The Anti-Boyfriend

by Ward, Penelope

  After slaving away at the stove, I decided to sneak in a shower once I put Sunny down at eight. It was probably the fastest one I’d ever taken because I needed time to get dressed and put some makeup on before Deacon arrived.

  As much as I knew this was an innocent, friendly dinner, I couldn’t help the butterflies swarming in my stomach. I was incredibly attracted to Deacon, even if nothing would come of spending time with him. My expectations needed to remain low. We were in two different places in life. He had all of the freedom in the world and seemed to be taking full advantage of that, milking the single life. That’s likely what I would be doing if I were in his shoes.

  And he’d flat-out told me that we were “friends.” So the fact that his coming over made me nervous was pretty silly.

  I slipped on a gray, fitted sweater dress that landed several inches above my knees and high leather boots. Maybe it was overkill for a night in, but I’d had a really productive week and felt like celebrating in style. I made up my face and had just put the last stroke of mascara on when I heard a knock on the door.

  My heart hammered in my chest as I walked to answer it, proof that whatever I tried to tell myself about the platonic nature of our relationship was a crock of shit.

  Deacon held a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine.

  His eyes moved over me. “Wow. Uh…you look fucking amazing.”

  My cheeks felt hot. “Thank you.”

  He handed me the flowers. “These are for you.”

  I took the multicolored tulips. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Well, you didn’t have to make dinner for me, either.”

  I smelled the buds. “I keep waiting for you to show me your asshole side, Deacon. But you’re sickeningly sweet sometimes. I definitely had the wrong idea about you early on.”

  “Manwhores can still be sweet. Sometimes we even shop for flowers for our friends.” He winked.

  Friends. I heard that loud and clear. “Sometimes manwhores even crochet.” I winked back.

  “Ouch.” He smiled through gritted teeth. “Remember your promise, Carys.”

  My body buzzed with awareness as I took him in. He wore a dark green sweater with jeans and black leather boots. His sleeves were rolled up, and for the first time I got a full look at the tattoo on his left forearm.

  “I’ve never really seen your tattoo before. Does it go all the way up your arm?”

  He looked down at it. “It’s just the forearm. I got this ink when I first moved to California about eight years ago. It was a work in progress. I kept adding to it.”

  The design was a mix of roses, crosses, birds, and other ornate imagery. And now I could read the name written in cursive over his wrist. Kathie.

  “Kathie is my grandmother,” he said.

  “Ah.” I smiled, feeling strangely relieved that I didn’t have to be jealous of the fictitious woman I’d created. “I’d noticed the word before but could never make it out. I always assumed it was an ex-girlfriend and didn’t want to pry.”

  “No. Just Gram.”

  “That’s really sweet.”

  His cologne wafted over me. Deacon looked hotter than I’d ever seen him. Even if we weren’t dating, I loved the idea of having him all to myself tonight.

  Clearing my throat, I said, “I hope you don’t mind, but I think we should eat out in the living room to be as far away from Sunny’s room as possible.”

  “Believe me, if there’s one lesson I learned this week, it’s the trouble you can get into when a baby wakes up. Sometimes massive explosions, even.”

  I shut my eyes briefly, remembering the disaster I’d walked in on. “I’m sorry. That was funny, though.”

  “I’m glad you thought so. I’ll send you the bill for therapy.” He laughed. “Let’s crack open this wine, shall we?” He lifted the bottle of red he’d brought.

  “Yes. Be right back.” I headed for the kitchen.

  My heart pitter-pattered as I grabbed a bottle opener and two glasses before returning to the living room.

  My hand brushed against his as he took the opener. Heat zipped through me at the fleeting touch—proof of how desperate I’d been for the slightest contact. It was pretty pathetic that I hadn’t been with anyone since Charles.

  The cork made a slight popping sound as he opened the bottle and poured the wine. We sat down across from each other on the couch. I was starting to get a good buzz on as he asked me more about my new job.

  Then he took a deep sniff. “Whatever you’re making smells fucking amazing, by the way.

  I was just thinking the same thing about you—how good you smell. I stood up. “Shall we eat?”

  “Hell yeah. My stomach is growling.”

  He followed me into the kitchen, and I sensed every movement of his body as we plated our food.

  “Holy crap, Carys. This looks fantastic. I might have to keep creating reasons for you to cook for me.”

  You’ve read my mind.

  We brought our plates back out to the living room and sat next to each other on the floor, so we could use the coffee table.

  Deacon and I were well on our way to polishing off the bottle of wine as we enjoyed the chicken and risotto I’d made.

  “How did you learn to cook like this?”

  I wiped the corner of my mouth. “Self-taught, mostly. I feel like everyone should be able to follow a recipe, but most people believe they can’t for some reason. It’s not that hard.”

  He drank the last of the wine in his glass. “I’m one of those people who assumes I’m gonna burn the place down if I try. I need to get new pans, too. The ones I have are so damn cheap, they burn my hands when I touch the handles. I take that as a sign that I should just stay the fuck out of the kitchen altogether.”

  I laughed. “Well, it’s nice to have someone to cook for.”

  “I’ll be your guinea pig anytime. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal like this since the last time I went home to Minnesota.”

  “None of the women you’ve met have cooked for you?”

  “Not that I can recall. But I don’t expect anyone to cook for me.”

  I smirked. “Yeah…they don’t need to know how to cook.”

  His smile was hesitant. “I know what you’re thinking. Despite what you may believe, it’s not all about that. They have to have half a brain, and they have to be decent human beings. Honestly, there are more duds than not out there.”

  “It must be expensive to go out all of the time, huh?”

  “Yeah, and it costs the same whether it’s a bomb or not.”

  “I never thought about how costly it must be to have a social life.”

  “If you’re gonna date in this city, you expect to pay a fortune in drinks and restaurant bills. Secretly, my favorite thing to do is stay home. But I know I’ll regret it if I don’t push myself to go out. I feel like that’s what I should be doing at my age.”

  “I envy your freedom. I wouldn’t change my current situation, but I do miss being able to come and go as I please.”

  “I really understood that on Monday,” he said.

  “Yeah.” I chuckled. “My life is basically the opposite of yours.”

  He paused, looking into my eyes for what felt like much longer than normal. “You say that—that our lives are so different—but we have more in common than you know. There’s something I’ve never told you about.”

  I blinked. “There is?”

  He nodded. “I feel very connected to you. And you don’t even know why.”

  I put down my glass and inched a bit closer to him. “Well, now you have me curious.”

  He emptied the last of the wine into our glasses before turning to me again. “You said once that when you stopped dancing, it felt like the death of the future you’d always imagined. I can relate…because my career was cut short by an accident, too.”

  My heart sank. “Really?”

  “I don’t talk about it much. In fact, I don’t talk about it at all. I don’t
think I’ve told more than one other person since I moved here.”

  I leaned in a little. “What happened, Deacon?”

  He stiffened, as if gearing up for what he was about to divulge. “My father is Jed Mathers, the head college football coach for Minneapolis. And I was the star quarterback for Iowa, one of their biggest rivals in the next state over. We made headlines in those days because of that.”

  I exhaled the breath I’d been holding. “Okay…wow. You played football?”

  “I was on track for a career in the NFL. Our team’s record was twenty and six. But…everything ended one day when I crashed my car.”

  My stomach felt sick. Oh no. Instinctively, I reached my hand to his arm.

  He looked down at it and continued. “I hit an oncoming vehicle on a foggy night. I was lucky to survive, but my leg was crushed, and my professional football days were over.”

  I felt his pain intensely. “I’m so sorry. How long ago was this?”

  “A little over nine years. I was twenty, a sophomore in college. My whole life had been about the dreams my father had for me, the same dreams I had for myself. From a very young age, everything had revolved around football.” He stared off. “After the accident, I didn’t know who I was anymore.”

  Those words resonated so strongly with me. Hearing them come out of Deacon’s mouth felt surreal. “I understand that to my core.”

  He looked into my eyes again. “I know you do. That’s why I just awkwardly interrupted our lighthearted dinner to unload my baggage.”

  “I’m so glad you did. Tell me more about what happened.”

  He let out a long breath. “My father and I… Our relationship never really recovered. We didn’t know how to relate to each other without football. I felt useless for a long time. Eventually, my younger brother replaced me in my father’s eyes—became the new hope. While Alex never made it to the NFL, for several years my father chose to focus on him, anything to forget the disappointment I was.”

  That hurt my heart. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  Deacon frowned. “Well, actually, it was. The night of the accident, I was focused on my navigation app when the car crashed into us. Yes, there was fog, but it was very much my fault for not being more alert.”

  “Were you alone?”

  “No. That’s the worst part.” He swallowed. “My girlfriend at the time was with me.”

  I braced myself. “Was she hurt?”

  He hesitated. I knew this had to bring back painful memories for him.

  “She wasn’t severely injured, no. But…” His words trailed off, and he paused. For a moment I thought he might elaborate, but then he simply said, “Things were never the same after that day.”

  “Were the people in the other car injured?”

  He closed his eyes briefly. “No.”

  I nodded, relieved. “Sorry for all the questions.”

  “No. It’s good for me to talk about it. Normally I just keep that part of my life bottled up.”

  “So…what did you do to get back on your feet after that?”

  “Well, you know how you ended up still working for the ballet after your accident? You kept a foot in the world you loved? It was the opposite for me. I wanted nothing to do with football if I couldn’t play. Being around my football buddies, my father and his players, it depressed me. So I transferred to a different college in California, away from everyone, and threw myself into school.”

  “Did you ever move back to the Midwest after that?”

  “No. I’ve felt very disconnected from my family ever since. I’m closer to my mother and grandmother, but it’s been difficult being around my father and brother. I love them, but my relationship with everyone changed after the accident.”

  “Is it just the one brother you have?”

  “Yeah. Alex is two years younger than me. Do you have siblings?”

  “I have one brother, too.” I took a deep breath, still processing everything he’d told me. “Wow. Here I was thinking I didn’t know anyone who could relate to my situation. You’ve been right next door all this time.”

  His eyes met mine. “Crazy, isn’t it?”

  CHAPTER 7

  Deacon

  THE BLACK SWAN

  It felt good to let it all out.

  I’d wanted to tell Carys about my background for a while, but the timing was never right. When she invited me over for dinner, part of the reason I accepted was because I figured I’d have an opportunity to finally explain.

  “From the moment you told me about your accident,” I said, “I’ve felt very connected to you, like maybe I was meant to meet you, because of our shared experience.”

  I immediately regretted those words. Too intense. They were the truth, but I didn’t want her to take them the wrong way. Meant to meet you.

  I corrected, “I don’t mean to sound—”

  “Misery loves company. I get it.” She smiled. “I’m really happy you told me.”

  She placed her delicate hand on my arm. I wished she wouldn’t touch me, because my body reacted every time she did. I had no business feeling that way about Carys. My attraction to her made things uncomfortable. She was the first woman since probably high school who I truly considered a friend. And the whole friendship thing would be a heck of a lot less complicated if I didn’t constantly imagine what her ballerina body would feel like under mine.

  She was like no other woman I’d ever encountered. Carys was elegant as hell. Long, beautiful neck. Soft, porcelain skin. Hair like silk. Didn’t need a drop of makeup. But it wasn’t only those physical things. Her elegance was more inside than out. It was the way she carried herself. If there was one word to describe her, it was graceful.

  It was hard not to notice her beauty on an average day. But tonight she was playing up her sexuality with those damn knee-high black boots and slinky gray dress that hugged her body. I couldn’t stop staring at her, and I really hoped she didn’t sense anything, because that would make things awkward.

  Carys was off limits. She didn’t need to mess around with someone who hadn’t been capable of holding down a relationship in nearly a decade.

  You got that, Deacon?

  “You know why else I’m glad you told me?” she asked, snapping me out of my thoughts.

  “Why?”

  “Because now I know I can’t put up a front around you. I often try to give the impression that I’m okay with what happened to my career, that being a mother to Sunny more than makes up for everything I might have missed out on. But the truth is, I’m trying to make myself believe it more than anything. Someone who’s lost their identity in a similar way knows better than to buy into that so easily.”

  “Yeah,” I whispered. “I definitely know how hard it is.”

  I was dying to hug her, hold her hand, move the hair off her face —something. But I couldn’t. My eyes were glued to hers, and I didn’t know how to handle this pull that gnawed at me. I didn’t know what to do with my damn hands because all they wanted to do was reach out and touch her, to be as connected physically as we were emotionally at this moment. But I refrained.

  Thank God she interrupted the tension. “I forgot,” she said suddenly. “There’s cake!”

  When she stood and started taking the plates to the kitchen, I got up too. “Let me help you.”

  She held out her hand. “No. Stay. The less people in the kitchen the better. If Sunny wakes up, she’ll never leave you alone, and then you won’t get to eat your cake.”

  As I sat down on the couch, I laughed to myself. You can’t have your cake and eat it, too. That saying was perfect for this situation. Could I continue this friendship with Carys without giving her the wrong impression? I wanted to keep whatever this was going, but given my growing attraction to her, was that realistic? I needed to be careful, maybe take a step back.

  Carys returned to the living room carrying two giant mounds of chocolate cake. She handed me mine and sat down. I watched as she took a huge bite of her
s and moaned.

  “Sorry. I get a little too excited over chocolate.” She laughed, covering her mouth.

  Well, I get a little too excited watching you eat it. And yet, I continued to stare at her mouth, anticipating each time she’d open it, enjoying every little sound that came out.

  The more I looked over at her, the more I wished I could have seen her dance.

  “Do you still dance?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “How do you mean?”

  “I know you don’t dance professionally. But do you ever…dance…when you’re alone…for yourself? Maybe that’s a dumb question. I’m sorry.”

  “No. It’s not dumb at all.” She wiped her mouth. “I actually do sometimes. Just to make sure I still have it. It’s not the way it would be if I were up on stage, but yeah, sometimes I’ll randomly put on my toe shoes and do an arabesque in front of the mirror.” She turned a little red. “I can’t believe I’m admitting that.”

  “I think it’s awesome. What’s an arabesque?”

  She pointed to the framed picture on her bookshelf. “Arabesque is what I’m doing in that photo over there. It’s one of the hardest positions, even though it might look easy. I should say, it’s not easy to do it correctly. The perfect turn out…lifted up and forward, relaxed elbow…the right arm placement. No two people do it exactly the same, because everyone’s body is different.” Shaking her head, she said, “Anyway, I’m going off on a tangent.” She rolled her eyes. “Ballet nerd.”

  She’s so damn cute. “Your passion is palpable. Just because you stop doing something every day, doesn’t mean you can’t have that kind of love for it. That’s within you.”

  She hesitated. “Would you want to…” Then she shook her head. “Never mind.”

  My heart beat faster. What the heck was she going to ask me? I needed to know. “Say what you were going to say.”

  Her cheeks grew redder. “Would you want to see a video of me dancing?”

  A relief came over me. Jesus. For a split second, I thought she was going to ask me if I wanted something else. Did I really believe she’d ask if I wanted to go back to her bedroom? Christ, Deacon. Get your mind out of the fucking gutter.