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"This is the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen," Dylan mumbles.
"Really? I mean...I guess it's kinda hot..." I shrug.
"Are you fucking kidding me? Look at her! I mean, she's not really attractive to me but the way she moves and rubs all up on him...damn. I would probably come in my pants if a girl ever did that to me."
My laugh drowns out the sounds from the tv and I clutch my sides. Death Proof is mine and Dylan's favorite movie. I can't even count how many times we've seen it and he's never mentioned this.
"Wow thanks for that visual, bud."
"Have you ever given a guy a lap dance?"
"No way. You know I won't do stuff like that."
"You should...you sure as hell have the body for it," his eyes trail down my bare legs that are stretched out, my feet resting on the coffee table.
"Yeah right, I'll do that as soon as you give a girl flowers."
"You know my thoughts on flowers. Why would you give someone something that's going to die in a couple days? Like 'Here's these plants to express how much I love you...that will die by Friday.' So pointless."
"Oh I'm very aware of your weird thing about flowers. Have you forgotten how long I've known you?" I chuckle as I stuff my mouth with popcorn.
"Tarantino is the fucking man. I would give my left nut to work with him," he absentmindedly scratches his fingers over his scruffy jawline. God I fucking hate when he does that...no that's a complete lie. I fucking love when he does that.
"You never know, you may get the chance one day. Keep the dream, bud, keep the dream," I wink at him and pat his knee.
"God, I love when you're sarcastic. Your smart mouth just makes me wanna bend you over the couch and fuck you senseless," his eyes darken fractionally and he pulls his lips between his teeth.
I'm thrown for half a second and I start picturing exactly what he described; me, bent over the back of the couch as he pounds me from behind while pulling my hair in a tight fist. Fuck.
"Where do you think I picked it up?" I raise an eyebrow at him and blow a kiss. Dylan shakes his head and that little smirk graces his face.
Why the hell does he have to say shit like that? He's always been this way, it's just how he is. He's a huge flirt. Girls just fawn over him. But I'm used to it. That's what happens when your best friend becomes famous. But it hasn't changed him, he's still the same old, nerdy, spastic Dylan to me. Other than the slight confidence boost that magnifies his ability to flirt by like a million. It's become a problem...at least on my end. But I've made a promise to myself that I will not be the one to ruin our friendship because I have feelings for him. I won't be the one to initiate anything. So, I bury my feelings and when he says shit like he just did? I go home and destroy my vagina thinking about it. It's the only way to cope.
"Okay, I gotta go. Always a pleasure, Slim," Dylan smiles and leans over, gently squeezing my thigh as he plants a sloppy, wet kiss on my cheek.
"Ugh! Jeez that was like a Chewie kiss!" I wipe my hand across my cheek as my floppy-eared Bloodhound perks his head up from his bed on the floor when I say his name.
