Just a Number (2 page)

I
sit in the bed, heart pounding, eyes wide as I stare down at Amy on the floor. Amelia Michaels. The twenty-one-year-old daughter of the man sleeping right across the hall. The man who’s been my closest friend for the better part of three decades.

My sleep-addled brain tries to sort this entire situation out. How did this even happen? From what Alan said, she wasn’t supposed to arrive until later in the afternoon. It’s why he told me to take her bed.

My eyes drifted from her face to her heaving chest, her right breast fully exposed with her bra tucked beneath it. I grow harder just looking at it.

I’m a despicable human being.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demands shrilly, immediately clamping her hand over her mouth; she knows that the last thing we need is her father barging in here to find me in her bed and her half-naked on the floor.

She must come to the same conclusion as me, because all the color drains from her face—well, what little color there was after a night of drinking—and she looks down to find her chest half-exposed. Pink fills her cheeks as she corrects the issue, reaching for the comforter that is keeping my…
issue
from being exposed.

“Y-you don’t want to do that,” I stammer, holding it firmly against my lower half.

Understanding, she relinquishes her hold on the blanket, snapping her arm back like she’s just been burned, and grabs the pillow beside me instead. She stands quickly, hugging it to her body lengthwise as a shield. “What are you doing?” she repeats, her voice tight and a little bit squeaky now.

“I’m sorry,” I supply.

“Why are you in my bed?” she interrupts.

I think back to the last twenty-four hours—the last six months, actually—and I sigh, running a hand trough my hair. “Gretchen and I have decided to separate,” I begin. The thought of my marriage failing makes me nauseous.

Things between my wife and I have been…strained, to say the least. For years, if I’m being completely honest. In the beginning, Gretchen and I had been happy—or maybe she was just playing the part. Truthfully, as time went on, I started to suspect she was only in it for the money I made running one of the top advertising agencies in the country.

After taking a breath, I continue with my explanation. “I came to see Alan. We got to talking, I had quite a bit to drink, and he said I should stay the night.”

“In my room,” she states, her eyebrows rising.

While “having too much to drink” is absolutely no excuse for what happened between us, it’s really all I have to go off of. Alan and I had been up shooting the shit and talking about my failed marriage for hours, working our way through a few six-packs, before we decided to turn in. Alan wasn’t sure what time Amy was going to be getting into town the next day, but he said he didn’t want to be exhausted and hung over when she did. As always, drinking that much knocked me out completely, and the beer had obviously helped to blur the line between dreams and reality.

I’m not sure if it was the fact that I’d fallen asleep in her bed or if some subconscious part of me sensed her presence after she’d crawled into bed next to me, but she was the star of my dream that night. When I woke up with my fingers buried between her thighs, I was a confusing combination of horrified and thrilled.

Horrified because I’d taken advantage of her while we both slept…but thrilled because she seemed more than responsive to every kiss and touch I’d lavished her with unbeknownst to either of us—unless I’d mistaken the passion behind her kiss and how incredibly wet she was as something else.

The minute the sleep-induced haze cleared, any positive feelings I’d experienced dissipated, and all I was left with was guilt.

I bury my face in my hands and rub it roughly before dragging them up and through my hair again. “He assured me you wouldn’t be here until this afternoon some time. Amy, if I’d have known, I’d have taken the couch.”

“I decided to come early—” Amy gasps sharply, and I have to look away as her slip makes even me blush. She then stammers, trying to backpedal. “I mean...n-not
come
...” Knowing that she’s not making this situation any better, she stops trying.

Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door, and my guilt is quickly forgotten as my instincts of self-preservation kick in…of course, it wavers when Amy turns around quickly, unintentionally giving me a perfect view of her pert little ass and the blue butterfly tattoo on the back of her right hip.

God bless the person who invented the thong.
I mentally chastise myself; now is
not
the time. “Owen? You up?”

“That’s disturbingly accurate,” Amy mumbles under her breath, making me snicker. She whips around, eyes wide with embarrassment; it’s clear she didn’t mean to say that out loud.

“Yeah, Alan,” I respond with a smile, my eyes locked on her. She smiles back—just a glimmer of one, but it takes my breath away.

Even though I know it shouldn’t.

The longer she looks at me like that—her big blue-gray eyes heavy-lidded, her lips red and swollen from a kiss neither of us engaged in consciously, and her chin slightly red from where my scruffy jaw scratched her—the more aware of my arousal I become, and just how little I’m wearing beneath her blankets. I also start to wonder just how far we might have gone had she not fallen out of the bed.

 “You on the phone with Gretchen? I thought I heard voices.” Alan’s voice breaks me from my ogling.

I know Alan won’t respond well to finding the two of us in bed together, so I have to think fast to placate him enough to keep him on the other side of that door. Him thinking I’m on the phone with work might do the trick and should buy us enough time to put some clothes on and sneak her into the house without her father knowing.

Amy glances back toward the door before backing up. Her legs hit the edge of her bed and she sits down, her ass brushing against my calf. She doesn’t move, seemingly paralyzed in fear. I can’t blame her, either. I’m terrified her father is going to come barreling through that door at any moment and find us both in here looking guilty when we’re not...not
entirely
, anyway
.

“Uh, yeah...” Her head snaps around to look at me as I lie to her father—something I’ve never done in all the years I’ve known him. Yes, I feel absolutely shitty about it, but I can’t exactly tell him the truth; he’ll kill me. “Well, not to Gretchen, but...work.” Proud of my quick thinking, I smile as I continue. The lies seem to just come easier. “I called to let them know I wouldn’t be in today.”

“Good plan,” Alan replies through the door, and Amy takes a deep breath and holds it.

“Okay, well, I’m going to go and make coffee. You hungry?” We simultaneously breathe a sigh of relief upon hearing this.

“Uh, yeah. That sounds great,” I respond, and then we hear the sounds of Alan’s footsteps retreat toward the stairs.

Even though the threat is gone, Amy remains numb from almost being caught. I leap off the bed with the bed sheet wrapped around my waist. It slips a little as I open the door. There’s a bit of a draft as I inadvertently flash Amy a partial view of my right ass cheek. I hear her inhale a shaky breath right before I fix the sheet.

“Okay, the coast is clear.” I turn around and see Amy gawking at me. “That was close.” A nervous laugh escapes my lips as I scratch my scruffy jawline.

Amy nods, forcing her eyes back to mine. “Yeah. Close.” Her voice is low and hoarse, and I can’t help but think she isn’t
just
referring to getting caught by her dad. “So, what do we do?” she asks. “I mean, it seems like he doesn’t know I’m here yet, so how do I get past him?”

This whole situation is more than a little fucked up, and I can’t believe we’re actually trying to come up with a plan to sneak her out of her own home in the morning so she can traipse through the front door like she’s just arrived for Thanksgiving weekend.

It makes me feel like even more of a creepy schmuck.

“I guess I could climb out the window,” she suggests, only to be met with a sharp glare from me.

“You most certainly will
not
be climbing out the window,” I command in a tone much harsher than intended. “Jesus, the last time you did that, you broke your damn arm.”

She was fifteen and had just been grounded. Pissed off with the world, she tried to run away, but when she got out onto the ledge, she slipped on some ice and fell. This inevitably led to a much longer sentence—even though she had probably been punished enough.

“I’ll go downstairs,” I offer, bending over to pick up my clothes. “I’ll stand by the kitchen and keep your father distracted. When the time is right, I’ll wave you down—just, keep to the wall and watch out for that one step. If he catches us, we’re dead.”

She smiles up at me. “You make it sound like we actually did something wrong here.”

“We did enough to give your father reason to jump to conclusions.”

Clutching my jeans and T-shirt in my hands, I look down at Amy expectantly. Not that I can blame her, but it takes her a little longer than normal to realize that she should probably get dressed also.

“Oh, shit. Sorry.” She stands up and rifles through her bag for a fresh pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, then she heads over to the dresser in the corner, keeping her back to me, and she quickly pulls them on.

I’ll admit, I let my eyes linger a little before pulling my own clothes on, and I swear, I catch her sneak a peek through the mirror on top of her dresser.

“So,” I say, turning away from her. “The tattoo’s new.”

Something falls from her dresser to the floor as she curses. “Uh, yeah… About that.” Dressed, I turn to find her pulling her shirt down over the waist of her jeans. “You’re not going to tell my dad about it, are you?”

Smiling, I shake my head. “It’ll be our little secret…one of them, anyway.” She breathes a sigh of relief. “Okay, I’ll go down first.” She quickly runs a brush through her hair and throws it up into a ponytail. “You stay up here and watch for my signal.”

She nods once in understanding as we walk toward the door, and before I open it quietly, I look down at her, my eyes only briefly glancing down at the very slight view of her cleavage in the v-neck top she’d chosen. Her cheeks pink up, and guilt forms like a lead rock in my gut. I can’t believe I’m leering at a girl I watched grow up. I really am abhorrent.

Before I take my first step down the stairs, I turn around. There’s less than a foot between us, and her eyes hold a glimmer of lust as they lock on mine. “Amelia,” I breathe softly, using her given name unexpectedly and loving the way it feels rolling off my tongue. It also makes me feel like less of a creep to forego the nickname she’s been going by since childhood.

She swallows thickly, her head bobbing up and down. “Y-yes?”

Her lips are full, and I’m unexplainably drawn to them. I want to kiss her—this time awake so I can remember what it’s like. I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly dry.

“For what it’s worth, I’m terribly sorry for what happened this morning.” While I believe the conviction in my words, even I can’t tell if I’m sorry about what happened, or if I’m sorry because of the connection we so obviously share: her dad.

The smile that graces her face seems forced, and she shrugs. “It’s okay,” she tries to assure me. “I think it’s safe to say that what happened wasn’t entirely your fault.”

“Regardless,” I argue. “I am sorry.”

Then, without another word, I head downstairs to meet our fate.

3. Sneaking Around

E
ven with the stress of this entire situation, I can’t deny just how amazing he looks. Delicious as ever, with his light hair in sexy disarray; in so very many of my fantasies, I have thrust my fingers into it to hold him close. Thinking this sends a rush of warmth through me, and my pulse races as a dull ache settles between my legs. It’s beyond inappropriate to act this way. I know that; I can guaran-damn-tee you
he
knows that. 

What doesn’t help the situation any is that this is the first time I’ve seen him without a shirt on in years—probably since I was just a girl and we’d gone swimming in the pool at his old house. He hasn’t changed much from what I can remember, and my mind failed to ever do him justice in this department. He’s kept himself in great shape—honestly, I’m probably underselling it—and I had trouble keeping my eyes from admiring this aspect through the mirror on my dresser as we were both dressing. Unfortunately, I only caught a brief glance of his ass when he dropped the sheet and pulled his jeans on before quickly doing them up and yanking his black shirt over his head.