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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
Elle was the med student; Chris the off-limits boxer come best friend. She was blind and he mute to things never seen, words never said, love left un-reciprocated.

Until the coffee came along of course...

Submitted: February 20, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: February 20, 2012




Title: Brachioradialis

Author : Theier Christodde

Prompt(s): Coffee; Hot Best-Friend

  • *- *- 

Dedicated to my beautiful best friend, Omega

Happy birthday princess :D

  • *- *- 

“Oh Chris, I’m so sorry!”

Never mind the fact that I’d spilt more coffee on my lab coat than I had on the god-like male before me. Christof Dunst just shot me the usual heart-melting, panty-wetting, three thousand watt smile as he took the proffered napkin from my hand and swiped at the stain on his muscle tank.

“Don’t sweat it, Mirelle. It’s nothing.” I felt a furious blush creep up over my cheeks at his words, though they were far from the soft, lust-infused ones I dreamt about him whispering to me at night, he was still speaking and I was sure by now I was the colour of an overripe tomato. “Besides,” he added, “seems as though you managed to pour the entire cup on yourself first.”  

I laughed awkwardly. You know how on the really popular rom-coms the female lead always has this retarded laugh – often followed by a snort --? Yeah well that would’ve sounded like heaven compared to my forced one. It was dry and throaty and hurt my frickin’ voice box. But it was worth it to see the look on his face. The warmth that spilled out of the chocolate brown pools just made me want to jump on him. Hey, if he asked I wasn’t feeling too good and my knees were weak. Best excuse in the book.

Chris bent down to retrieve the neatly labelled files and I squatted on my heels, shoving lab reports and case findings into random folders. I could organise them once I got home, for now I was going to work up the courage to ask Christof Dunst, my best friend of several years and the love of my life since the day I saw him, out. The words flooded my brain and I opened my mouth, working my jaw, but no sound came out. No, I screamed internally. NO, NO, NO DAMNIT! I’m going to ask him out, I’m not going to bail again!

Then I realised, watching Chris’ mouth move – though I couldn’t hear any words, as though someone had switched the AV cords on the DVD player – that there never would be an us. He was the state-level kickboxer who fiddled around in cars and fitted gearboxes for a living. I was the clumsy, geeky med student who played doctor to him and the boys at gym whenever they got hurt during practice. He was tall and well-built with amazing arms  - hey, I happen to have a fetish for arms, don’t judge, it beats feet or toes or other totally not cute shit –. He was the one who took me out to dinner once a month to catch up and who picked me up to camp at the beach with friends whenever our hectic schedules allowed. He’d been the first one through my door both after the lady next door had shot her son and locked herself up in the bathroom and when my Chihuahua, Pablo, had been hit by a car. He’d been the one to charge in and drag me off where I lay, crying against the tiled floor to be crushed against his chest, whispering to me in Italian as he ran thick fingers through my matted hair.

He was the first to call at 12:01 on my eighteenth birthday and appeared minutes later with a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand and a copy of my favourite movie, Eat, Pray, Love in the other. He was the one guy I could fall asleep next to at a party without having to worry about him trying anything – though I wished he would. He’d been my date to my first university ball back when I was a naïve little nursing student and he, an apprentice. He was my best friend.  

And I’d do anything for him. I’d taken his virginity on a bench overlooking the river the third time we’d met. I’d been the first one he asked for when he was hospitalized, not just because he wanted, as he said, the best nurse he knew but because he needed me, his best friend. I’d been the one to throw his engagement party to a snobby, high-nosed Greek bitch named Stefanie. I’d stood there, in a floral A-Line as she threw her arms around his neck and they kissed on their wedding day. I’d have been the one to deliver their little girl or boy if she hadn’t walked out two months later, jealous of the relationship between us. She had shattered him by making him choose between her and me and it had taken every second of my free time to get him back to normal, back to functioning. That was why we would never – could never – work. I was Mirelle, his quirky little sister who’d had his back against everything and he was Chris the gorgeous Australian that had captured my heart and warmed my soul and we were never meant to be anything more. No amount of wishing was going to change that.

“-elle?” His face was dangerously close to mine and my blush, if possible, deepened. The files in his large hands somehow had found their way into mine.


“You’ll need to soak that to get the stain out.” He must’ve seen the confusion on my face because he continued. “Your lab coat, Elle, remember? You knocked into me and spilt coffee over both of us?” I was mesmerized by his lips; perfect bow-shaped lips that were just so damn close to mine. No. Bad Mirelle, snap out of it! I laughed again, that awkward, weird sound, letting him help me to my feet.

“O-oh right, of course.” I shot him a smile. “Sorry I just kind of spaced out.”

There was a pregnant pause and I clutched my files against my chest tightly, intent on getting out of there before I made even more of a fool of myself. “Elle,” he started, a thick hand wrapping around my wrist. I couldn’t make my eyes meet his, instead choosing to focus on his Nike sneakers.


“Look at me.”

I shook my head, tears welling. Goddamnit WHY was I crying?!

“Please,” his voice, so broken, so gentle that I couldn’t refuse swayed me and I looked up at him and his familiar brown eyes. His lips clamped over my own. His fingers fisted in my hair, dragging me, files and all, closer to him. I was frozen, stunned as a mullet until my lips moved of their own accord against his and my arms dropped the scraps of paper and manila to wind around his neck.

I felt the once-familiar hardness of his erection against me and I almost laughed, ignoring the salty drops that fell from my eyes.

“Ti amo. Ho bisogno di te, significhi tutto per me, cara mia.” I love you. I need you, you mean everything to me, my darling, my mind supplied quickly. My Italian had always been fairly shaky but I knew enough of the language from all of Chris’ ramblings to digest what he had said.

Though nothing could have prepared me for what happened next. Chris had wormed out of my death grip and was on the ground again, but this time on one knee, holding my left hand in both of his. My brain was fuzzy, muddled. Surely he wasn’t – but then WHAT the hell was he doing?! “Voglio sempre essere con te, senza di te non posso piu vivere. Sposami?”  I always want to be with you, I can’t live without you. Marry me?

I didn’t care for the wolf-whistles from the boys coming out of training or the collective, sighed ‘awwww’ from the female baristas at the counter behind us, only for the amazingly gorgeous, unpredictable man kneeling before me, a goofy, hopeful smile on his face. And then my knees really did feel weak and I fell onto him, wrapping my arms around him and sobbing, though not from sadness. I turned my face to his, finding his lips through the mess of hair and tears. He chuckled against me.

“You still haven’t given me an answer, Elle.”

Si,” I murmured from where my head had fallen against his broad shoulder.  

“Si, what?” He teased and I pulled away slightly, rubbing my eyes on the back of my sleeve before tapping him lightly on his forehead.

‘”Ti sposerò, idiota.”  I’ll marry you, idiot.

“Good, because I wasn’t going to take no for an answer.”

“Hey Chris?”

“Yes, Elle?”

“Where’s my damn ring?” He grinned sheepishly, pulling a zip-loc out of his jeans pocket and undoing it, presenting me with the familiar, orange snack.

“Remember how when we were talking about marriage back in year five and you said you’d want a Burger Ring ring? Well here you go, bella.” I laughed as he slid it onto my ring finger. It was miles too big. I couldn’t believe he’d remembered that of all things. It had been so long ago, so seemingly insignificant at the time. Yet he remembered it, probably word for word too.

“You know I only said that because edible rings are one in five million, right?”

He nodded, pulling another zip-loc from his pocket. I smiled at the filigreed emerald and diamond ring through the plastic packaging. Who ever knew coffee would bring about this? Or maybe it was the files which now lay scattered over the wooden floor. Again. Eh,  either way…

“Im mai andando a guardare il caffe allo stesso modo nuovo.” I’m never going to look at coffee the same way again.

Chris just laughed and brought his lips to mine again.

© Copyright 2020 Theier Christodde. All rights reserved.

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