Nellie and the Friend Zone

Author's Note:

This is a stand-alone story that is part of a larger series about the titular character, Nellie. Each story that follows can be read on its own or together, in any particular order, though they will be posted in chronological order. The stories may fall under different categories, but all will tell tales of Nellie's various adventures.

In this adventure, Nellie has a weekend visitor, but things go sideways when a friend shows up unexpectedly and discovers something Nellie would much rather keep secret. This story follows the events of Nellie & The Dragon Tattoo.

**

"You can't be serious. He was married the whole time?"

Sydney sighed and downed the rest of her drink. "Apparently. It would explain why Shaun and Darryl never called you again or anything. They'd eventually have let it slip that Greg was a complete dirtbag."

My jaw twitched as I struggled to contain my anger at the three men we'd met months earlier. I'd slept with both Shaun and Darryl while Sydney took Greg home. He'd spent the night and then called the next day, and they'd been casually seeing each other for several months. When she asked me to go for a drink with her that night, I'd had no idea it was because she'd found out not only was he cheating, but that she was the other woman.

"What a fucking asshole," I grumbled.

"I know."

"We should tell his wife."

"Already on it."

I raised my eyebrows and Sydney looked up, grinning mischievously at me.

"He thought he was smart by giving me a fake name, but—"

"Wait, what?! His name wasn't Greg?"

"No, it was Greg, but his last name was Murphy, not Barry. So when I saw the picture of him with his wife, he was all smug thinking he could just ghost me. Like, he really thought I was a complete moron." Sydney took a sip from her empty glass, forgetting she'd already finished it, and waved at the bartender to bring her another.

A slow grin was spreading across my face. "And then...?"

"Well, I'd like to say I did some tedious searching through social media and newspaper articles and what have you, but all I did was google Shaun and Darryl. Once I found them on Facebook, I checked their friends lists and voila. Greg Murphy. His wife's name is Marla and they have two kids."

I cringed. "Yuck. A complete fucking asshole."

Sydney nodded. "I feel kind of bad."

"Why would you?" The bartender put another drink in front of her and she paid before I continued. "You didn't know he was married. He's the one who was a complete dirtbag. It's not like you actively tried to seduce him or something."

She nodded but didn't seem convinced. "Well, anyway, I found his Facebook and then tracked down which detachment he works out of, plus the real estate company his wife works at, plus the school both his kids go to."

"So what's next?"

She shrugged. "I haven't decided yet. I could just call her and tell her, I guess. I mean, I have enough selfies with him to prove I'm not lying about it."

"That's so unsatisfying though."

"I know." She sighed. "But I also can't get too creative. He's a detective, don't forget. And obviously has people like Shaun and Darryl on his side."

"Hmm." I swirled my beer, staring at it as I thought. "It's too bad he knows that you know. You could have set up an elaborate event where his wife walked in."

"Right? I reacted too quickly. Although she might have killed me, who knows. Anyway, I need to decide soon. He's got a new job so they're moving soon."

"Where's he moving to?"

"Montreal."

"Syd." I put my beer down on the top of the bar, staring at her.

She looked at me blankly. "What?"

I rolled my eyes. "You've been there with me. Where does my dad live?"

She started smiling as the realization dawned on her.

"Where do I know at least one lawyer, albeit a corporate lawyer, but one who might have connections?"

"You think J.P. would help?"

I laughed. "Vengeance on a dirtbag cheater? This is right up his alley. He'd be ecstatic. I mean, shit, all we'd have to do is like... arrange a day to be in Montreal, run into Greg with his family somewhere, cause a huge scene and—"

"—and wouldn't your dad lose his mind if you ended up causing a huge scene?"

I fell silent, twisting my beer bottle again. "Good point."

Sydney grimaced. "Sorry."

"Okay, okay. Second idea. We get J.P. to seduce Marla Murphy."

Sydney burst out laughing. "I don't think she's his type."

"I'll just promise him anal again. I'm sure he would help us."

"I think it would be more likely for you to seduce Greg."

I shook my head. "Not a chance. One, I have standards."

"You do not."

"I have some standards, and dirtbag cheaters fall below them. Two, Greg knows who I am and knows we're friends. He's a dumbass, but he's not stupid."

She pursed her lips. "Okay, but like... I don't want to break poor Marla's heart. Like, if J.P. seduces her and then dumps her, isn't that kind of... terrible? And besides, that makes Marla look like a bitch rather than making Greg look like the asshole he is."

I thought for a moment. "Okay. What if we tell Marla, suggest she get back at Greg by fucking J.P., and then... wait, no, we don't want to hurt Marla. That won't work."

"I think we probably just tell Marla," Sydney said. "I mean, if it were me, I'd want to know."

"Ugh, I know, but I want to make that worm suffer," I groaned. "Okay, what about if we put together some kind of event that Marla and Greg would need to attend together, and they need a babysitter, right? So then they hire you as the babysitter, not knowing it's you..."

"That sounds like the start of a bad porno."

"...or no, wait, they hire me as the babysitter, and Greg's just like sweating, right? And he's so concerned about me being the babysitter that he doesn't realize until it's too late that you're at the event too, and you pull out all the receipts in front of Marla and everyone. Then she slaps his face and kicks his ass to the curb."

It might have been ridiculous, but at least Sydney was laughing. By the time we were a few more drinks in, she was feeling a lot less guilty, which was really the whole point. It wasn't her fault that Greg was a cheater. She didn't know he was married, and it most definitely wasn't her fault that he continued the charade for months before she found out.

Still, I was enraged on her behalf. Despite her protests about not wanting to make Marla the bad guy, I casually brought it up to J.P. the next time he texted me.

Would you seduce a guy's wife to get revenge on the guy for cheating on said wife?

I could picture the look on his face when he texted back.

Hypothetically or are you asking another favour?

Maybe both.

I'm gonna need more context.

I started typing the story before getting frustrated and just calling him.

"Long story?" he asked, laughing as he answered.

"So you know my friend Sydney?" I responded.

"Yeah, the one sleeping with the... oh fuck no," he said. "No way."

"You don't even know—"

"Sydney was the one sleeping with the cop, right?"

"Um. Yeah."

J.P. snorted. "Babe, you could promise me anal, a threesome, blowjobs for the rest of my fucking life and I still wouldn't fuck a cop's wife."

"Even if he was a dirtbag who cheated on the wife?"

"Yes, even then!" he exclaimed. "Jeez, Nellie. That's, like, lawyer life rule number one."

I sighed miserably. "But he hurt my friend."

"I'm not saying don't get back at him, but I'm not seducing his wife."

I didn't say anything and he sighed.

"Look, if you know how to find this guy's wife, why don't you just tell her what he did and call it a day?"

"If it were you, would you honestly be satisfied with that?" I asked.

"Fair point," he replied. "But I know you, Nellie. This shady, underhanded shit isn't you."

"You don't know me that well," I grumbled.

"Babe," he said.

"Don't call me babe," we both said at the same time, and I groaned as J.P. laughed.

"See?"

"Fuck you."

"Mm. I'd like to, but it's a bit of a long drive and it's pretty late. Maybe this weekend."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, sure. Why not?"

"Awesome. I'll be there Friday night. I've got a workshop all day Saturday, but we can probably fuck again Saturday night, too."

"What?" I said. "Were you serious?"

He had that smirking, egotistical, shit-eating grin on his face. I was sure of it. I could almost feel it through the phone.

"Yeah. But hey, if you're busy, what about that newly single friend of yours?"

My face turned red and I didn't respond.

"Nellie? Babe? I was joking."

"I know," I muttered. "I was just trying to think of how to nicely say that she's too good for you."

He burst out laughing. "Harsh, babe. Wouldn't expect anything less. Look, in all seriousness, I am gonna be in town this weekend. I'd love to, uh, see that little apartment you told me about. And maybe stay with you. And, like, also fuck you in it, if you're up for it. But I can get a hotel if that's not cool with you."

I don't know why I said he could stay at my place. It was a stupid thing to do, really. Despite the fact that we'd been hooking up regularly for a few months at that point, we weren't anything more than friends who occasionally fucked. And really, it was super occasionally now that I was back in school and he had moved out of his parents' house. Not that it even mattered: I tried to go to my dad's house as little as possible, so even though he wasn't just next door anymore, it wasn't like I was there anyway.

The last time had been a few weeks earlier. My dad had insisted I visit him one weekend a month, so the week after my other hook up, Ben, had left for California, I went for my monthly visit. For some stupid reason, I thought the fact that J.P. had moved out of his parents' house and into his own apartment would stop me from hooking up with him every fucking time I was there. And it almost did; I didn't tell him I was in town. He only found out because his sister Anne-Marie was, of course, still living with her parents in the house next to my dad's.

She had been pushing me to date J.P. for ages. As far as I knew, she had no idea that I'd lost my virginity to him years earlier while she hooked up with her boyfriend in the next room, and she had no idea that I'd slept with him again at the beginning of the summer, and then again, and then... well. Multiple times. On one of those occasions, Anne-Marie had nearly walked in on us, not knowing I'd snuck into his room. She'd also nearly had a maniacal meltdown when I convinced J.P. to escort me to a gala, even without knowing that I'd promised him anal to get him to agree. Before the night was over, she'd started picking out names for our future children.

She'd never been able to prove J.P. and I were hooking up, but I had a feeling she would be willing to try nearly anything to get us together. It was even more frustrating because she wasn't the only one: Sydney had been pushing me to take things further with J.P., and even Ben had mentioned before he left that it seemed like we would be good together. They were all wrong, of course: J.P. was a complete bastard and I didn't do relationships, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he was the kind of person my father would approve of me dating.

Nothing at all.

J.P. called me as soon as he found out and teased me about not texting him. I told him it was because he was ugly, he called me a snotty brat, and half an hour later I was sneaking out of my dad's house and down the street where he was waiting in his car.

We didn't quite make it to his new apartment. We made it about three blocks away before he pulled over in a semi-private parking lot and fucked me in the back seat of his car. I told him it was terrible and I deserved far better than his dirty backseat; he said it was a BMW and probably the most luxurious car I'd ever been fucked in. We fucked again, he dropped me off down the street, and I'd snuck back inside before anyone noticed I was gone.

There was nothing between us. It was sex, plain and simple.

Ben had been a main source of sex for me for most of the summer, but he was my former psychology professor and he was on sabbatical at Stanford for the rest of the year. J.P. was in Montreal, so it wasn't like I saw him regularly, and my course load was insane that semester. I hadn't even had time to go out and party with my friends, let alone try to find another person to hook up with.

That must have been why I agreed to let him stay at my apartment, I decided. Simply put, I needed to get laid, and J.P. was great in bed. In fact, I was so certain that all I really needed to get out of my slump was some dick that I was actually looking forward to him staying the weekend and spent most of Thursday night cleaning my apartment. I scrubbed the floors, vacuumed the living room, put fresh sheets on the bed and made sure my other sheets were clean and neatly folded, since I was sure I'd have to replace them for Saturday night. My kitchen was cleaner than it had ever been, my coffee table only had the textbooks and notes I needed for studying, and I even lit a goddamn candle.

J.P. noticed exactly none of it when he showed up Friday.

I had just finished eating when my phone went off. The number showed it was the entry system from the foyer of my building.

"Hello?"

"It's me," he said. "And the second I get up there I'm tearing your panties off so you better—"

I pressed the button to let him in, laughing as it cut him off, and ran to the bathroom to brush my teeth. As I finished, I heard him knock on the door, but decided he could wait for a few minutes. Just as I was sauntering across my apartment to let him in, he knocked again, the loud raps slightly more impatient than the first time.

"Who is it?" I called teasingly through the door.

The responding chuckle was muffled, but his response was clear as he raised his voice. "It's just me, Giovanni Cockeverlasting, the male escort you ordered? I charge by the minute, sweetheart, so you better answer the door and—"

I wrenched the door open, my face bright red.

"You bastard!" I gasped, lurching forward to see if any of my neighbours had heard him.

J.P. grinned wolfishly and nudged me back into my apartment before I could see if anyone was in the hallway. One hand was occupied with his small suitcase and a reusable grocery bag; the other snaked around my waist and pulled my body close to him as the door swung shut. His lips were on mine before the door even closed and as soon as it was, he dropped the suitcase and wrapped his other arm around me.

"Asshole," I muttered, and I felt him smirk.

"Missed you too, babe." He nipped at my lip. "Don't call you babe, I know."

His cock was already hard; I could feel it through his jeans as he tugged my body closer to his. He was holding me so tightly I could barely breathe and only let go so he could start shoving his hands beneath my shirt.

"If you know, why'd you do it?" I asked between kisses.

His laugh brushed against my mouth and he gripped one of my breasts firmly. "Because I really like that snooty little look you get on your face when I do."

"Snooty?" I repeated, pulling back from his mouth and glaring at him.

He grinned. "Yeah, that's the one."

"Fuck you," I scoffed, but I couldn't stop myself from smiling.

"Oh God, yes, please," he sighed, and crushed his mouth against mine again.

"Been on a dry streak or something?" I teased as he tightened his grip on my breast again.

He grunted in response, his other hand leaving my waist and trailing down to my ass so he could squeeze that as well.

"You have exactly five seconds to show me where your bedroom is, otherwise I'm going to bend you over your kitchen table," he said in a low rumble. "One... two..."

"Three..." I grabbed his hand and directed it down to the button of my jeans. "Four..."

He groaned and pushed my hand away, roughly undoing my pants before trying to shove them down my hips at the same time as my panties.

"Four and a half..." I continued, smirking at him.

He laughed, pulled my pants the rest of the way down, then grabbed me by the hips and forced me to turn around. Before he could shove me onto the table, I bent over it, craning my neck to look back at him.

"Four and three quarters..." I slowly swayed my hips back and forth.

"You're a fucking brat," he laughed. The sound of his belt unbuckling was followed by his jeans unzipping before he pulled his cock out.

"Four and seven-eigh—"

"Five." He grabbed my hips and shoved his cock inside me.

The soft cry of bliss I made was drowned out by his satisfied groan. He paused with his cock deep inside me for barely a second before he began fucking me, properly fucking me, hard enough that the edge of the table was jammed against my stomach almost painfully.

It didn't matter to me; I barely noticed it. I was consumed with the feel of him inside me, his shaft completely buried in my pussy. His hips slapped my ass, the sound filling my ears as a backdrop to his breathless grunts and the steady moans being pressed from my lungs by the force of his thrusts.

Maybe it was because I hadn't gotten laid in a few weeks, but everything felt far more powerful than usual. He was pounding me hard, but I could feel every inch of his cock being gripped by the walls of my pussy. He felt bigger than I remembered, deeper inside me than I recalled, his cock throbbing and hot in a way that I must have forgotten. Each time he plunged inside me, he hit my G-spot, and I knew I was grinning as that warm, familiar feeling started trembling through my legs.

"Fuck, I missed you," he gasped from behind me. "Your pussy is so fucking good, Nellie."

I whimpered in response, unable to think of anything to say. Instead, I shifted, trying to reach down so I could finger my clit. J.P. wasn't having any of that; before I could so much as move my arm, one of his hands left my hip and reached around. I shuddered as he shoved it between my legs, finding my clit easily and rubbing it furiously.

"Come on my cock," he teased. "I know you want to, babe."

Even with him behind me, I could picture the smug look on his face. It served to annoy me, infuriate me, and make me laugh breathlessly as he filled me again and again. Even through the laughter, though, there was no question he was in charge; I had teased him and taunted him with my hips and my mockery of his countdown, but that was only because he had let me.

He likely knew that, too; shortly after he demanded I come on his cock, I did. I cried out, slamming my hand against the kitchen table as my stomach tightened and my pussy clenched around him uncontrollably. J.P. let out a staggered sort of groan that I barely heard beneath the cloud of my orgasm, a feverish wave of pleasure washing over me. I pushed back against him, trying to draw it out as long as I could.

"Yes," he breathed. "Oh, fuck, Nellie. I'm gonna come."

I grinned through the haze of pleasure as he gasped, grunted, and spilled inside me. He didn't stop as he came, still fucking me, still drawing out every ounce of pleasure that he could before both of us were completely overcome by it. His fingers stopped moving against my clit as he slowed, then finally stopped, gasping for breath.

"Jeez," he muttered.

"Mm-hmm," I said dreamily.

He pulled his cock out of me slowly. I stood carefully, suddenly aware of the aching spot the table had been jabbing on my lower stomach and rubbing it gently as I turned. Before I could say anything, he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me heatedly. When he pulled back, there was something in his eyes that I didn't really recognize.

"I missed you," he said.

"You missed my pussy, you mean," I replied.