The Fundamentals of Friendship Pt. 01

***

Quicker than I would've liked, my time in France was almost over. I had only a weekend left. Most of my time had been spent either cooking or being fucked by Rocco. The more time we had together, the easier it became for me to get absorbed by him. And when we had sex I found that he was all I could think about and his name was the one I screamed with every orgasm.

Rocco made me wish I had more time with him. That, when only a few weeks ago, I couldn't have fathomed a whole month away from work.

He made a point of taking me to all the sites a tourist in France absolutely can't miss. We went to the Louvre, The Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame and, of course, the Eiffel Tower. And he didn't just take me to see the tower, he took me to a restaurant up in the tower with a lovely view of the Seine and a delicious meal I was sure he paid a lot for.

I was enjoying being wined and dined way too much for my own good. Leaving would actually feel a little bitter.

For my very last weekend, Rocco took me to his winery, as he'd promised he'd do. Before the sun was even up, we left Paris and drove for almost 7 hours to the south of France. I didn't mind the long drive one bit. I got to see the sun rising over the most beautiful scenery I've set my eyes upon.

His winery was located at Languedoc, simply the biggest wine producing region in the whole damn world. The place was a feast for the eyes, a combination of the blue of the sky, the sepia of the ground, the green, red and brown of the leaves. It was all breathtaking. Everywhere you happened to turn your head to, you'd meet extensive vineyards as far as the eye could see. By the time we reached our destination the sun was already up and warming my skin.

Rocco let me loose in one of his warehouses. I was like a child in a toystore. We had a wonderful lunch at the main house, where he actually lived, and I couldn't stop staring everywhere, so grand and gorgeous it all was.

When a woman poured me my third glass of wine I wondered just how rich Rocco was. The man owned a wine company with wineries in France, Italy and California, too. He even had servants to pour his wine! With a little practice I controlled my tongue and didn't make such a fool of myself as to ask him "Hey, buddy, just how rich are you, anyway?"

All I cared about was how utterly perfect he was being to me. I didn't think myself the kind of woman who would be all silly and giddy over being romanced like this. But then again, I had never been romanced like this. Ever.

I spent the day being shown the extent of Rocco's property. He showed me the vineyards, some of which were on his own lands, some others were part of some cooperative. We visited warehouses, laboratories, the bottling lines, wrapping up our little tour at a wine tasting where I forgot you're not supposed to swallow every wine you taste.

As a result of my wine tasting I got a little dizzy. Rocco lay a blanket under a vineyard where we remained until the light of the day vanished.

"What variety of grape is this?" I asked him, pointing to the lustful bunch of black grapes hanging above us.

"Cabernet Sauvignon."

"Of course. Only my favourite wine grape!" Rocco was lying by my side with his hands crossed under his head looking up at the grapes. "I got hand it to you, Rocco. You sure know how to seduce a woman."

He gave me that little crooked smile I now knew to be his most charming feature. "Good to know. I didn't even have to try very hard. You're very easy, Laura. Especially after a few glasses of wine."

"Oh, yeah?" I slapped his shoulder in mock insult. "So you admit to inebriating me, uh? I knew that was your plan all along. Get me drunk then get into my pants."

Rocco laughed and pushed himself to his knees to pick me a bunch of the dark grapes. He lowered the bunch down to my lips. "Open your mouth, bella."

I did as he told me to and he dropped a grape into my mouth. Its was surprisingly sweeter and juicier than I would have expected it to be.

"Mmm, this is delicious. So sweet!"

Rocco kissed a corner of my mouth, whispering "Almost as sweet as you, bella."

I smiled giddily, lifting my head to reach another grape from the bunch he was holding.

"I'll be sorry to see you go, Laura." His voice was suddenly low with a trace of sorrow. I believed him. He would be sorry to see me go. I realized I'd feel the same.

"You know, I'm surprised to say I'll be sorry to go." I turned sideways, propping myself on one elbow. "I thought I'd go crazy a whole month away from my bistro! Now I actually wish I could stay longer. Guess I have you to blame for that." I leaned over and planted a closed mouthed kiss on his lips. "Thank you for the wonderful time, Rocco. I'll never forget it."

Rocco eyed me softly then pulled me in for a long kiss. The sweetness of the grapes I'd eaten transferred to his mouth. He laid his strong body over mine, kissing me with thorough patience, the way he would were that the last time he'd kiss me. And I guess, in a way, it was.

His lips skimmed my collarbone, and his fingers pulled my top down exposing the swell of my breasts. He kissed the soft mountains too, going from the left to the right one. I was breathless by the time he reached my mouth again.

"Laura." The seriousness underlining his tone made me sit up. Rocco waited for me to adjust my top before continuing. "I have to go to New York next month. I have some business to attend to there. I was hoping I could see you again. In fact, I would love to be able to see you again." He reached out a hand and caressed my cheek. "I'd hate to think this is the last I'll be seeing of you, bella."

Suddenly it struck me just how much I wanted to see him again. To keep seeing him. There was something about Rocco, his maturity I supposed, that attracted me to him. Had I met him in other circumstances I would've thought him the right man for me. The man I'd try and make my plans work with. But things being as they were I was scared. He lived in another continent and I was already pretty taken by him. I wasn't sure deepening our connection would be very wise.

"I would love you to see me again, Rocco." I said, in spite of myself.

He smiled. "Good." Then kissed me again, reaching a hand down to lift my skirt and make love to me under a vineyard.

***

"Wait a minute. You met a guy who's rich, handsome, half french, half Italian, and owns a wine company?"

"Yep."

"Why aren't you married to him already?" Sophia asked, while she drove me from the airport to my house.

"He's too perfect, Soph!"

"Yeah. Clearly."

"He also lives in another continent!"

"Well, something had to be wrong with him." Hearing my discontent sigh, my sister reached blindly for my hand without taking her eyes off the road. I clasped our fingers together, looking down at them ruefully. "Will you see him again?" She asked.

"He says he's coming here. In a month or so."

"What did Riley thought of him?"

The question made me look up at her, wide-eyed. It was impossible for me to have a conversation with Sophia where Riley wasn't a subject to be covered. Maybe she was the one harnessing a childhood love for him.

"I don't know. Nothing I guess."

"Huh."

"Huh? What do you mean huh?"

"Nothing, Laura."

I scoffed, annoyed. "Soph, I love you, but you're a royal pain in my ass."

"Yep. I am."

She drove in silence for a couple of minutes until it began to make me feel uncomfortable.

"So..." Since she'd mentioned Riley, I felt compelled to tell her about that little thing concerning his name.

"What did you do, Laura?" She asked, picking up at the undertone in my voice.

In doubt with Soph, it's always better to just spill it. "I almost called Rocco Riley once or twice."

Sophia, the attentive driver she was, turned her head back and forth between the road and me. "What do you mean almost called him Riley? You mean in bed???"

Defensive, I said. "We weren't on his bed."

Her eyes were fit to jump out of their sockets. "Shit, Laura!"

"Come on, Soph! Riley's the only guy I've slept with for the past six months, you know. I'm used to saying his name when I come! It doesn't mean anything!"

"Doesn't mean anything...right." She gave me a reproving look. "When I masturbate thinking about Henry Cavill it means nothing. When you physically fuck one man thinking about another when you come, it means something, Laura!"

"Stop saying nonsense! I didn't fuck Rocco thinking about Riley." I hadn't done that, had I? "It means nothing! Anyway, Riley's is coming over later."

"To fuck you?"

"No, Sophia, we're not bunnies. We don't just fuck, we are fucking friends, too. We actually enjoy talking to each other! Besides, he doesn't annoy me half as much as you do!"

"Okay, easy there." She squeezed my hand lightly. "But will you keep fucking him? I mean, now that you've met Mr. Perfect?"

That was something I knew I had to think about. That was also something I was avoiding thinking about. At the moment, I could only think about sleeping the jet leg off. Nevermind who I fucked and who I didn't. I would postpone dealing with that until I woke up.

"Don't ask me hard questions, Soph."

"Well, you better make up your mind before some other hard thing forces you to."

***

RILEY

Laura was one of those women who had no idea how beautiful they were. She wasn't the most beautiful woman in the world or anything like that. She wasn't even the prettiest one I knew. My eyes, however, saw her as the most beautiful a woman could ever be. But that might only be because I loved her so damn much.

She was my best friend. The best person in the world, as far as I was concerned. She was also the love of my life, though I doubted she knew that.

After thirty straight days away from her, I was looking forward as much as I was dreading seeing her again. Through the phone, hearing her talk about how she had met the perfect guy was one thing. But to actually see her face while she talked about him, about how fucking perfect he was, smiling that smile I pictured on her face whenever I thought of her...That would be shit.

I arrived at her house, easily making my way inside with the key she'd given me the day she bought the place. Her kitchen was probably my favorite place in the world. I loved its smells; The herbs she cultivated right outside in her greenhouse, or the fresh fruits she insisted she must have on her table. She was always cooking something in there, especially when I came around. Her house felt more like home to me than my own sterile apartment.

"Is this apple pie I smell?" I yelled over the music playing. Ella Fitzgerald. The other love of my life.

Laura jumped, startled, clutching a hand to her chest. "Jesus, Riley!" Her startle quickly faded and in its place was a wide, welcoming smile. The kind that could always make me feel better even if I were having the worst day of my life. Her face lit up and she opened her arms to me. I didn't hesitate to walk into them.

I hugged her tightly. The gesture came to me as easily as the urge to breath. In that embrace I conveyed to her just how much I had missed her. I pressed my mouth and nose to the soft curve of her neck, smelling the coconut oil she used in her curls. As I touched her, it was like those thirty days had, in fact, been thirty years. When you're used to having someone ever present in your life, a month without them will feel like an eternity.

I wrapped my arms around her ribs, momentarily lifting her foot from the ground. "I missed you, Ells." I said.

She giggled, clearly tipsy, as I lowered her down. "I missed you too, shithead."

"Shithead?"

"You never called me, Riley!" She drew back, pouting her full brownish lips. My shoulder received a little punch she must've intended to be playful, but half drunk people never could measure their strength very well.

"Well, I figured you'd be too busy having romantic dinners at the top of the Eiffel Tower." With Mr. Oh So Perfect and Rich and Handsome.

"Oh, that I did." Her lips lifted in the smile I was hoping she wouldn't smile.

"So, how was it?" I didn't really want to know, except she'd tell me anyway so I just asked her upfront. Rip off the band-aid.

"Oh, wonderful! Beautiful! Amazing! I want to go back!"

I pulled up a chair as she did a little waltz on her way to the kitchen sink, where her wine rested. She was already tipsy. All foolish little smiles and unsteady feet; In my favorite state. It was surreal to me how she could never built up a tolerance to wine. She drank at least a glass every single night.

"Ells, you do know you have a problem, don't you?"

She wide-eyed me over the rim of her glass. "I do?"

"You're an alcoholic, darling."

My joke was replied with a loose, wide grin. The kind only people besotted with wine could muster. "Shut up, Riley." She twirled my name loosely around her tongue. I had to smile at her.

"I'm serious, honey."

"But Ry, you have to taste this! It's so good!" She walked to where I was seated, leaning over her table. On their own accord my eyes travelled to her breasts, squashed against the wooden surface, before they effortly went up to her face. "Here. Try this. It's delicious!"

I sipped the wine from the glass she had thrusted under my nose and nodded in appreciation. I wasn't much of a wine guy, but the thing really was good.

"It's from Rocco's winery." She said, instantaneously bittering my mouth.

Oh, right. Perfect Fucking Rocco. Of course she loved his fucking wine. Why wouldn't she?

"It's alright," I half-lied. "But I'd rather have my beer."

"On the fridge." She jerked a thumb towards her red fridge where she kept a reserve of long necks exclusively for when I came around.

I drank my beer to wash out the aftertaste of Perfect Rocco's wine and watched her moving about her kitchen, singing along with Ella.

Sometimes, while I looked at her like that, just being completely herself in her own element, I played a little mental game with myself.

Why do you love her so much Riley?

I supposed I had the little things to blame. Little things like the smell of cinnamon on the tip of her fingers because she knew I loved cinnamon on everything you could add it to. Or the gentle sway of her hips which had absolutely no rhythm at all once she exceeded her two-glasses-of-wine-limit-until-Laura's-half-drunk. I loved it when, after sex or even regular sleepover nights, I'd wake up before her and watch her sleep with all those wild curls around her head. I loved to tangle my hands in her hair while she kissed me. Loved to tug at it as hard as I knew she liked, pulling her mouth away from mine only to have the pleasure of watching her, flush faced and parted lips, silently beg me to kiss her again.

She opened a cabinet above her head and had to stand on the tips of her toes to reach something on the top shelf. I was about to go get it myself, but the crochet top she had made herself lifted a little exposing her tattoo. It was a little red carnation positioned between the dimples on the small of her back. I loved that tattoo. I remembered holding her hand the day she decided to get it. She cried through the whole ordeal.

I loved her for the little things. Simple things. Like the fact she was Laura. My Laura. And I just loved her for that. Because she was in my life. Because I couldn't remember a time when I didn't have her by my side.

"Do you need help getting that, shortie?"

"No. I got it." She finally reached what she'd been aiming for. "And I'm not short, Riley." She added, eyeing me over her shoulder.

"You are shorter than I." I teased.

"Doesn't make me short. Makes you overgrown"

I continued to watch her, just torturing myself really. I didn't know if our arrangement was still standing. The point of visiting her, other than just seeing her after thirty damn days, was to understand how deep involved with this Rocco she was.

If I made a move and it led us to her bed, then I'd know I was still fine. If I tried to kiss her and she pushed me away though...Then I'd have much less time than I thought I did.

Truth be told I would deserve to be rejected. I'm a lazy idiot. Five years we've been doing this let's-just-have-sex-when-we-want-to thing. I could've have tried to get her back meantime. But I didn't. All I cared about was the fact that I had her whenever I found myself wanting her, what happened frequently.

Now this Rocco guy had come along. And the way she talked about him stirred some unfriendly feelings in me. Sure, she had dated guys before. She just never talked about them quite so enthusiastically. They were just guys lucky enough to pass through her life. Same way I dated a woman or two even after we started having no strings attached sex. In the end we would always find ourselves single again. And in her bed or mine.

Something was different about her though. Even before she met her perfect man.

"Riley?"

I realized I had been staring blankly at my beer while lost in useless thoughts.

"What?"

"Wake up, buddy."

Laura was standing in front of me, moving her hips softly to and fro, with one inviting hand extended my way.

That hand seemed to say 'Come on, Riley. Get up and glue your body to mine while I rub it on you and drive you fucking crazy when you don't even know if you can touch me later tonight.'

Laura knew I couldn't dance for shit. That didn't stop her trying to teach me, though. Not even after I had stepped on all of her toes bad enough to leave her limping for a couple of days.

"I'll step on your toes, Ells."

She downed the rest of her wine like it was a shot of tequila, set her glass down on her table and grabbed my arm, yanking me up to my feet.

"My toes are immune to you."

She pressed her body so close to mine I tensed when her breasts touched my chest.

Strange. I was so used to touching her.

I put my right hand on her small waist, she tangled the fingers of our left hands together and put her other one on my shoulder. We (or maybe only she) began to move. I did my best to accompany her even though my legs and hips had nowhere near the grace hers did. Also, I wasn't as giddy as she.

Didn't take me long to step on her toes.

I immediately stopped dancing, if what I was doing could be called dancing. "See, I told you I'd step on your toes!"

"Come here, Riley." She pulled me back to her, holding my hand with renewed purpose. "I'll teach you how to dance even if it's the last thing I do."

"You've been trying to teach me how to dance since prom, Laura. Almost 20 years of failed lessons should've convinced you I'm no Swayze." Laura ignored me. I stepped on her toes and we stopped again.

"Riley!" She said, throwing her hands up in mild exasperation. "How is it possible for you to suck so much at this! It's simple. Like sex!"

"Are you saying I suck at sex too, Laura?"

"No, Riley. I'm saying you shouldn't suck at dancing." This time when she resumed her swaying she rested her cheek against mine, and pressed her free hand on the space between my shoulder blades. "We just have to move together." She shifted her hips, fitting them into mine. "Forget about your duck feet. Focus on your hips. You move when I move."

Her hips swung, and she let the hand on my back slid down to my ass. When she moved, she guided me with a demanding hand on one cheek.

"You're grabbing my ass, Laura."

"Yes. Nothing I haven't done before. Now feel it."

"Feel what?"

"The rhythm."

"Oh, right." What I was feeling was no rhythm.

With Laura's guidance my hips found they could move, after all. Where hers went, mine followed, just like when we did missionary and her hips thrusted up hungrily, following mine, every time I pushed out of her.