Substitute Boyfriend (8 page)

Roman left me in the restroom hallway and walked to the men’s room entrance, peeking in.  Then he came back and grabbed my hand, leading me there.  I resisted. 
“Hell, no.  I’m not doing it in a filthy bathroom.”

“Would you just trust me?”  He pulled me inside.  There was one guy at one of the sinks, checking himself out.  He glanced at us but didn’t say a word.  Roman led me to the handicapped stall and shut the door behind us, sliding the latch.

“Seriously?”

“Listen…it’s clean in this stall.  Why? 
Because a lot of disabled people don’t dance.  And guys don’t take a dump at a nightclub.  They take a piss and they do it in one of the urinals.  It’s not like we’re gonna do it on the toilet anyway.”  I was standing there with my arms crossed.  I couldn’t believe he was considering it.  He moved his hand to my waist again and pulled me close, touching his lips to mine.

“Roman…why don’t we move to the car instead?
  At least there won’t be anyone walking in and out.”  And, as if on cue, I heard the swell of techno music as someone opened the outside door.

He started kissing my neck, though, making me reconsider.  “Sure you want to wait that long?”
  His voice was barely a whisper, and I was lucky I could hear him over the noise of the club.  “I want to dance with you like we were on the floor.”  We could still hear the music, though it was softer, and the idea appealed to me because I still felt as hot as the desert.

The door to the hallway opened yet again, and I didn’t know if someone was going in or out, and I was beginning to not care, because Roman had me wound up.  “Turn around,” he urged, and I didn’t want to resist.  I turned and he pulled me up against his body like he’d been holding me on the dance floor.  This time, though, I could feel
his swollen cock through his jeans, and that made me feel weak.  I no longer gave a shit if I was in the men’s bathroom of a nightclub and I definitely didn’t care that people—
men
—were traipsing in and out.  They wouldn’t be able to hear us any better than we could hear them.  The music was a physical presence in the club, and I could feel the rhythm in my chest.  It added to my frenzied feeling.

His lips were on my neck again, an
d this time I would let his fingers have their way with me.  One hand moved up my shirt and brushed against my stiff nipple while the other one slid underneath my skirt, then my panties.  I gasped, eager and on the edge already.  He must have sensed it, though, because his fingers only brushed over my slit, teasing.  He removed his hand from my skirt then.  His other hand still played with my nipple and his lips continued working on my neck, but the hand he removed was working on the zipper on his jeans, and I knew it wouldn’t be long.  After a few moments, though, he needed both his hands, so I turned around.  He was working a condom over his shaft and I kissed him.  No, that didn’t help at all, and he said, “Patience, woman.  Turn back around.”  I raised my eyebrows.  I thought he was being playful, but he looked pissed…and I was surprised that it didn’t bother me.  Instead, it made me all the more excited, and I considered being defiant just to see what he would do.

I was desperate, though, so
I faced the stall door again, and then I felt his hand reach up underneath my skirt once more, this time at the back, and he yanked my panties down hard.  I felt them fall down my legs, past my knees, to the floor.  For some strange reason, all I could think of was that I wouldn’t want to wear them again after they’d touched that floor.  “Spread ‘em,” he growled, and I did, without hesitation.  I could feel the eager wetness at the top of my thighs and I knew he’d have no problems sliding in.

He d
id glide right in and I moaned, enjoying the feel of his cock from that angle.  His hands began working me over again, one under my blouse, pinching one of my nipples, while the other played with my clit.  He was pounding into me hard, so I pressed my hands against the cool door to keep my balance.  But, oh, God, did he feel incredible.  I cried aloud again as he drove into me once more.  I don’t know that I noticed it on a conscious level, but he was driving to the beat of the music.  It was primal, and my body was responding.  I was gulping deep breaths also in tune with some ancient rhythm, willing my mind to the other side, to that temporary state of madness and bliss.  Feeling more in tune and in control, I let my right hand drift over my shoulder and I slid it into his hair.  Another drive and I moaned again, grabbing onto those locks as though they were the only thing keeping me grounded.

I lost it then.  The world shattered around me.  In the midst of it, I heard the music rise and fall again, rise and fall, and whatever little was left of my conscious mind wondered if the people in and out could hear my cries of pleasure or if they simply melded into the rest of the noises.  It wasn’t long before Roman’s movements slowed as he appreciated the climax he was experiencing too.

When we were done, I stood there, my head pressed against the metal door, panting, and then I heard two guys talking, or actually
shouting
, at one another, and I started laughing.  It couldn’t be helped.  No, the sex hadn’t been funny—not by a long shot—but my veins were swirling with heady chemicals and I couldn’t have stopped laughing any more than I could have commanded the skies to the ground.  I heard Roman chuckling in my ear too, and we laughed for lots longer than we should have.  What an amazing feeling.  Un-fucking-believable.

Chapter Eleven

SHEER CRAZINESS.  THAT was what it was, but I wasn’t going to question it.  Roman and I left the nightclub after we regained some energy, and I tried to walk out of that men’s room with as much dignity as I could muster.  I acted like I’d belonged in there, and only one guy gave me a weird look.  I’d left the panties on the floor, but Roman insisted upon taking them, and he tucked them in his front pocket.

When we were in the parking lot, I told him I would never wear them again, but I didn’t tell him why.

I managed not to visibly shudder at the thought.

We went to Dairy Queen after for ice cream.  I don’t know why.  It just sounded good.  We both thought that.

And the idea that I was running around in public without any panties on made us insane with desire, and we fucked again as soon as we got back to Roman’s apartment.  As we lay in bed afterward, he looked at me, and I could see more in his eyes than friendship.  It freaked me out a little.  Okay, so it freaked me out a lot, and I feigned a big yawn and then rested my head on his chest so I wouldn’t give away how I really felt.

We’d been having fun.  Why did we have to wreck it by getting all serious?  I didn’t want to, and I didn’t think we had to.  I just wondered what the hell Roman had been thinking.

Fortunately, the next morning, we parted with a little kiss, knowing we wouldn’t see each other—hell, we wouldn’t see the light of day—until all our grading was done and entered into the college database, with accompanying documentation turned into the proper office on campus.  I hoped that time apart would help us realize we’d just been enjoying a little summer fling.  After that, back to business.

Okay…so I hoped Roman would realize that.  My mind was already firmly there.  Could I see Roman as more than a friend?  Oh, I supposed anything was possible, but we’d been great friends for years.  Going further would just wreck it.

I knew, though, that I’d been feeling the inkling of something further too, but I thought that was a bad idea.  For fun, sure, it was okay having sex with my friend, but a relationship?  It just didn’t feel plausible.  It felt strange…and I wondered if I’d ever get over that feeling.

I let my mind run there, though.  Would Roman and I work?  We were great friends, and I couldn’t imagine a better
one, but it was hard for me to get over that friend sensation, to try to feel a sense of permanence and of something beyond the lust.  The problem was that my overwhelming feelings of friendship on the one side and crazy lust with no strings on the other were stopping me from thinking of more.

I knew I needed time.  I had to separate myself
from him for a bit and figure out what I wanted…what I
needed
, and because Roman
was
a good friend, I would need to find a way to tell him whatever decision I landed on.

He called Tuesday and, being my best friend, it didn’t take him long to sense that something was up.  “How’d grading go?”

“Fine.  I’m glad I have a couple weeks before starting all over again.”

“Me, too.
  Wanna celebrate?”

Normally, I’d ask what he had in mind, but not today.  “Actually, Roman, I need to spend a few days writing.  I haven’t really written in over a week and I need to get back to it.”

He was quiet.  I could feel the heaviness of the silence between us, something that had never existed before.  He wasn’t stupid, not by a long shot.  Roman was one of the smartest guys I knew.  “Need some space?”

I let out the air I’d been holding in
my lungs.  “Yeah.  Is that okay?”

“Yeah.”
  He was quiet for a minute, and I couldn’t think of what I wanted to say.  It was the first awkward moment ever in my friendship with Roman.  We had
never
had a moment of silence that felt weird.  Of course, it had been rare for us to be without anything to say, but the few times we’d been in that situation, things had never felt odd.

They did now. 
Boy, did they.  Fortunately, he—being the master psychologist and great best friend—knew what to say.  He already knew what was in my head, and if I thought he didn’t, I was fooling myself.  “You deciding you don’t like the idea of having a substitute boyfriend?”

“No, that’s not it.”

“Your emotions are getting muddy?”

Goddammit
.  How did he know that when I myself hadn’t even quite put my finger on it yet?  He was right, though, and there was no denying it.  If I did, I was only lying to myself.  I was having a hard time figuring out how Roman fit into my life, now that we’d crossed that line, and what if I decided I wanted to return to friends only?  Would that work?  Would Roman be okay with that?  “Yeah, I guess they are.”

I could almost hear him shrug.  “Take the time you need.”  In the next few seconds of silence, though, I could hear the regret in his voice.  No, not quite regret. 
Sadness?  He wasn’t letting on.  Maybe it was because of our friendship that I knew that’s where his brain was, but I just knew—I knew he had more he wanted to say but didn’t trust himself.

Yeah, that was a first.  I’d never been able to read Roman, not that I’d ever had need to, because we’d always been open and honest with one another, but I guessed that maybe now we were a little more vulnerable—or he was, at any rate.  I felt like a real asshole, but I knew I really did need space, and if I didn’t take it, nothing between us would ever be the same…or be as good.  Before we hung up, he said, “I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

I had only one question, one that I wouldn’t ask aloud.  Was that my
friend
Roman talking or my substitute boyfriend?

* * *

As though he were a vulture sensing my vulnerability, Ridley flew back into my life the very next day.  He called my cell phone and I stared at the lit-up screen, trying to decide if I wanted to answer or not.  Whether he knew it or not, Ridley had almost broken my heart, and I didn’t know if I wanted his poison back in my life or not.

So I let it go to voicemail.

In typically Ridley fashion, he did not leave a message.

But, damn
him, just having called made me start thinking about him.  Hardcore.  Roman had been the substitute boyfriend for the pretend boyfriend Ridley, and, until two short months ago, Ridley was the man I’d been trying to sweet talk into a more serious relationship: to be a
real
boyfriend.

His timing sucked.

Or maybe it was perfect.  I didn’t know…but he got my brain working overtime.  I started remembering all the good times we’d had together (granted, they’d been staged, all except for the first one, but who was counting?) and his insanely good looks.  I refused to call, though…and, believe me, I was tempted.  I really had no reason not to—it was only my pride holding me back.

But then he texted…and I could no longer resist.

Lizzie?

I stared at that one word on my phone screen until it blacked out again, but I could still see it in my head.  It pissed me off that he was calling me
Lizzie
again, except now I realized I’d kind of missed it.

So I decided I’d give him a call…but I’d make him sweat a little first.

I held my cell tightly in my hand and I thought of Roman.  He and I had enjoyed a hell of a summer, but I felt a little bad about considering Ridley.  I don’t know why.  Roman and I were still friends—were
just
friends.  Hell, he’d even gone so far as to name himself my
substitute boyfriend
…so this should be no big deal, right?

Right.

I called Ridley.  I could almost hear the smirk in his voice.  “Lizzie, baby.  How you been?”

Just hearing his cockiness made the inner bitch in me flare, but I decided not to go there.  Part of me thought he might experience sadistic enjoyment from my suffering, and if I felt the need to rub his nose in the fact that I’d been well-sexed for the past couple of months, he might figure out that it was a defensive maneuver.  Best to not say anything that came from an emotional corner of my heart. 
“Fine.”

“I’ve missed you.”

Whoa.  That felt heavy.

But part of me didn’t believe him.  If he’d missed me, why had he not come around for weeks?  I was skeptical.  “Bullshit.”

“Aw, Liz.  I did.  I missed you…but you didn’t want me around, did you?”

No, that wasn’t it.  I hadn’t thought much about him.  Between the condensed summer class schedule and Roman’s antics (not to mention my insane writing schedule), I hadn’t had much time to think about him.  Roman was a huge (
and welcome) distraction.  “I didn’t say that.”

“No, but I know you didn’t.”  He paused.  “What about now?”  I took a deep breath, trying to decide how to respond.  While my heart wasn’t at that point yet, this guy had t
he potential to destroy it.  I had a duty to protect it, because even though I could write the hell out of an angsty plotline, I didn’t need it in my life.  I couldn’t write when I was sad or depressed.  Before I could respond, he said, “Don’t answer yet.  I’m coming over.  You can tell me in person.”  He hung up before I could respond.

Oh, no.  What had I done?