"You're a real sport, Andrew; you know, helping me like this." Maya said. "Thanks so much." This last came out as a grunt. They were just settling the last piece of furniture, a fairly heavy couch, into place in Maya's new apartment.
"No problem. That's what friends do, you know." He flashed her a knowing smile, a kind of inside joke. Andrew had known Maya for just over seven years now, through most of which they'd been good friends. Maya considered him to be the closest thing she had to a brother.
"It's more than that, and you know it." Andrew shook his head at that, although they both knew it to be true. Maya's two roommates had bailed on her in as many months, each without fair warning, leaving her with the burden of paying three-thirds of the rent on the house they'd once shared. Despite a decent salary, that burden became too much for her. After three months of struggle, unable to find suitable roommates to share the load, Maya admitted to herself, and Andrew, that she needed a smaller space. The problem was all her stuff. She, Talia and Sheri had lived together for as long as Andrew had known them. Nine years' worth of furniture, clothes, appliances, art and knick-knacks had piled up in that two-story, three-bedroom house, most of it Maya's.
Since graduating college, most of Andrew and Maya's friends, mutual or otherwise, had moved away in search of jobs or cheap thrills, or both. They had been lucky enough to find good jobs in the city and remained behind, growing closer as friends (although Andrew often wished it were more). So when Maya was left with only a week to pack up and vacate the house, only Andrew remained to turn to for help. That he did so without question or complaint was a testament to their relationship, and the kind of man he was.
"Whatever." Andrew brushed aside her compliments with a grin. "It's no biggie. I'm just glad we got it all over here in time." Maya's prior landlord had threatened to change the locks and sell off her stuff if she wasn't out before the first of February. Considering the increasing lateness of the rent, Maya had no position from which to argue. "So, is everything where you want it?" Andrew stifled a yawn and flopped on the couch they'd just set down.
"Well, apparently it better be. Doesn't look like you're moving anymore." she laughed, then joined him. Despite her near exhaustion and aching muscles, Maya had the presence of mind to sit on the other side of the couch, with a cushion between them. The motion was unconscious, a triggered reaction she'd developed over the years. Andrew was a dear friend and would do anything for her, she knew. However, the sexual tension between them was palpable. It was clear in the way he looked at her sometimes, a glaze in the eye, or the way those eyes roved when he thought she didn't notice, that made it obvious to her. She didn't consider herself very pretty; heck, Talia had been prettier than her, and Sheri had gone to work for a modeling company in New York. But Andrew had only thrown them the occasional cursory look, as though it were expected. Sheri had even bitched about it one time, how he paid her no attention but fawned over Maya.
After sitting in comfortable silence for over ten minutes, Maya suddenly leaped off the couch as if something had stung her on the ass. Andrew, who had been dozing, jerked awake with a start. "What? What?"
"Let's get out of here." she said with a look around the cluttered living room. "I'm tired of looking at this stuff after hauling it all over here."
"Where do you want to go?" Andrew stood up and stretched, feeling every twinge prick at his shoulders and calves. Maya stretched and yawned, closing her eyes against similar pains he was sure she had to be feeling. He stared at her appreciatively. She might not think she's pretty, Andrew thought, but she sure looks damn sexy to me. Sweaty, smudged with dust, and hair askew, her arching form still drew admiration from him. A little too much admiration it seemed, from the sudden pressure on his fly. Before she could open her eyes again, he turned slightly, pretending to admire their handiwork.
"I'm too achy and tired to go out. Wanna grab drive-through and go to your place? Your TV is hooked up." She laughed again. "We could watch a movie or something. Sound good?" Andrew nodded, already grabbing his coat. He handed Maya's to her then slipped his on. "Mind if I crash there, too? If I wake up to all these boxes tomorrow I'm gonna get depressed."
"Yeah, no probs." Despite their platonic relationship, the two sometimes slept at one another's apartments, most often Andrew's. He lived single, and closer to all the restaurants and rental places. On rare occasions, usually when exhaustion took over, or the sleeping arrangements were limited, they'd even shared a bed. Andrew rarely slept those nights, unless he was really drunk, instead laying in silent agony, wanting so badly to just lay one finger on Maya and knowing he couldn't. Invariably, he'd awaken with a headache and blue balls.
Slipping into his pickup, he turned to Maya. "Want to drop by your old place and get your car?"
"Nah. Let it wait until tomorrow. I'm sure Mr. Langley won't mind. It's not as if anyone's living there right now." She snorted and buckled her seat belt.
"You know, he isn't your landlord anymore. You don't have to call him 'Mr. Langley'. Hell, you're an adult. Well, at least chronologically." She snorted again and slapped him on the shoulder. This was one of their tried-and-true routines, but this time Maya winced and gripped her shoulder.
"Uck. You got any aspirin at your place? My joints ache bad."
"Yeah, no probs." He keyed the ignition. "Let's get going. The faster we hit my place, the faster you can medicate yourself, you junkie." She snorted again, but refrained from smacking him.
"You know," he continued. "You really should learn to operate a stick."
"What?" She sounded shocked.
"Huh? What?" he answered. Then realization dawned. "Oh. I meant a stick shift. You know, standard transmission? Sheesh, I know I'm a pervert, but man... " Although not a prude, Maya was sensitive when it came to sexuality. She refrained from making or taking part in off-color jokes or conversation. Andrew knew she was just shy, a result of sheltering parents, and it wasn't really an adjustment to behave around her. But he was, in many ways, the polar opposite. He thought about sex often. He had a rich fantasy world, and indulged in some rather perverted sexcapades.
Andrew watched a lot of porn, but not just for the fucking, he had told their mutual friend Rodney one night after a few beers. It was the situation, the fantasy that provoked him. "I hate those fuckfests where they start out talking dirty for ten seconds, then end up stark naked and screwing. It lacks imagination."
"This is what happens," Rodney lamented that night, "When a pervert gets a degree in English and minors in Philosophy." They'd shared a laugh, and a couple more beers, and Andrew wandered home and masturbated feverishly, dreaming once again of Maya, lost in lust and throwing herself at him.
Once, after Andrew had proposed dating to Maya, she'd put him off gently but firmly. They had been friends for almost two years at the time, barely out of high school. Her reasoning had been simple, and true. She considered Andrew a good friend, and a physical relationship would probably undo all of that. "Besides," she'd added quietly. "I'm saving myself for marriage. I know it sounds old fashioned, but... "
If she'd thought that was a deterrent, she was damned naive, Andrew thought. He knew she wasn't a virgin, that she'd "gone all the way" as she put it, with a boyfriend when she was sixteen. Although she was squeamish talking about sex with men, she'd shared this snippet with Andrew later. They'd both had a couple wine coolers, and Maya was, admittedly, a cheap drunk. The experience had been horrible, not just painful as she'd expected, but disappointing as well. "Mom says sex is way overrated anyway." Andrew had wanted to ask how her mother knew, being married to the same fat slob for thirty-five years, but held his tongue.
