Big Rock

“Come on me,” I rasp out, as my climax starts to tear through me. “Come on me now.”

And she does on a wild cry, coming with me. She leans into me, her mouth near my ear. The epic chant sounds, and this one is new. “I can’t stop. Can’t stop. Can’t stop.”

It’s so hot and so wild, the way she says it over and over. I love it. I love it when Charlotte comes. I love it when she’s happy. I love fucking her. I love everything right now, even my goose egg, even the elbow whack, even the bat that fell on my damn toe.

She collapses on me, nuzzling my neck, kissing my ear, whispering so good, so good over and over.

“It’s so good,” I echo, though that adjective feels insufficient for what this has become.

“Everything is with you,” she says, and when I wrap my arms tighter around her back, she snuggles into me.

“Every single thing,” I say.

I love every goddamn thing in the universe, and I am the happiest bastard in the world right now, here, in this room, with the woman I have fallen for.

That’s what this is. That’s what the alphabet soup spells.

I’ve broken the biggest ground rule of all.

I’ve fallen in love with my best friend.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE


The bat connects with the ball with a resounding whack, and I tag up on third, waiting, waiting, waiting to see if it lands in the outfielder’s glove or sends me home.

Boom. Over the fence.

I pump a fist and shout.

Nick tosses the bat on the dirt and trots down the baseline as I run home. Watching him round the bases sends my father whooping from the makeshift dugout. Nick’s homerun has put Dad’s team ahead at the top of the ninth.

I hold out a hand and slap palms with our slugger as he nears the home plate. “Nice work, Grandslam,” I say, since he’s knocked out a few so far this season.

Once his foot hits the plate, the chorus from “Beautiful” by Christine Aguilera plays. Interesting choice. Not my first pick for Nick, but Mr. Offerman’s daughter appointed herself “announcer” for the game and has been picking the tunes for hits, homers, and strikeouts. Emily holds up a blue, oval-shaped handheld speaker that’s streaming music from her phone. She shakes her hips and encourages our team to rock out with her. Her sisters cheer her on from the three rows of creaky metal bleachers.

My father high-fives Nick as he walks off the field. “You’re my ringer. Your check’ll be in the mail,” my dad jokes as we head toward the team bench near the bleachers. Charlotte waves and smiles. My heart beats faster as I look at her.

Tonight, I tell myself. I’ve got it all planned. I’m taking her to her favorite Italian restaurant in Chelsea, and I’m going to put my heart on the line. I’ll tell her she’s the one and then hope to hell that the woman in the Page Six photo is the one who’s coming to dinner, not the woman who said she’s just my best friend. I have no clue if Charlotte only sees me as a friendly fling, or if she wants more, like I do. But I know how I feel—I want her to be my best friend, my lover, and my partner. I want her to be all mine, and that’s why this morning—after we brushed our teeth, of course—I asked her out on a real date.

She said yes.

The realization that I have an official date tonight with the only woman I’ve ever fallen in love with makes my palms sweat. I’ll be going out on a limb and taking the biggest chance of all when I tell her that faking it led to making it for me. My pulse races with the rabid hope that this isn’t a one-way street.

Hell, she’s holding my keys, wallet and phone in her purse during the game—there’s got to be room for the old ticker, too, right? I break away from Nick, run up the stands, and give Charlotte a quick kiss. Her lips glide across mine, and she sighs softly. In seconds, Ciara’s “Pucker Up” blasts from Emily’s speaker. Damn, that girl is fast.

I head down the bleachers.

Another player from the Katharine’s team steps up to the plate, and my dad cheers him on. Dad’s in a good mood today, not only because we’re winning, but because the papers were signed this morning. His attorney is doing a final review, and filing them with the business authorities on Monday. By then, if all goes well, Charlotte and I will be a real couple, so we won’t even need to break up. Amazing, how everything is coming together perfectly.

As I grab a spot on the bench, Nick speaks to me in a low voice, pretending he’s talking to Charlotte. “Oh hey, Char. How’s it going? You still enjoying dating Spencer? What’s that? You love his big ego. Oh yeah, it’s so huge. I love it, too.” He turns to me, his voice deadpan. “So how am I doing at going along with things?”

I pretend to gaze in wonder. “Amazing. It’s almost as if you make shit up for a living.” Then I drop the snark. “And, incidentally, I’m hoping it won’t be pretend much longer.”

He raises an eyebrow in a question.