Safe With Me

He pinned my shoulders to the floor and straddled me. "That's not gonna stop me. I've seen it all
before."

He was lying. Not about seeing me topless, I was fairly certain he'd copped an eyeful on more than
one occasion. He was lying about fishing out his phone. There was no way he'd do that.

"Go on then." I said, and tried to jiggle my boobs, offering them to him while I winked and did my
best pout. The look of true shock on his face made it worth it.

My giggles and wide eyes only made him madder, I knew I was pushing it, but I couldn't resist. He
was just so easy to shock, so easy to get worked up. It was one of the many things I adored about
Martin.

I stuck my tongue out and tried a bit harder to control my laughter. Even I was aware just how
immature I was for 23.

"Chicken," I said. My manic half whispered clucking sounds were interrupted by Laura, his fiancé,
and Gregg, his cousin, telling us to shut up. They were on the sofa, watching some lame reality TV
show that was about to reach yet another totally expected but unexpected conclusion. They were
completely uninterested in us, although I'm pretty sure my chicken sounds were Oscar worthy.

"What are you hiding from me, Marty?" My whisper was at least fifty percent laughter now. There
must have been something juicy on that phone of his. Something he really didn't want me to see.

Martin Simonson was my first best friend, he was also my second best friend’s fiancé.

Along with being my neighbour and workmate. We had known each other our whole lives and were closer

than brother and sister.

I had managed to crack the password on his phone and was just about to scan his messages when he
caught me. I tried to run, and almost made it to the bathroom when he tackled me. I hit the ground
hard, the wind punched out of me. I feigned pain, just a quiet whimper that almost resulted in a nifty
escape.

Now, I was at his mercy, even though I knew he'd never in a million years stick his hand down my top
to retrieve his phone. Actually, it was his top. I always claimed his t shirts as my own. There was
simply nothing better than a too big, well worn, boys t-shirt.

"Give me my phone." He leaned closer, so close I could feel his breath against my face. " I mean it,
Fleur."

The heat from his body was suddenly overpowering. His presence blocking out too much light. I
wriggled and my top hitched up, exposing my stomach. I saw him look down and the air shifted.

His eyes on my new tattoo, three words he had no idea I'd just made permanent. I caught a whiff of his
cologne and all of a sudden I didn't want his phone anymore. I didn't want to look at his lame photos
and boring messages.

I wanted him to kiss me, which was as crazy a notion as I'd ever had. And I'd had plenty.

The fact his fiancé was ten metres away glued to the television made my stomach roll.

I knew she couldn't see us but a wave of guilt still rocketed through my body. The fact I was even
thinking about him in that way made me question my sanity. I tried to shove him, bucking my hips
and grabbing at him with flappy hands still pinned underneath his knees. I couldn't move.

"I'll give it to you. Just get off." I said.