Free Handled by Angela Graham

food. It’s sickeningly sweet, like that fourth fruity drink that’s no longer as tangy as it is syrupy, yet I can’t help the smile that escapes.
    “Admit it, who’s your hero?” Vaughn asks cheekily, flinging himself down beside me in Amelia’s now open spot on the couch, shooing Lucy off my lap, and handing me a plate. “Dig in, babe, I’m starving,” he leans over and to my complete shock, kisses my cheek, moving his mouth to my ear where he gravelly whispers, “for another taste of you.”
    “I’m already full.” My smile is weak and contrived, the truth brimming at the surface. “You go ahead, though.” I hand him back the bag of food, inching away, then lean forward to set the plate on the table. “In fact, I’m actually really tired. I was just headed to bed.”
    I leap up, ready to say goodnight and rush from the room to the haven of my own, when Shaw’s skeptical gaze meets mine. His head tilts the slightest bit, one eyebrow raising— shit , he really is a smart guy, missing nothing.
    It dawns on me; I’d said I wasn’t hungry, then I was full, couldn’t fall asleep, now ready for bed. I’m a cowardly, contradictive liar and he knows it.
    “I’ll tuck you in.” Vaughn stands, wrapping an arm around my waist. “You feel okay, right? Not sick or anything?”
    “No.” I shake my head, eyes cast to the floor. “Just beat. You stay, eat. I’ll talk to you later.”
    “Paige, I’ll—”
    “Vaughn,” Shaw interrupts mercifully, “I need to talk to you for a minute. She’ll be fine.” He kisses Amelia’s hand, lifting her up as he rises then setting her back on the chair alone. His head jerks toward the kitchen for Vaughn to follow him. “It’s important.”
    Vaughn sighs, reaching out like he’s about to pull me in for an embrace, confusion suddenly crossing his expression. His arms drop. “Right,” he murmurs to himself then steps forward and presses a kiss to the top of my head. I don’t stop him, instead reveling in the tender act. “You know where to find me.”

    It’s over an hour later when I hear him attempt to open the bedroom door, rattling the knob, since of course I’m still lying here wide awake. I’m surprised he’s even trying. I figured Shaw filled him in on my bullshit lying, which he should, since he’s his friend…but it seems not.
    Or maybe Vaughn’s libido has him denying what’s really going on. Not that I fault him. The temptation of him right outside my door coupled with the carnal knowledge of how we go from solely ordinary to joined extraordinary is almost unbearable.
    “Paige,” he whispers, tugging at the heart I didn’t know still worked, but I don’t respond.
    It’s better this way—a clean break.
    “Come on, Firecracker. Can’t we at least talk? What’s wrong with being friends?”
    Friends? We both know that’s no longer an option. Sucks, really, ‘cause we’d have made damn fine ones. He gets me, the real me. No thrills needed to hold an actual conversation. I want to tell him that. Right now. But I know if I unlock the door it won’t just be my room I let him into. It will be granting him access to a deeper place, one that won’t lead anywhere good. A place of hope and expectations…that always ends up in “when will you fucking learn” flames.
    No, for the sake of everyone, all I can hope for is cordial amnesia. Or a winning lottery ticket so I can quietly exit their lives.
    He fiddles with the knob and says my name once more. “You win, Paige.” His voice is riddled with irritation and I listen as his heavy footsteps walk away.
    I toss and turn, staving off the memories of his sweaty body sliding against mine, explicit grumbles making demands in my ear as he enters me, the ridge of his head bumping over every spot I love, and beg sleep to rescue me.
    But the Sandman’s MIA, depraved bastard, and I’m unable to shake the lucid visions in my head, or resist, and right when my creeping fingers hit my panty line, I