Nuclear Heat (Firework Girls #4) by J. L. White Read Free Book Online

a fucking torch for my best friend, my relationship with Emily would be fine.
    You know, fine.
    Sam’s a closed door. Why mess things up with Emily just so I can have even more time to stare longingly at a closed door?
    No, if anything, Emily’s my ticket to sanity. I just need to give myself time to get closer to her so I don’t have to be in love with Sam anymore.
    It’s a sensible plan.
    Sam and I simply need to go back to just being friends, like we’ve been for years.
    Scratch that. I’m the one who needs to go back to just being friends. Sam’s still there. Probably will always be there. The fact that that makes me want to tear down her wall with my bare hands is not her fault.
    I need to get it together. I can not risk losing this friendship. I need her.
    Although...
    There are those moments when I wonder if maybe she wouldn’t mind more with me. I mean, I think I could make her happy. It’s not so crazy, is it?
    I was fishing last night at Rounders. I couldn’t help it. Sometimes my fantasies about being with her get the better of me. But I wish I hadn’t asked about relationships. Her answer was fucking depressing.
    Yet, here I am again, sledgehammer in hand, half a wall in bits all over the floor, and all I can think about is Sam over there in her short shorts and tank top. Doesn’t she know how good she looks? Is she trying to torment me?
    I take aim, pull the sledgehammer back, and crash it into the wall with every bit of strength and every drop of sexual frustration I have.
    It barely helps.
    I can’t stop wishing for her.
    I’m starting to consider drastic measures.
     

     
    That night we’re celebrating the successful removal of a wall with Chinese takeout and a movie. We’re watching The Illusionist , one of Sam’s favorites. I like it too, but I mostly agreed to it this night because I remembered it has a great love scene that I’m hoping I can use to my advantage.
    If I have the balls to pull it off.
    My heart’s pounding a mile a minute. I can’t believe Sam can’t hear it, leaning on my chest the way she is.
    We’re in the standard movie-watching position. This is how it works, and it’s the same with all the Firework Girls. I pick any spot on the couch I want, the middle or the corner, depending on my mood. I stretch my legs on the coffee table and my arms on the back of the couch and settle in. Ahhh. Comfort.
    Then those girls can lay all over me however they want. Usually they just lean against my chest. I don’t put my arms around them, because then that’s kind of like snuggling. I don’t know. It’s just a line we don’t cross.
    None of this has ever been spoken about or written down in some “Jack’s Harem Rule Book.”
    But I think we all understand it well enough.
    So, yeah. Sam’s in her teeny shorts and her tank and her goddamned amazing breasts are pressed right against my side. Her head’s on my chest and she smells all delicious. My arms are right where they’re supposed to be, on the back of the couch, and my dick should get a fucking gold medal for the endurance it’s taking not to be as stiff as a board right now.
    About a minute before the love scene I know is coming, I pull my hands up as if to rest them behind my head. Another acceptable position. But while my left hand goes behind my head, I casually rest my right hand on her shoulder, my forearm settling against her bare upper arm.
    Yes, I realize this is kind of like the junior high yawn-and-stretch move, but she’s not glaring at me or protesting yet, so fuck off.
    The love scene begins at last and this is my chance. Because as much as Sam likes to be a hard-ass, I’ve seen her get all mushy over love scenes just like the rest of the girls, even if she tries to hide it.
    And it’s a hell of a scene, too. Tasteful and understated, with just the right amount of eroticism.
    My hand’s still on Sam’s shoulder. She’s perfectly still. So am I. Except my index finger slowly reaches out and touches