“We said we’d get married when you turned thirty. We could just expedite it to next year.”
My mouth drops open, and all I can do is gape at him. I totally forgot about it, and honestly, I thought he was joking back then.
“Don’t give me that look,” he grumbles. “We’re best friends. We have similar interests. Most importantly, we love each other. We won’t get divorced. I don’t see any reason why we can’t make it work.”
All true… but…
I’m not sure I can do that. I’m not blind when it comes to my best friend. He’s panty-melting hot. God, he’s the most sought after bachelor.
Being married to him and only being friends? That would be torture. I know myself. I’ll want more, and if Christopher can’t be intimate with me, it will destroy everything we have. It’s been a constant battle to remain platonic with him as is.
“So it will be more along the lines of a marriage of convenience?” I ask, hesitance and worry lacing my words.
Christopher gives me a have-you-lost-your-mind look. “No. It will be a normal marriage, Dash.”
What?
I can only blink at him for a moment before I manage to ask, “Will this include us being intimate?”
Christopher lets out a chuckle as if it’s a stupid question. “Of course. You want kids, and I seriously don’t plan on jerking off for the rest of my life.”
Holy shit.
A weird sense of anticipation and hope begins to creep into my heart, and feeling awkward about it, I let out a burst of laughter.
CHRISTOPHER
Definitely not the reaction I was hoping for.
When her laughter dies away, and the sadness creeps back into her eyes, I murmur, “You deserve the whole fairytale, Dash. Not just a baby.”
She shrugs, her gaze settling on the coffee table. “Fairytales don’t exist. We both know that.”
“They do,” I argue. “Look at Tristan and Hana. Noah and Carla. My parents, your parents.”
A hopeless look tightens her features. “That kind of relationship is not in the cards for me.”
A dark frown begins to form on my face. “Why would you say that?”
She shakes her head and sighs. “Because it’s the truth. Most people marry their soul mates. Why do you think we’ve been struggling with relationships? Your girlfriends and my boyfriends all shit themselves because of our friendship. And I can’t blame them. No guy will be okay with you being more important than them.”
My heart begins to beat a little faster, and narrowing my eyes, I ask, “Did you give up on dating because of me?”
Dash hesitates before she nods. “I’m tired of hearing how I always put you before them. They were right, though. I’ll always put you first.”
I reach for her hand and link our fingers. Dash glances at me, and then I say, “We should just get married, then there won’t be any problems.”
She lets out a burst of laughter as she gets up from the chair, pulling her hand free from mine. “Yeah, right.” Walking to the sliding door, she stares at the view of the city. “Can you imagine how awkward the sex will be?” She laughs again, shaking her head.
Worried, I ask, “You think it would be awkward? Why?”
Glancing over her shoulder at me, she widens her eyes. “Seriously? You know why? One look at my bra was enough to send you running.”
“That was once, and I was caught off guard,” I argue. “Have you ever thought about it?”
I get up, and it has Dash turning so she can face me as she asks, “What? Sex with you?”
“Yes,” I murmur as I walk toward her.
Her eyebrows pop up before she glances away from me. “When I was a teenager. Maybe.”
That’s something I can work with.
“And?” I ask.
“What do you mean and?” she mutters, an uncomfortable look settling on her face.
“Was it awkward thinking about it?” I ask, needing to know if she’s repulsed by the idea or not.
“Are you really asking me this right now?” she gasps, then she throws the question back at me. “Have you thought about it?”
“Of course, and I was fine with it,” I answer honestly as I stop in front of her.
Her mouth opens and closes a couple of times, and then she takes a sharp breath. “Are we really having this conversation?”
“We are,” I state, figuring it’s now or never. “Think about it, Dash. Everything you said was the truth. We’re fucked. Either we get married, or our friendship will have to take a back seat to whoever we choose to date.”
“We’re fucked,” she mutters