smile revealing none of their conflict from moments before. “We’re arguing over who gets to be on top when we turn you into the creamy center of our cookie sandwich.”
Licking her lips, Carrie carefully juggled to set everything down without dumping the nachos. “Yeah, well I was just fantasizing about the same thing. Har-de-har-har, you are both hilarious. That said, here’s beers, and hit me with your worst, Ben. How bad are the numbers?”
Dropping the conversation as they had so many times in the past, Ben reached for his laptop to show them. One of these days, they’d all stop joking about it and end up tangled naked in a pile. He couldn’t stop the questions from repeating in his head, even if he couldn’t bring himself to ask them aloud.
Could they really do this? Could fantasy ever become reality? In his experience, dreams were like soap bubbles, colorful and lovely but easily destroyed when breathed to life. Even knowing that, he couldn’t shake the tiny, niggling voice which asked if they could have something beyond his hopes and wishes and not ruin their friendship along the way.
But those were worries for another day. “Let’s start with the paint…”
Lying on her back, Carrie pointed her toes at the ceiling. The annoying voice coming from her laptop told her to breathe deeply, to find her center.
“Find my center?” she answered the video. Her mind, unhelpfully, didn’t seem to want to empty of all thoughts and find peace in the sound of waves on a beach overlaid with the occasional directions. The video online said find her center and what she heard, instead, was a repeat of Grady’s voice from beer-and-bill night. We’re arguing over who gets to be on top when we turn you into the creamy center of our cookie sandwich.
Sure, he’d been joking, but the idea of being in between her two best friends ignited a veritable firestorm of naughty thoughts—ones which both men would likely be appalled at if she ever admitted to them. The video told her to place her legs back on the floor. She complied, biting her lip and wondering what they would say if she told them to go ahead, bring it. If she crawled in Grady’s lap and bit his lip instead of her own, then pulled off her shirt in blatant sexual invitation.
Not that she would. Not in a million years.
But what if…?
Her phone chirped, advising of an incoming text, and she blew out a breath. “Focus on your center,” she advised herself. “Ignore the phone. Which you should have silenced. But whatever, no guilt resides here. Only peace. Find peace. Find your center.”
The phone didn’t care that she tried to find peace with herself and her overactive lust, it simply chirped again. The voice on the video advised she lift her hips, raising them toward the sun as if a thread attached through her stomach to the sky. She obeyed, thinking the position would be fabulous if she ever managed to become the center of their cookie sandwich. And damn, what a sandwich that would be.
Chirp. Chirp.
“Shut up, phone. Finding peace here.”
But it wouldn’t. Whoever texted obviously wanted to talk now, based on the continued incoming chirps. Besides, the video wasn’t helping her forget the dream she’d had the night before.
About sex. With her best friends. While she was in another relationship, for God’s sake. She should be ashamed of herself.
Not imagining how yoga positions would be fun in threesome sex. Snagging her phone, she swiped it awake and did manage a few seconds of guilt. Freddie, her boyfriend, had sent her six texts according to the screen. Which was pretty weird in and of itself. He usually wasn’t a big texter, explaining to her repeatedly the flaws of cell phones and how they kept people apart rather than connected.
Opening the first, she read, We shuld talk .
The second said, Carolyn?
Gritting her teeth, she reminded herself that he wasn’t into books like her, which was fine and it didn’t mean he’d tried to get
Licking her lips, Carrie carefully juggled to set everything down without dumping the nachos. “Yeah, well I was just fantasizing about the same thing. Har-de-har-har, you are both hilarious. That said, here’s beers, and hit me with your worst, Ben. How bad are the numbers?”
Dropping the conversation as they had so many times in the past, Ben reached for his laptop to show them. One of these days, they’d all stop joking about it and end up tangled naked in a pile. He couldn’t stop the questions from repeating in his head, even if he couldn’t bring himself to ask them aloud.
Could they really do this? Could fantasy ever become reality? In his experience, dreams were like soap bubbles, colorful and lovely but easily destroyed when breathed to life. Even knowing that, he couldn’t shake the tiny, niggling voice which asked if they could have something beyond his hopes and wishes and not ruin their friendship along the way.
But those were worries for another day. “Let’s start with the paint…”
Lying on her back, Carrie pointed her toes at the ceiling. The annoying voice coming from her laptop told her to breathe deeply, to find her center.
“Find my center?” she answered the video. Her mind, unhelpfully, didn’t seem to want to empty of all thoughts and find peace in the sound of waves on a beach overlaid with the occasional directions. The video online said find her center and what she heard, instead, was a repeat of Grady’s voice from beer-and-bill night. We’re arguing over who gets to be on top when we turn you into the creamy center of our cookie sandwich.
Sure, he’d been joking, but the idea of being in between her two best friends ignited a veritable firestorm of naughty thoughts—ones which both men would likely be appalled at if she ever admitted to them. The video told her to place her legs back on the floor. She complied, biting her lip and wondering what they would say if she told them to go ahead, bring it. If she crawled in Grady’s lap and bit his lip instead of her own, then pulled off her shirt in blatant sexual invitation.
Not that she would. Not in a million years.
But what if…?
Her phone chirped, advising of an incoming text, and she blew out a breath. “Focus on your center,” she advised herself. “Ignore the phone. Which you should have silenced. But whatever, no guilt resides here. Only peace. Find peace. Find your center.”
The phone didn’t care that she tried to find peace with herself and her overactive lust, it simply chirped again. The voice on the video advised she lift her hips, raising them toward the sun as if a thread attached through her stomach to the sky. She obeyed, thinking the position would be fabulous if she ever managed to become the center of their cookie sandwich. And damn, what a sandwich that would be.
Chirp. Chirp.
“Shut up, phone. Finding peace here.”
But it wouldn’t. Whoever texted obviously wanted to talk now, based on the continued incoming chirps. Besides, the video wasn’t helping her forget the dream she’d had the night before.
About sex. With her best friends. While she was in another relationship, for God’s sake. She should be ashamed of herself.
Not imagining how yoga positions would be fun in threesome sex. Snagging her phone, she swiped it awake and did manage a few seconds of guilt. Freddie, her boyfriend, had sent her six texts according to the screen. Which was pretty weird in and of itself. He usually wasn’t a big texter, explaining to her repeatedly the flaws of cell phones and how they kept people apart rather than connected.
Opening the first, she read, We shuld talk .
The second said, Carolyn?
Gritting her teeth, she reminded herself that he wasn’t into books like her, which was fine and it didn’t mean he’d tried to get
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