More Than Friends

The local coffee shop, Perk Up, was always bustling in the mornings. Cameron ordered his coffee and breakfast sandwich, then shifted over to wait. The air was rich with the heady smell of coffee beans and pastries and his stomach growled in response. He noticed a tall, blonde woman shuffle closer to him as they both awaited their orders. He cautioned a glance her way and was struck by her effortless beauty: hair pulled up on top of her head, t-shirt, jean shorts, and sandals. She had a casual elegance that Cameron was always attracted to; he was drawn to her low-maintenance vibe. She caught him looking at her and she smiled at him, a wide grin, her green eyes crinkling at the corners. His heart skipped a beat and he almost introduced himself when he heard his name.  “Cameron!” shouted a barista. “Venti dark roast for Cameron!”  He broke their eye contact and turned toward the counter, reaching for his coffee. He realized that the blonde woman was right beside him, reaching for the same cup. Their hands grasped it at the same time, their fingers overlapped, and they quickly looked at each other, eyes twinkling.  “Hi Cameron, I’m Cameron,” she said, extending her other hand, laughing.  He let go of the coffee cup, shook her hand, and never wanted to let go. “Wait, wait, wait!” Charlotte interrupted with an incredulous laugh. “This—this— is the premise of the story that you expect me to write with you? The one that you want me to co-author with you? This is the story that you think I’ll put my name on, sign off on, and be able to stomach writing?”   “Well, yeah… I mean, it’s the start,” Brady said, trying not to look hurt. He could hardly defend being surprised, knowing Charlotte as well as he did. “This is just their meet-cute, obviously not the entire story,” Brady added.  “More like meet-puke… but I do like the name of the coffee shop. ‘Perk Up?’ Did you make that up?” asked Charlotte, draining the rest of her beer and waggling the empty bottle in front of him. “Want another?”  “Sure,” he said, watching her bend down to pick up his empty bottle. “And yes, as a matter of fact, I did make it up.”  Her shirt fell open as she did and caught a quick glance of her left breast before she stood up. His eyes followed her to the kitchen, the bottom curve of her ass visible beneath the boxer shorts she had rolled up several times. He adjusted himself and grabbed a pillow for his lap in order to hide his own physical and visible appreciation for her body.  Being best friends with a gorgeous woman presented many complications and spending a Saturday night drinking at her place while she was in her pajamas was definitely one of them. The fact that he had been completely in love with her, while she had placed him fully in the friend zone, was another. He endured the awkward moments when he let his guard down and allowed himself to be physically turned on by her body because he couldn’t imagine going through life without her. “It’s clever-- the coffee shop name,” she called from the kitchen, pulling two beers from the fridge. “It’s almost as good as Cool Beans.” They both laughed at the name of their local coffee shop while Charlotte handed him the fresh bottle. He noticed her eye the pillow on his lap, but didn't say anything. He put it to his lips and let the cold, sharp liquid roll down his throat. He hoped this would help to cool him off. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t turn off his feelings for her. He would have thought, all these years later, that they would have either gotten together or he would have moved on. But here he was, still consumed by her as he’d always been.   “So, you hate it?” Brady asked, trying not to sound pathetic. "My book opening?" “It’s just so cheesy and feels the same as everything else we publish” she replied, tipping her head back and taking a long drink. Brady let his eyes linger on the thin, light pink fabric of her shirt, the curve of her breasts and the shape of her n*****s left little to his imagination.  She set her beer on the table, and he looked away quickly, taking a drink of his own beer, swallowing half of the bottle in a couple of gulps. They had been best friends since college and while she had long grown comfortable enough with him to lie around in her pajamas, he had never been all that comfortable with this arrangement. Aroused, yes; comfortable, no.  When they had met in the basement common room of their freshman dorm, he was immediately transfixed by her. She was all long, tan limbs, bright smile, and that head full of blonde curls that cascaded halfway down her back. She was in the middle of a tangle of girlfriends, laughing about something, and all he could see was her. He couldn’t seem to get her out of his mind, so when they ran into each other at a party the following weekend, he wanted to make the most of the meeting.  “Hey… don’t you live in Harris Hall?” he had said, trying to sound casual.  “Are you stalking me?” she said playfully from beneath long, surprisingly dark eyelashes. “Oh—no… I’m—that’s not—” Brady had stumbled and stuttered in response like a complete i***t. “Don’t worry, I’m kidding,” she said, putting her hand softly on his arm and he felt a thrill that rushed all the way through his body in response. “Yes, in fact, I do live in Harris Hall.”  “Yeah, I thought I recognized you,” he said, trying to recover. “So do I.” “Right… I figured,” she laughed. And it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. “Right,” he repeated, heat crawling up his face.  “So, what are you studying,” she asked, looking up at him with her round, blue eyes, the color of the ocean, a bright cerulean rimmed with deep indigo. He could get lost in those eyes for the rest of his life.  “English,” he finally said, after she gave him a look that said, hellooo?? “Oh my gosh! Me too!” she said, linking her arm in his and walking him off toward the keg. “This was totally meant to be! I’m Charlotte, by the way.” “I’m Brady,” he beamed, following her to the keg and filling up a cup for her, thinking that he would have followed her anywhere. “We were destined to meet, Brady,” she said, raising her cup. “Cheers! To new friends!” It was a few minutes later that she introduced him to her boyfriend (because of course she had a boyfriend) who couldn’t keep his hands off her (because of course he couldn’t) and from that moment on, he had been friend zoned.  “Right, but that’s what romance is… it’s supposed to be cheesy,” Brady said, breaking into his own memories. “And I think it’s easier to publish what our audience is used to rather than trying to break the mold.”  “Not all romance is cheesy,” she said emphatically, running a hand through her mane of flaxen curls. “Romance is sexy, exciting, erotic—it doesn’t have to be cheesy.”  “There’s always some element of cheese in a romance novel,” Brady protested. “It’s like part of the code. Plus, we’ll be working against the grain if we try to publish something really out of the norm. Cheesy is like, in the DNA.”  “There can be cheese… but only if there’s wine,” Charlotte said, laughing at her own, stupid joke.  “Hardy har har,” Brady deadpanned. “And you think I’m corny.”  “I’m just saying that not all romance has to be precious and sugary-sweet, that it can be more… I don’t know—real life,” she said, looking off in the distance. “It can be wild and a little dangerous too.”  “Okay, but not everyone loves super-steamy, bad-boy stories either. It doesn’t all have to be super graphic s*x,” he said, rolling his eyes.  “Okay, fine, but don’t you think we should have options? You know, something for everyone… the tame, cutesy stuff for you and the rough and wild stuff for me,” she said, laughing as she stood. “Ready for another?” “If I have another drink, I won’t be able to walk home, let alone drive,” Brady called after her, already feeling a little blurry. He was frustrated by her depiction of him as tame and cutesy. He could be wild—he certainly wasn’t a bad boy, and he wasn’t rough in bed, but it didn’t mean that he wasn’t good in bed. She’d never even given him a chance, so she didn’t really know what he was like and easily assumed that he was just some milk-toast, boring guy who didn’t like good s*x. It couldn’t be farther from the truth, but he had no idea how to let her know that.  “So—stay here,” she said easily. “We’ll have a sleepover!”  This would hardly be the first time he had stayed over, he was very comfortable on her couch and had stayed there many times. But he’d spent most of this evening catching glimpses of her breasts, he was pretty sure that she wasn’t wearing any underwear beneath her boxers, and he was having a hard time keeping his erection under control. He had been looking forward to going home and having some… alone time. He couldn’t pleasure himself on her couch, not in good conscience anyway.  Charlotte came skipping softly into the living room and handed him another beer. And against all his better judgment, he took it. She hopped onto her chair and crossed her legs under her like a little kid on a carpet circle. Brady glanced over and couldn’t help noticing that she wasn’t, in fact, wearing any underwear. She adjusted herself, but not before he caught a glimpse of bare, pink skin. His body throbbed in a painful delight that caught him somewhere between arousal and misery.  He sighed deeply, almost a shutter, as he grabbed the pillow and put it back on his lap, resting his beer on top.