less than lovers (h.s.)

four

There's nothing like the feeling of your best friend's dick poking into your back to wake you up in the morning.

Pair that with the sobering realization that we were both stark naked, not to mention the rising bile in my throat...it was shaping up to be the worst morning of my life, and it wasn't even nine yet.

The sound of Harry snoring loudly into my neck told me that he was still fast asleep. The problem was, we were in my bedroom. It wasn't like I could exactly run out and hide. Eventually, he was going to wake up and be swarmed with memories from last night. And even if said memories were fuzzy, he would have the evidence of my naked body curled up into his to serve as final proof: we had done the deed.

I had sex with my best friend.

Granted, I couldn't remember much of the night—which, I guess, was a good thing—but that was beside the point. Throughout our two and a half year friendship, I had sworn up and down that things between Harry and I were completely platonic. When Liv, my best friend, expressed her doubt about me moving in with him, I had assured her that nothing was ever going to happen between us. And now...well, now I was nothing more than a hypocrite. A hypocrite who had just had sex with her best friend.

Fuck. There would be time to beat myself up for this later, but for now, I needed to figure out what to do with Harry in my bed. It wasn't like I could just roll him up in the quilt and throw him into his room. But I also had no interest in being present when he did wake up and come to the realization that we had, in fact, slept together.

Eventually, I decided my best move would be to hide in the bathroom until he woke up. Hopefully, he wouldn't be asleep for much longer. He rarely slept in as it was, so if I was lucky—

"BEEP. BEEP. BEEP."

My hopes and dreams of avoiding confrontation were crushed by the sound of Harry's phone alarm going off on the bedside table. Of course. It was a game day. He always woke up at nine on game days.

I quickly squeezed my eyes shut, figuring that if he was going to wake up, I may as well pretend to be asleep—hopefully, he would make the quick walk of shame from my room to his without us ever having to exchange morning pleasantries. However, it seemed that luck clearly was not on my side, because all of a sudden, there was a hand groping at my breast—my bare breast, may I add.

"Morni—"

I let out a piercing shriek that was probably too loud for nine in the morning, but my level of volume was the last thing on my mind right now. "What the fuck are you doing?" I screamed, scrambling to cover myself in bed sheets.

"Fuck!" Harry shouted. He sat up so abruptly that he ended up banging his head on the headboard. I might have laughed, had the circumstances been different. "What the f...I forgot that it was you, okay!"

His eyes flickered down to my chest for a second, and I quickly gripped the sheets around me tightly, my whole face turning hot. "Don't grab my tits. Don't look at my tits. Don't even think about my tits."

"I'm not fucking thinking about your tits," he snapped. "Can we just stop talking about them?"

"You started it," I mumbled. "You're the one who grabbed—"

"For fuck's sake," Harry groaned. "I told you, I forgot that it was you!"

"How can you—you know what, never mind."

He hesitated, cracking his knuckles nervously. He was blinking incessantly, staring at absolutely anything he could find, all so that he could avoid looking at me. I couldn't blame him, because I was doing the same thing. There was no getting around it. We'd slept together. We now knew what the other person looked like naked. For fuck's sake, he'd just grabbed my tit less than five minutes ago.