Page 13 of Heartstrings & Horseshoes

Me: I got all her shit out of the trailer, and she unpacked while I was on shift.

CJ: How bad did it kill you knowing she changed her clothes in your apartment, and you weren’t there to see it?

Me: Fuck you dude.

CJ: Come ON. You can’t tell me you didn’t picture it. *gag*

Me: Don’t know what you’re talking about.

CJ: Stop being a pussy and make a move. You finally have your shot.

Me: I’m ignoring you now.

CJ: Toodle-oo *waggles fingers* say hi to the wifey for me.

I wouldn’t be surprised if I damage my phone with how violently I jam it into my cup holder. He’s right. I’m a fucking pussy. I can’t even admit to CJ I’m in love with Delilah.

I accepted my unrequited feelings years ago and I’m fine rotting away in my pain without anyone else’s unhelpful opinions.

But I can’t lie, hearing him call her my wife does something to me.

Getting down on one knee. Sliding my ring onto her delicate finger. Pulling her into my arms and claiming her mouth. Delilah walking down the aisle in a white dress.

Fuck. I’m so fucked.

The only reason I’ve kept my shit in check all these years is because I had physical time away from Delilah.

Any time I got too close to vomiting my feelings or popped a boner, I could escape to my apartment.

Our apartment. She slept in my bed. Our bed. A shiver runs along my spine making me jerk in my seat.

Stop.

This can’t happen. She’s my best friend. She doesn’t see me that way.

I lock the poison deep inside and steel myself to face her. One of these days, the poison is going to eat me alive.

I knock on the door and Delilah opens it immediately, like she was waiting for me. Like she’s as desperate for me as I am for her.

“You’re back!” she squeals, throwing herself into my arms. I’m fucking filthy, but she never cares, she always hugs me anyway.

“Doll, did you even check the peep hole before you let me in? What if I’d been an intruder? Promise me you’ll check next time.”

“I promise. But you’re here!” She’s hopping in my arms. Fucking hell. Her tits are bouncing against my chest, arousal blooms in my veins with every drag of her supple breasts up and down my front.

I escape her grasp and squeeze past her into the apartment. My dick’s hard and I need to get into the shower stat, so it doesn’t make a surprise appearance.

Surprise, Delilah! My dick’s happy to see you too!

I holler over my shoulder, “I’m gonna take a quick shower and then I’m taking you to breakfast.”

I don’t wait for her response. Instead, I lock myself in the bathroom and turn on the shower. I strip as the water warms and as soon as it’s tolerable, I step beneath the spray and fist my cock.

Everyone thinks I’m so chill, that I’m a laid-back, easy-going guy. Truth is, I jack off several times a day, so I don’t explode from my pent-up attraction to Delilah.

The days I see her—nearly every day—I blow my load right before we hang out and as soon as I get home afterwards.

If she’s particularly affectionate or wearing something irresistible, I have to find a bathroom to abuse myself with my right hand to survive the day. I’m surprised my right arm isn’t noticeably bigger than my left from the hours it spends yanking on my dick.