Hate Mates

2 | friendship

friendship

Ryle's Toyota groaned to a stop near Paloma Greens, a forty stories apartment building in upstate New York that nursed the residence of Cate Miller. The silence between them inside the car was heavier with the utter quietness of their surroundings, buzzing the space between them with light-headed bewilderment.

It was way past midnight. The lights of the building were all out. The darkness was only cut by a street light under which Ryle parked his car.

He was gnawing on his bottom lip while tapping his fingers over the steering wheel. Beside him, Cate turned to step out of the car. His heart thudded in alert and he locked the doors before she could escape.

He saw her shoulders tense. She shifted her gaze towards his, her big, brown eyes a temptation that he tore his attention off as quickly as possible. He couldn't face her in such awkward moments when they only had each other for company. She looked stunning today, with her pretty pink dress, and golden hooves in her ears. Her hair, black as a raven's, tempted him to curl the strands around his palm, drag her towards him and smash their lips together.

Blood charted a way down to his dick which was getting shamelessly aroused with just the thought of having Cate's lips around it. Ryle knew they had untamed sexual tension between them; at least that is what his colleagues in the office teased him about. But he couldn't succumb to it, nor could she. There was more at stake if they ever ended up sharing a bed.

She was his rival. If he succumbed, the ball would be in her court.

"We should talk about what happened," he said thickly, swallowing the lump that had formed in his dry throat.

"Let me out," she retorted. "Will talk outside."

"If I let you out, you'll just head straight for your apartment. I know you, kitty Cate. You like running away from your problems."

Cate's nose flared. She huffed as she crossed her arms under her round breasts which distracted him with their rise and fall under the satin she wore. He brushed those thoughts with a shake of his head. Thinking about Cate in that light could only be done when he was safely under his covers at night, with lube in one hand while his other hand was wrapped around his dick.

"Speak," she commanded him, looking ahead and avoiding facing him.

Her voice, velvety and smooth with an edge of Southern accent to it, targeted his brain to make him hear her imaginary moans when she would be under him.

"Let's start with a less awkward topic," he spoke with alacrity. "I didn't like the manuscript you sent me. The sex was too bland on the page."

Sex. Great way to change the topic. He had just made it more awkward now.

Cate's lips formed an O as she looked at him. Her cheeks were a faint shade of red and he could determine that he was already getting on her nerves. So much for being friends. She wasn't at all impressed by the lies he had cooked up for Sam. He had to force her to even accept a lift from him when he found her standing alone for the bus outside the hospital.

"It wasn't bland. It was deep and emotional," she said.

"It's the 21st century, kitty Cate. Writers should stop using 'his manhood' to describe cocks. Readers don't like that anymore."

The conversation was professional but he didn't miss the redness that grew on Cate's lovely cheeks. She dropped her gaze to her lap.

"I'll add that to my list of suggestions for Jessie."

"Include the fact that one can't have sex in a car without leaning the seat back first. It'd be suffocating."

"Of course, they can! Depends on the car," she argued.