Chapter 8 Friend-Zoned

ELOISE

I did spend the entire ride thinking about what he said. I thought about it again while I pushed food around my plate at dinner, and I was still thinking about it hours later, staring at the ceiling and begging sleep to come.

I didn't know how a simple statement could wreck my entire mood, but it had. If only Nonso knew the kind of effect he had on me.

I'd thought about it so much that I eventually told Lillian, and she gave me the term "friend-zoned."

I knew what it meant, but I searched it up anyway. "When you like someone romantically, but they only see you as a FRIEND."

But I'd watched enough shows to know that friends end up together most of the time. So Nonso and I did stand a chance, because we were destined to be together.

I was cuddled up in my bed with the lamp dimmed, my duvet pulled to my chin, scrolling through Kensington College Instagram posts with Nonso tagged in them. He had his own account, but his last post was from three years ago, a photo of a pair of worn boxing gloves hanging off a nail.

All I could say was "damn" each time I scrolled, because that man was devastatingly handsome. Seeing him shirtless was a sight to behold: broad shoulders slick with sweat, the muscles of his stomach cut like they'd been carved, wraps unraveling around his knuckles. I could print out one of the photos and paste it on my wall, but that would be considered creepy.

I was many things, but a creep wasn't one.

I saved all of the photos and thought about making one my wallpaper, but like I said before, I was no creep.

I got up from bed to go pee and noticed my thighs were slick with my own juices. The bathroom light was harsh against my skin, and I stood there for a moment, breathing, before the urge took over. I reached down, and the second I caressed my sex, his face was the only thing I saw.

The sweat trickling down his skin after a fight. That attractive grin that could send any girl into a coma. I circled my sex gently and bit my lip when a moan threatened to escape.

I imagined his hand instead of mine, his lips on my neck while he caressed me and whispered that name I hate. "Fuck," I cursed as my clit throbbed with need.

I dipped a finger inside me and pumped slowly, leaning back against the cold tile. I threw my head back and closed my eyes, rocking against my hand with everything I had. A moan slipped, and I couldn't hold the rest after that, so I let them out. It was as if my brain couldn't conjure any word other than his name.

"Nons—Argh, fuck." I came hard, my eyes rolling back and my body shaking from the force of it, my knees threatening to give out.

I pulled out my finger and washed away my release. I took a shower too, letting the hot water ease the tremble in my legs, then changed into another set of pajamas. I jumped back into bed and felt a hypnic jerk, knowing I was going to have the best sleep I'd had in weeks.

I should have felt ashamed of what I'd done, but I wasn't the tiniest bit. Girls did it all the time and it was no big deal.

I tried falling asleep, but I got thirsty. For water, not the other thing. I got up and headed downstairs to the kitchen, the house quiet and dark except for the glow spilling from the living room and the sound of a video game. Oliver had finally decided to come downstairs. I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge first, and the memory of him refusing to drop me off that morning came rushing back. I was still mad at him.

I couldn't see his body since he was lying flat on the couch. I crept up behind him, and before I could recognize who it was, I'd already emptied the bottle over him.

"What the fuck?" Nonso jolted up from the couch and I pressed a hand to my mouth. He dropped the console and stared at me, confused. "Why did you do that?"

I shook my head. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know it was you, I swear. I thought it was Oliver."

His irritation was so obvious I wanted to melt into the tile and stay there. Water dripped from his chin and down his neck. He looked down at his drenched shirt, then back at me.

"Why would you pour water on Oliver in the first place?" he asked, his brows drawn together.

"For not dropping me off at school this morning," I admitted, rubbing my arm. "I didn't know you were here."

He was still mad. I could feel it. "I arrived not too long ago."

So he'd been downstairs the whole time I was making myself come to his name. Did he hear me? He couldn't possibly have, right?

"I'm not supporting Oliver, but if you don't want to be treated like a kid, don't act like one."

"I wasn't acting like a kid."

"Then explain this," he said, tugging at his shirt. "An adult wouldn't do something so stupid."

My jaw dropped at his insult. "I said I was sorry."

He picked up the console and paused the game, then pulled his shirt off in one smooth motion. I turned away immediately, like I hadn't just seen it on my phone. I wondered what it would look like in real time, though, and the glimpse I'd caught from the corner of my eye was already enough to make my pulse stumble.

"Do you need me to get you one of Oliver's shirts?" I asked, my voice laced with apology. "It's cold."

"There's no need for that," he said, leaving no room for argument. "It's late. You should be asleep."

"Goodnight." I mumbled it to the floor and hurried toward the stairs.

"And Ruby?" he called, stopping me in my tracks. I turned around, forcing myself to meet his eyes without letting mine wander lower. "Whatever you're watching upstairs, turn the volume down, please.”