Diving In by Bianca Giovanni Page B

don’t
think best friends do shit like that.”
    “No,” she smiles “they don’t.”
    What does that mean? The way she said
it was all soft and seductive, but she doesn’t elaborate on it.
There was more to it, though. I feel like there were a whole bunch
of other words hidden under the surface of what she said. She
couldn’t possibly mean … does she want to be more than friends?
    That thought is both awesome and terrifying
at the same time. I don’t doubt that Lola would be an awesome
girlfriend, but I don’t think I could be an awesome boyfriend. I’d
probably end up fucking some other chick and pissing her off,
because that’s kind of what I do. I’m good as a friend with
benefits, good as a fuck buddy or a one-night stand, but I’d be
shitty to date because I have the tendency to fuck things up with
people who care about me. Just ask my dad, who all but flat-out
told me I wasn’t worth a shit when he was kicking me out of the
house for doing porn. I know it sounds totally emo, but I don’t
deserve for somebody to have feelings for me that go that deep. I
especially don’t deserve for Lola to feel that way about me. She’s
a zillion times better than I deserve—than anyone deserves,
really.
    We finish showering and she starts combing
out her hair with a towel wrapped around her body. It’s the first
time all morning that I haven’t been able to stare at her tits and
I miss them already.
    “I’m gonna make us some breakfast,” I say,
kissing the top of her head.
    I head out into the kitchen and start
cracking some eggs and preparing French toast for us. Breakfast
food is fast and easy, but I like to add my own little flares to it
to make it more gourmet. The omelets I’m making, for example, have
an assortment of veggies and spices to give them a little more
flavor. It’s cool to be cooking for Lola again. I missed it. I used
to love cooking dinner for her when we lived back home. She’d eat
at my house a lot or I’d go over to her place and make stuff for
her and her mom. I loved the way she’d scarf it down and then tell
me she felt like her belly would explode from how full she was.
    She comes into the kitchen but she’s fully
clothed and she’s pouting a little bit. She stands against the
counter and holds something up. It’s a black g-string with sparkly
stars on it.
    “Why was this on the floor by your bed?” she
asks, clearly not happy about the discovery.
    “It’s from last week,” I reply, not really
sure what to do in this situation.
    “Whose skanky-ass thong is this?” she says
like she’s even more pissed off.
    “Lexi … or maybe Tara,” I answer
truthfully.
    “You don’t know which one?” She’s not
pleased. Definitely not.
    “Last week, we all did a shoot together and
we were still hyped up so they came over here, since my place is
close to the studio,” I attempt to explain.
    “You had a fucking ménage with those two
bitchy girls last week?” she says. She sounds like she’s hurt and I
don’t know what to do.
    “Yeah, dude,” I shrug. “Why are you getting
weird about it?”
    “I … I’m not,” she replies, stumbling a
little bit. She shuts up after that and then goes to sit down at
the breakfast bar that looks over the counter.
    “Eggs are almost ready and I got some turkey
bacon for you, since I know you don’t like the real thing,” I
smile, motioning to the stove.
    “Ok,” she says, but her voice is all
deflated.
    “Lo, what’s going on?” I ask her, stopping
what I’m doing to come around the counter and stand in front of
her.
    She pauses and I can see her brow starting to
furrow. She’s still pissed. “Did you at least change your fucking
sheets before you had me in your bed? I’d hate to think I slept on
the same sheets where you fucked those nasty-ass bitches.”
    “Whoa! What?” I say, stepping back. Where
the fuck did that come from? “You’re pissed about Lexi and
Tara?”
    “No,” she says, clearly meaning yes.
    “Why