, I looked.

  “Fallon!” He snaps his fingers at me and asks me concerned, “You okay?”

  “Yeah . . . can you, um, get dressed?”

  He sips his coffee and looks down at himself. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t expect you to wake up, you were mumbling and shit, so I thought you were out hard.”

  I give him a smile, not sure what to do with myself as he walks off. Holy fuck, there is something wrong with me, where did that dream come from? It was so real, and I’m . . . I’m fuckin’ wet from it.

  Twelve

  Parks

  Just keep calm, I remind myself as I wait for Mallory and Gail. Their photos are ready, and since Fallon is living at my place, I figured it would be better to meet here than at my house.

  As I sit here waiting, I can’t help but consider asking Mallory for her help. With Fallon questioning me lately, I need to have Mallory around, even just once.

  Then the ladies walk in, I stand and give them both hugs.

  “How are you guys doing?” I smile, gesturing for them both to have a seat.

  “We’re good. How are you?” Gail asks me.

  “I’m okay.”

  “What’s wrong?” Mallory is examining me the same way she always does. She knows we so well, so I decide to go with my gut and just ask. Besides, what would it hurt?

  “I kinda need your help with something.” I make sure to include both of them in the statement.

  “Please tell me it isn’t for a threesome,” Gail blurts out, and I find it a bit comical that is what she thinks.

  “Oh God no, I’d never ask you that.” I try to smile, knowing I need to ask them, but fuck, it’s hard. Gail is really intimidating. She has her arm over the back of Mallory’s chair as if she can sense she’s not going to like the favor. And I have no clue if Mallory told her about us or not.

  “Would you just tell us already?”
she demands.

  “Mallory, you remember when you met my friend Fallon all those years ago?”

  She nods, and Gail sits up straighter, angrily looking at me, trying to figure out what I’m getting at.

  “I never told her we broke up.”

  “What? Why would you do that?” she blurts out.

  “This is him?” Gail asks, her dark brown eyes filled with venom.

  Mallory looks between the two of us and then gives her a tiny nod. “I don’t know why,” I tell her. Obviously, Gail knew she had been with a man, she just didn’t know it was me.

  Gail looks at Mallory waiting for a response. But she’s gone silent.

  “You need to tell your friend you two broke up,” Gail adds. “Mallory is mine, and I’m not cool with her parading around pretending to be your girlfriend anymore. What she did in the past was a mistake. I’m sorry, Parks.” With those words, I get up from the table. This was wrong. I’m sure Mallory feels bad for me, but she is not going to side with me. Hell, I wouldn’t side with me, either.

  “You’re right, that’s what I’ll tell her. It was a dumb idea. I’m sorry again.”

  It isn’t fair to bring other people’s lives into my bullshit. So, I slide them the disc of photos and the prints they chose. “The photos are on me, ladies. I hope you both love them.”

  “Thank you,” Mallory says, and I walk away, leaving her and Gail sitting in the restaurant. Fuck, I’m pissed at myself. I get why Gail doesn’t want to help, Mallory is her fiancée, and here I am some dumbass from her past trying to use her to help myself in some strange, fucked up way. I shouldn’t have even brought it up.

  I can only be pissed at myself. I need to figure out how to handle this shit once and for all.

  Walking back to my condo, I’ve got a stomach filled with anxiety. I know it is wrong to continue the lie, so maybe I should tell her that Mallory and I broke up . . . or I’ll go the easy route and stick with my current story that she is always traveling for work.

  “Maybe I should just file for unemployment,” Fallon says from her bedroom.

  “Why? What happened?” I ask going through some photos on my laptop in the living room.

  “Because, everything I’ve applied for, I keep getting these generic declined emails. It’s like I’ve been blacklisted. Parks, I have a fucking degree in physical therapy, that should at least warrant me an interview.”

  “The right job will come along, just be patient.”

  “I’m trying, but I need to move out and get my own place.”

  I don’t want her to move out; I love having her here. After closing the lid to my laptop, I go into her room. She’s sitting cross-legged, and I can see the despair written all over her face as I sit next to her.

  “You don’t need to go anywhere.”

  “Yes, I do. Your girlfriend is not gonna appreciate another woman living with her man.”

  “Well, she really has no say in the matter, does she?”

  “Parks!” she scolds me, her forehead creasing as she scowls. The look on her face is one of my favorites. She’s trying to be so serious, but for Fallon, that’s hard, she’s a goofball.

  “Focus on you. I’ll handle Mallory; I told you she’s fine with you being here.”

  Jesus, I hate lying.

  Every untruthful word I let out of my mouth sends a twinge of remorse through me. But I can’t seem to tell her that we broke up, even though I should.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s sweet of you. Thank you.”

  I nod and can see how much this is all affecting her, so I lie back and pat my chest. She places her laptop on her nightstand and lines her body along mine, letting me wrap my arms around her and hold her.

  As we lie here together, she traces the pattern on my T-shirt with her finger. The simple touch of her hand on my body makes me think very bad thoughts. “Are you okay?”

  She nods not saying a word, and I hold her tighter, enjoying this moment. Wishing only one thing—that she wasn’t just my friend, that she was my lover, too.

  Thirteen

  Fallon

  “No! No!” I wake to Parks repeating that one word again and again. “No!” He shouts this time as his head thrashes back and forth on the pillow. I clamber to my knees and grab his shoulders, shaking him awake.

  “Parks!”

  He gasps for air, and I scoot back to give him some room. He looks dazed and a little lost. When I move to touch him, he is clammy and flinches when my hand wraps around his bicep.

  “It was just a dream.” His frantic eyes find mine, and he lets out a deep breath before falling back against my pillow.

  “Are you all right?”

  He shakes his head, but I have to know. “What were you dreaming about?”

  “About Meg . . . drowning.”

  “Oh, Parks . . .” It kills me that he’s going through this again. She passed close to a decade ago, and when it happened, that pain and guilt became so great that I was sure I’d lose him, too. We were all broken by it, but Parks took it the hardest. He pulled her from the water, and he blames himself for not getting to her in time.

  “I don’t know why. I haven’t dreamed about that day in years.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I tell him and hold him tightly, wanting to make things better, to take his pain away, but how can I do that?

  “It’s okay. I’m sure it’s because I haven’t been sleeping well.”

  “You haven’t? Why didn’t you tell me that?”

  “Because it’s not your problem, Fallon.”

  “But if you’d talk to me, I could help you. That’s always been your downfall; you won’t talk to anyone.”

  “That’s not true; I talk to my dad.”

  “Parks, your dad can’t fix all your problems.”

  “And you can?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I’m fine, trust me. My dad’s done pretty well up until now.”

  I shake my head and slap his chest. He grabs my hand, holds it against his body for a second, and then gently releases it. I’m not ready to let him go, so I intertwine our fingers. The second that the last one clicks into place, that consuming feeling he gives to me takes over again.

  I find myself leaning into him, our eyes more connected than they have ever been. His breath sends a spasm to my clit. I want his lips on mine so badly that I actually feel myself leaning closer to him. Then he’s gone.

  “Shit, I’m sorry,” I tell him as he paces to the doorway and back. “I don’t know what got into me.”

  “It’s all good.” He swallows, runs his fingers through his hair, and then leaves the room. Rolling over, I shove my face into my pillow and want to scream. What the hell is wrong with me? I can’t kiss Parks. He’s my best friend. He has a girlfriend!

  The pipes in the wall whine, telling me he’s taking a shower, and my skin flushes. I’m sure I totally grossed him out. Grabbing my car keys, I bolt—mortified.

  Jogging down the stairs rapidly, I’m not even sure where I’m headed, but I need to get away from Parks, to give us both some space. Clearly he doesn’t have feelings for me, as he shouldn’t. Hell, he was repulsed by my awkward attempt to kiss him.

  Getting in my car, I drive off and go to call my mom, hoping she can shed some light on the situation, but I forgot my phone.

  Damn it; I’m not going back to get it.

  Maybe I’ll just show up and talk to her, but something tells me not to. It takes me a minute to remember that it’s Wednesday, which is when my parents host game night. Two of the regular attendees are Parks’ parents, so I can’t go and talk to her now.

  Fuck my life!

  I pull into a lot and park in the first spot that I see. Frustrated as everything is piling on top of me, I slam my hands against the steering wheel.

  Maybe it’s better that I don’t tell mom. She knows nothing that has been going on lately, and when she does find out, I’ll get not only the
I-told-you-so speech but also that look of disappointment from her that I hate. I confided in her the first time Leo cheated on me, and she begged me not to go back to him. But I was blind and made the stupid, stupid choice to give him a second shot. I’m just thankful that I never married that douche bag. He’s probably already cheating on the poor girl he’s engaged to.

  Thinking about it sends a chill running down my spine. Resting my head back against the seat, I spot a bar in the strip mall across the street.

  Yes!

  I get out of my car and make my way to the entrance. The music playing inside is soft, and a long dark wood bar spans the back wall of the establishment. I take the seat on the end of it, and the bartender, who hadn’t been doing much of anything before I sat down, asks what I’d like.

  “I’ll have a Long Island, please.”

  He sets a napkin in front of me and then prepares my drink. I glance around the bar, seeing there is a couple a few seats down from me, but other than that, the place is quiet. I would bet that before the night is over the dance floor to my left will be packed with people.

  The bartender sets my drink in front of me, and then a man asks me, “Is this seat taken?”

  I shake my head, glancing at him briefly. He has big brown eyes, and as he sits with a shit-eating grin across his face, there is a dimple on his left cheek that is so sexy, I wanna touch it.

  He orders a beer and then says to me, “You wanna take a shot?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  “Really? You’re at a bar alone, and you’re good.”

  “Wow, way to kick a girl when she’s down.”

  He orders us two shots, and I sigh. This stranger, who looks like he just left his cushy office job, isn’t going to take no thank you for an answer.

  “What are we drinking to?” I ask.

  “To meeting new friends.”

  We clink our glasses, and the alcohol burns the back of my throat. “Holy fuck! What was that?”

  “Fireball. Give it about thirty seconds, and you’ll thank me.”