Book 4 of the 'Love Unkown' Series
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"But 'Just Friends' don't look at each other like this."
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When two unlikely friends, Margot Rose Jackson and Kenji Reid Mishra, find themselves growing closer, they must decide whether to stick with the c...
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I wake up with a clouded mind.
What the hell happened last night? I went into the living room thinking I was going to fight crime but instead, I helped Kenji fight another failed orgasm.
What?!
I have no idea how or what to feel. I just watched my best friend touch himself to a picture of me.
How do I come back from this? How do we come back from this? Is that even possible? I feel like there are lines in friendships and once you cross those lines, there is no going back.
But the thing that surprised me the most, is that I didn't hate what I saw or did, or even said.
I didn't even know I was capable of doing something like that. Dominating another person and especially not a man.
I didn't even know Kenji was into that stuff.
But then again I didn't know he had feelings for me either. I wonder what else I don't know.
The door creeps open and I fall into a faux sleeping position, squeezing my eyes shut and pulling the covers over my face.
How do we converse after something like this? Would we go back to talking about the weather and shopping? Ugh. Why is this so hard?!
"I know your awake Margot. You never sleep with the blankets over your face. But," he sighs. "I understand if you don't want to talk to me. I just um, I brought you breakfast. From your favorite cafe." once he still gets no response, I hear his heavy footsteps crossing the room until they're right next to me.
"I'll just leave it here. If you still want to come with me to Ink House, I'm leaving in an hour." I can feel his presence hovering over me, casting a steel-like shadow over me.
He's trying to see if I'm really asleep. "Mar—" he stops himself.
A heavy sigh slips from somewhere deep in his throat. "Fuck. I'm really sorry, Margot." his voice trembles and I can hear the shakiness in his words.
I feel bad, I'm just not ready to face the consequences of the actions we both committed last night.
"I'm sorry, M," he whispers before I hear the footsteps again but this time, they're headed for the door.
It opens and then closes.
I throw the covers off of me, feeling overly hot — and I don't think it was just my body heat trapped underneath a thick comforter — and open the black take-out container.
Strawberry French toast and eggs.
I smile to myself. He remembers everything. I'd kill for strawberry French toast from Tiki's any day.
The thing is, I never finish it by myself. We usually share. My smile slips away at the cold empty bedroom that surrounds me.
