More Than Friends

Hannah

I felt Adam’s stare before I heard him. I was on the swing, lazily tracing arcs in the cold air beneath the tree, wondering how long it would take him to mock me for abandoning the warm house and the risqué game that had begun at the party inside.

Our biting, sarcastic jabs probably looked borderline hostile to outsiders, but our back-and-forth repartee had become my favorite part of these nights. He was my best friend and my safety blanket; I think he felt the same, too even if he’d sooner die than admit it. The guy was a vault.

“Why are you hiding out here?”

Metal shrieked against concrete as he dragged an old lawn chair to the edge of the grass behind me.

“You know where that was heading,” I said.

Inside, the crowd had started to play a game a little too hedonistic for my taste. The rules were simple: detail the best kiss you’d ever had, dissecting the exact technique that made it unforgettable, then choose a partner to recreate it on the spot. If your performance matched the standard of the last pair, you could force anyone at the table to take a shot. If you failed to deliver—or lost your nerve—the penalty was yours. The room was already shifting, charged with the promise of a very public exhibition.

I had escaped before the horror truly started. That wasn’t my scene. Despite his silence, I knew t wasn’t Adam’s either. Why else would he follow me out into the biting chill of the backyard just minutes after I slipped away, rather than staying inside with the pretty, intoxicated girls ogling him?

The swing rope jerked. I looked up to find Adam’s hand gripped right above mine, his face inches away.

“What, you have something against swapping spit with a bunch of drunk acquaintances?”

“Mono, for one,” I said.

Adam laughed, his hand pressing into my back to send me soaring into the dark. “Who do you think the winner will be?” he asked, his tone dropping into a mock-serious whisper.

“Whoever doesn’t wake up with a cold sore tomorrow.’ I said, sarcastically.

Truthfully, my mind wasn’t on the kissing game inside; it was on my ride. Lori was supposed to be our designated driver, but she was already hammered. The responsibility of the keys was going to fall to me. That was the OTHER reason I was out here, letting the biting fall wind sting my face—I was praying the cold would sober me up enough to pour her into the passenger seat and get her home safely. How I would get myself back afterward was a problem for future Hannah.

Adam leaned in closer, his gaze locked onto mine. “What about you?” The quiet intensity in his voice felt far too much like an interrogation.

“Do I have a cold sore?” I quipped, dodging the trap.

He let out a dry scoff. “Come on. Tell me about your best kiss. I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

I shrugged and stared at my shoes, hoping to steer the topic away. “You’ve had one, you’ve had them all.”

The rope swing shuddered and abruptly died. He grabbed the ropes, his torso bracing against my back and cutting off my momentum before I could swing away again.

He stepped out from behind the swing and walked around to stand in front of me. Grabbing the thick ropes on either side of me, he leaned in and looked down at me.

Adam was a certified heartthrob who had absolutely no idea how handsome he was; Tall, dark thick hair, muscular, beautiful brown eyes. He was also armed with a macabre, deadpan wit. He routinely dropped playful barbs that flew right over most everyone’s heads. But behind the exterior lay an introverted, insecure guy who still froze like a deer in headlights whenever a woman looked his way. I suspected it was because he was trapped in his old skin. His brother, Barry, never let him forget he’d been overweight until a brutal divorce in his late thirties spurred a recent fitness obsession. Because Barry’s teasing never stopped, Adam remained blind to his own looks. When he finally wakes up to reality, God help us all—his ego is going to be insufferable.

‘You can’t really mean that.’ he said, his voice dropping to a low, quiet hum ,“Are you telling me you’ve gone your whole life without anyone having kissed you properly?”

“What do you care?” I scoffed.

“Hard to believe there hasn’t been a standout kiss from at least one of the many, many coke-addled boozers you’ve hooked up with over the years.’’ He teased.

It was a total lie—I was practically a prude and he knew it - I hadn’t even been kissed in years, let alone slept with anyone. I leaned in anyway. “Well, your dad was pretty talented with his tongue. You know, before he kicked the bucket.”

The jab was hollow. His father had died long before I came around, a miserable prick Adam hadn’t spoken to since he was a teenager.

“Damn, Hannah,” Adam said, his voice entirely unbothered. “That was a little cold. Even for you.”

“Maybe you’re the common denominator.” His voice dropped into that familiar, mischievous lilt. “Maybe you’re just a mediocre kisser.”

‘Yeah, that’s what your dad said, too,’ I said in a pretend dejected voice as I got up and left him by the swing. Crossing to the porch, I tugged my zipper tight against the biting chill and sat, immediately reaching for my vape—desperate for the sting of nicotine.

He was right on my heels, sinking onto the steps beside me. He stretched his long muscular legs out, leaning back on his elbows.

“Why aren’t you in there?” I asked, keeping my voice low. “Maria’s been staring a hole through you all night. You’re an idiot if you don’t make a move.”

Adam just shook his head, but I wasn’t buying it. Who wouldn’t? Maria was gorgeous—29, fun and flirty, and built like a daydream. And she hadn’t exactly been subtle about wanting him.

I exhaled a slow cloud of vapor, watching him over my shoulder. He didn’t blink.

“Now THAT would be some kiss,” I teased, giving him the push he clearly needed.

“Maybe I’ve got my mind on someone else,” he countered, a quiet edge sharpening his voice.

I threw my hands up in mock defeat, the vape still clamped between my teeth. “Well. Excuse me, Romeo.”

“How are you getting home?” he asked.

I sighed, the sarcasm dry as ash. “Plan was to buy some blow off that finance bro boozer your buddy Dave brought along and undrunk myself. Then I’m putting Lori in her car and driving her home. If there’s an Uber available after that, I’ll take it.”

There wouldn’t be. Over two years in western Pennsylvania had taught me that much. The flurries were already starting, and by midnight, the roads would be empty. I’d probably wind up on Lori’s couch.

“I’ll follow you guys to Lori’s and then drive you home,” he said, his lips twitching as he fought back.

“Thanks. I’ll go wrangle her.” I leaned over and pinched his warm cheek with my frozen fingers and turned away, already bracing myself for the longest twenty minutes of my life. I hated driving at night, especially when it was snowing.

‘Keep your crypt keeper fingers to yourself, weirdo,’ he called out, his voice trailing me as I stepped through the back door.

***

I dropped Lori off without any trouble. Now I was in the passenger seat of Adam’s truck, peeling off my jacket and sweatshirt. He had the dial cranked so high the air felt like a physical weight, turning the cab into a rolling Sahara.

Fat, heavy flakes began to crowd the air, already blanketing the asphalt. Adam’s place was deeper in the rural outskirts than I was, and I felt a sharp pang of guilt. Taking me home meant a detour, one that could trap him on dangerous roads.

“Are you going to be okay, A?” The worry in my voice was impossible to hide.

He chuckled, “You soft for me, Hannah?”

“Maddeningly,” I retorted, letting a playful edge mask my nerves.

‘I’ll stay at your place,’ he said.

A little over two years ago, a disastrous divorce drove me out of New York on a desperate exit strategy. This town was pretty much the only zip code where my remaining budget could buy a piece of real estate outright. I hadn’t fought my ex for a dime. Instead, I walked away with only my personal savings leaving him every single joint account—even though I’d contributed the lion’s share to them. I just wanted to be rid of him as fast as possible and get away.

While working remotely kept my career perfectly intact through the relocation, my social life suffered immediate, flatlining cardiac arrest.

Enter Adam, his brother Barry, and their friend Dave. I met them during my second week in town when my friend Angela came to visit. We had wandered into a local bar, where Barry and Dave immediately spent the next two hours tag-teaming her with terrible pick-up lines. Meanwhile, Adam and I stumbled into an argument over something stupid—a petty bickering session that somehow became the foundation of our entire friendship. We just clicked.

We were both in our thirties, divorced, and carrying that heavy, specific silence that settles after a marriage collapses. It’s funny what draws people together, but shared wreckage is a powerful magnet. His wife had stepped out on him and just up and left, just like my husband had done to me. The difference? He could snap his fingers and land a twenty-year-old rebound. I, on the other hand, felt like expired milk. Statistically, a thirty-something female divorcee in rural western Pennsylvania has a better chance of being struck by lightning while getting mauled by a great white shark than landing a date.

Not that I was looking. But I sometimes wondered why he wasn’t—at least, not that I knew of.

Over the last couple of years, we became permanent fixtures in each other’s lives, and I’d grown fiercely fond of him. At first, hanging out platonically with a bona fide hottie felt bizarre. But Adam shattered every stereotype immediately. Looking at him, you might expect an arrogant womanizer, but he was genuinely kind, incredibly down-to-earth, and whip-smart.

I’ll admit I sometimes thought about him in a not-so-platonic way, but I knew he would never cross that line. I wasn’t the kind of girl he would ever be interested in anyway. Besides, I truly valued his friendship. He was genuine, and we had bonded in a way you just don’t with sexual partners—or at least none that I had ever had. I actually trusted him.

He pulled up to my house, a little farmhouse-style place hidden in the trees. It wasn’t exactly the middle of nowhere, but the nearest “city” was the glorified town which just came from twenty minutes down the road.

The house was cold, so Adam went straight for the fireplace while I dropped my bag in the kitchen to start a late dinner. Tomorrow was the first of nine free days—no alarms, no work—which felt like the perfect excuse to crack open the whiskey. I poured two glasses and left his on the table.

When he strolled in a few minutes later, a faint smoky scent clinging to his shirt, he picked up the whiskey and leaned against the counter.

“What fresh hell are you making us?” he asked incredulously.

I knew it was a compliment wrapped in a provocation. He loved my food. Yet, like a rookie, I bit anyway.

“A little something called Fuck your Face.” The retort tasted a little more bitter than I meant. I was crabby from having to drive in the dark and snowy conditions and was taking it out on him. Across the counter, his glass froze at his lips. He watched me over the rim, a single eyebrow arched in challenge.

‘Sorry.’ I sighed.

The click of his glass meeting the table was my only warning. Then he was behind me, his arms looping around my waist and his chin coming to rest on my shoulder. I froze. We weren’t the kind of friends that held each other this way. Ever. The strangeness of it locked the air in my lungs—but the real shock was how easily I leaned into his warmth, even if only for a second.

Fresh Hell, indeed.

I nudged an elbow into his ribs, trying to edge closer to the counter and catch the breath he’d just stolen from me. But Adam didn’t budge. He kept his arms looped securely around me, matching my step forward.

A wave of panic caught in my throat. I turned my head, leaning back just enough to look at him, and forced out a laugh that sounded entirely too thin. “What are you, high on Mollie or something?” I asked, trying to pretend I wasn’t terrified.

Or utterly breathless. Oh God. Was I into Adam? Well, yeah, obviously I told myself.

He grunted out a laugh and the warmth of his hands traveled from my waist to my hips, anchoring me for one breathless second more before he stepped away. Left exposed, my face burned. I snatched up my glass and downed it hoping to calm my nerves.

My back remained firmly turned to him as I set my empty glass on the counter. I listened intently—his approaching footsteps, the crack of the bottle opening, the heavy pour. Then, he was right there. He closed his hand over mine to guide my fingers back around the glass. The briefest brush of his skin sent an electric spark straight through me, pooling warm in my stomach. Lunging for a distraction, I poured all my energy into the Alfredo sauce, stirring the pan as if my life depended on it. I saw him from my peripheral leaning against the fridge, his muscular arms crossed watching me cook.

I drained the pasta, tossed it in the heavy cream sauce, and divided it between two plates. As I carried them into the living room, I hoped the rest of the night would follow our usual script. We’d huddle on the couch like savages, shoveling food into our mouths while some old sci-fi or action movie flickered on the screen—a routine we’d repeated a hundred times before.

Adam followed me in. Avoiding his eyes, I handed him his plate and the remote. I was completely flustered, my mind stubbornly trapped in a loop, thinking about how incredible his big, strong hands had felt on my body.

When he sat down beside me, the space between us vanished. I had my legs tucked under me, leaving my toes resting against the warmth of his thigh. Every breath felt charged, sending faint electric shocks rippling beneath my skin as I tried—and failed—to focus on the movie while we ate.

Using the dishes as an excuse, I retreated to the kitchen and left him on the couch. I was drying the final plate, seconds away from turning off the light, when I turned and caught my breath.

Adam blocked the exit, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed.

“Holy fuck, you scared me,” I breathed, cursing the sudden spike in my pulse.

“You didn’t answer my question earlier.” A slow, wicked grin spread across his face.

“Huh?” I blinked, my brain stalling out completely.

“Have you never been kissed properly Hannah?” His voice dropped an octave, thick with an intensity that made my skin prickle. The look in his eyes was entirely new.

He was playing with me. Fine. Two could play that game.

With a pop of my hip and a slight arch of my back, I tilted my chin to the side. I aimed to draw eyes to my chest, letting my voice drop into a playful, come-hither lilt.

‘What? Are you offering?’ I said pitching my voice into a sweet, seductive lilt.