Page 128 of Just for the Plot

His comment should make me happy.

It should actually make me feel elated, but in fact, it’s quite the opposite.

My first instinct is to ask why the hell not?

My second instinct is to dry-hump his stupid face, just to show him what he’s missing out on.

But thankfully, I strapped on my brain today and I’m thinking quite clearly, because I nicely smile and say, “Great. Glad we cleared that up.”

“Same.” He takes a bite of his cupcake and smiles at me while he chews.

My lips are pursed, not entirely happy with his easygoing attitude. Then again, I’m just going to go with it, because it would be ludicrous to fight with him about his nonchalance with the dry-humping.

Maybe it didn’t mean as much to him as it meant to me?

Wait, did it mean something to me?

I don’t think so, I mean…it was the first time I’ve gotten off in a long time that didn’t require help from my hand.

And sure, it was erotic in a taboo kind of way. Dry-humping my best friend’s brother has a bit of a naughty allure to it, as if I was fulfilling some sort of fantasy I didn’t know I had.

But that’s it. Therefore, I should be perfectly fine with the way he’s acting.

“Should we read now?” he asks, breaking up my thoughts.

“Sure,” I say, shoving the rest of my cupcake in my mouth and reaching to the coffee table to grab our books.

Bennett is still working on the baseball series I told him to read. He’s on book five, my favorite because there’s a scene in there that lives rent free in my head, one that we already talked about and that he already read, the kitchen scene with the vibrator. Chef’s kiss.

As for me, I’m starting a new hockey book.

I hand him his book and he gets comfortable while I move to the other side of the couch.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Uh, I’m about to read, just like you.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “What are you doing all the way over there?”

“Trying to get comfortable. Do you want me to read next to you, shoulder to shoulder?”

He plops a pillow on his lap and says, “No, come lie down.”

I glance at the pillow and then back at him. “On your lap?”

“Yeah.”

“Is this your way of getting me to motorboat your crotch?”

“What?” He lets out a boisterous laugh. “No, I just thought it would be nice for you to stretch out your legs.”

That actually would be kind of nice.

Not thinking much of it, I move back to his side, turn on the couch so my head is resting over the pillow on his lap, and then get comfortable.

“You good?” he asks, once I part open my book.

“I am, and you?”