Two twin beds. One childhood bedroom. Fifteen years of friendship we never questioned.
I came home for a wedding, not to end up sleeping three feet from my best friend in my parents’ house. And now we’re back in my old room, surrounded by yearbooks and band posters and everything we used to be.
We’re both straight. At least, that’s what I’ve always believed. But the way he kissed me in the parking lot made my knees weak, and now I can’t stop thinking about his mouth.
He’s my best friend. The one person I can’t lose. But every look he gives me says he’s feeling it too, and I don’t know how much longer I can pretend I’m not.
If his hand lands on my thigh one more time, I’m done. I’ll pin him to the floor between those beds and show him exactly what fifteen years have been building toward.
