Keeping Her

by Cora Carmack

  She grinned, but didn’t argue. “Fine. Fine. Condoms?”

  “In my purse.”

  “Brain?”

  “Turned off. Or well . . . dialed down anyway.”

  “Excellent. I think we’re ready.”

  I wasn’t ready. Not at all.

  There was a reason I hadn’t had sex yet, and now I knew it. I was a control freak. It was why I had done so well in school my entire life. It made me a great stage manager—­no one could run a theater rehearsal like I could. And when I did get up the nerve to act, I was always more prepared than any other actor in class. But sex . . . that was the opposite of control. There were emotions, and attraction, and that pesky other person that just had to be involved. Not my idea of fun.

  “You’re thinking too much,” Kelsey said.

  “Better than not thinking enough.”

  “Not tonight it’s not,” she said.

  I turned up the volume of Kelsey’s iPod as soon as we got in the car so that I could think in peace.

  I could do this. It was just a problem that needed to be solved, an item that needed to be checked off my to-­do list.

  It was that simple.

  Simple.

  Keep it simple.

  We pulled up outside the bar several minutes later, and the night felt anything but simple. My pants felt too tight, my shirt too low-­cut, and my brain too clouded. I wanted to throw up.

  I didn’t want to be a virgin. That much I knew. I didn’t want to feel like the immature prude who knew nothing about sex. I hated not knowing things. The trouble was . . . as much as I didn’t want to be a virgin, I also didn’t want to have sex.

  The conundrum of all conundrums. Why couldn’t this be one of those square-­is-­a-­rectangle-­but-­rectangle-­is-­not-­always-­a-­square kind of things?

  Kelsey was standing outside my door, her high-­heeled shoes snapping in time with her fingers as she roused me out of the car. I squared my shoulders, tossed my hair (halfheartedly), and followed Kelsey into the bar.

  I made a beeline straight to the bar, wiggled myself onto a stool, and waved down the bartender.

  He was a possibility. Blond hair, average build, nice face. Nothing special, but certainly not out of the question. He could be good for simple.

  “What can I get for y’all, ladies?”

  Southern accent. Definitely a homegrown kind of boy.

  Kelsey butted in, “We need two shots of tequila to start.”

  “Make it four,” I croaked.

  He whistled, and his eyes met mine. “That kinda night, huh?”

  I wasn’t ready to put into words what kind of night this was. So I just said, “I’m looking for some liquid courage.”

  “And I’d be glad to help.” He winked at me, and he was barely out of earshot before Kelsey bounced in her seat, saying, “He’s the one! He’s the one!”

  Her words made me feel like I was on a roller coaster, like the world had just dropped and all my organs were playing catch-­up. I just needed more time to adjust. That’s it. I grabbed Kelsey’s shoulder and forced her to stay still. “Chill, Kels. You’re like a freaking Chihuahua.”

  “What? He’s a good choice. Cute. Nice. And I totally saw him glance at your cleavage . . . twice.”

  She wasn’t wrong. But I still wasn’t all that interested in sleeping with him, which I suppose didn’t have to rule him out, but this sure would be a hell of a lot easier if I was actually interested in the guy. I said, “I’m not sure . . . there’s just no spark.” I could see an eye roll coming, so I tagged on a quick “Yet!”

  When Bartender Boy returned with our drinks, Kelsey paid and I took my two shots before she even handed over her card. He stayed for a moment, smiling at me, before moving on to another customer. I stole one of Kelsey’s remaining shots.

  “You’re lucky this is a big night for you, Bliss. Normally, nobody gets between me and my tequila.”

  I held my hand out and said, “Well, nobody will get between these legs unless I’m good and drunk, so hand me the last one.”

  Kelsey shook her head, but she was smiling. After a few seconds, she gave in, and with four shots of tequila in my system the prospect of sex seemed a little less scary.

  Another bartender came by, this one a girl, and I ordered a Jack and Coke to sip on while I puzzled through this whole mess.

  There was Bartender Boy, but he wouldn’t get off until well after 2:00 A.M. I was a nervous wreck already, so if this dragged on till the wee hours of the morning, I’d be completely psychotic. I could just imagine it . . . straitjacketed due to sex.

  There was a guy standing next to me who seemed to move several inches closer with every drink I took, but he had to be at least forty. No thank you.

  I gulped down more of my drink, thankful the bartender had gone heavy on the Jack, and scanned the bar.

  “What about him?” Kelsey asked, pointing to a guy at a nearby table.

  “Too preppy.”

  “Him?”

  “Too hipster.”

  “Over there?”

  “Ew. Too hairy.”

  The list continued until I was pretty sure this night was a bust. Kelsey suggested we hit another bar, which was the last thing I wanted to do. I told her I had to go to the bathroom, hoping someone would catch her eye while I was gone so that I could slip away with no drama. The bathroom was at the back, past the pool and darts area, behind a section with some small round tables.

  That was when I noticed him.

  Well, technically, I noticed the book first.

  And I just couldn’t keep my mouth closed. “If that’s supposed to be a way to pick up girls, I would suggest moving to an area with a little more traffic.”

  He looked up from his reading, and suddenly I found it hard to swallow. He was easily the most attractive guy I’d seen tonight—­blond hair falling into crystal blue eyes, just enough scruff on his jaw to give him a masculine look without making him too hairy, and a face that could have made angels sing. It wasn’t making me sing. It was making me gawk. Why did I stop? Why did I always have to make an idiot of myself?

  “Excuse me?”

  My mind was still processing his perfect hair and bright blue eyes, so it took me a second to say, “Shakespeare. No one reads Shakespeare in a bar unless it’s a ploy to pick up girls. All I’m saying is, you might have better luck up front.”

  He didn’t say anything for a long beat, but then his mouth split in a grin revealing, what do you know, perfect teeth!

  “It’s not a ploy, but if it were, it seems to me that I’m having great luck right here.”

  An accent. He has a British accent. Dear God, I’m dying.

  Breathe. I needed to breathe.

  Don’t lose it, Bliss.

  He put his book down, but not before marking his place. My God, he was really reading Shakespeare in a bar.

  “You’re not trying to pick up a girl?”

  “I wasn’t.”

  My analytical brain did not miss his use of the past tense. As in . . . he hadn’t been trying to seduce anyone before, but perhaps he was now.

  I took another look at him. He was grinning now—­white teeth, jaw stubble that made him look downright delectable. Yep, I was definitely seducible. And that thought alone was enough to send me into shock.

  “What’s your name, love?”

  Love? Love! Still dying here.

  “Bliss.”

  “Is that a line?”

  I blushed crimson. “No, it’s my name.”

  “Lovely name for a lovely girl.” The timbre of his voice went into that low register that made my insides curl in on themselves—­it was like my uterus was tapping out a happy dance on the rest of my organs. God, I was dying the longest, most torturous, most arousing death in the history of the world.
Was this what it always felt like to be turned on? No wonder sex made ­people do crazy things.

  “Well, Bliss, I’m new in town, and I’ve already locked myself out of my apartment. I’m waiting on a locksmith actually, and I figured I’d put this spare time to good use.”

  “By brushing up on your Shakespeare?”

  “Trying to anyway. Honestly, I’ve never liked the bloke all that much, but let’s keep that a secret between us, yeah?”

  I’m pretty sure my cheeks were still stained red, if the heat coming off of them was any indication. In fact, my whole body felt like it was on fire. I’m not sure whether it was mortification or his accent that had me about to spontaneously combust in front of him.

  “You look disappointed, Bliss. Are you a Shakespeare fan?”

  I nodded, because my throat might have been closing up.

  He wrinkled his nose in response, and my hands itched to follow the line of his nose down to his lips.

  I was going crazy. Actually, certifiably insane.

  “Don’t tell me you’re a Romeo and Juliet fan?”

  Now this. This was something I could discuss.

  “Othello actually. That’s my favorite.”

  “Ah. Fair Desdemona. Loyal and pure.”

  My heart stuttered at the word “pure.”

  “I, um . . .” I struggled to piece together my thoughts. “I like the juxtaposition of reason and passion.”

  “I’m a fan of passion myself.” His eyes dipped down then and ran the length of my form. My spine tingled until it felt like it might burst out of my skin.

  “You haven’t asked me my name,” he said.

  I cleared my throat. This couldn’t be attractive. I was about as sociable as a caveman. I asked, “What’s your name?”

  He tilted his head, and his hair almost covered his eyes.

  “Join me, and I’ll tell you.”

  I didn’t think about anything other than the fact that my legs were like Jell-­O and sitting down would prevent me from doing something embarrassing, like passing out from the influx of hormones that were quite clearly having a free-­for-­all in my brain. I sank into the chair, but instead of feeling relieved, the tension ratcheted up another notch.

  He spoke, and my eyes snagged on his lips. “My name is Garrick.”

  Who knew names could be hot too?

  “It’s nice to meet you, Garrick.”

  He leaned forward on his elbows, and I noticed his broad shoulders and the way his muscles moved beneath the fabric of his shirt. Then our eyes connected, and the bar around us went from dim to dark, while I was ensnared by those baby blues.

  “I’m going to buy you a drink.” It wasn’t meant to be a question. In fact, when he looked at me, there was nothing questioning in him at all, only confidence. “Then we can chat some more about reason and . . . passion.”

  FAKING IT

  1

  Cade

  YOU WOULD THINK I’d be used to it by now. That it wouldn’t feel like a rusty eggbeater to the heart every time I saw them together.

  You would think I would stop subjecting myself to the torture of seeing the girl I loved with another guy.

  You would be wrong on all counts.

  A nor’easter had just blown through, so the Philadelphia air was crisp. Day-­old snow still crunched beneath my boots. The sound seemed unusually loud, like I walked toward the gallows instead of coffee with friends.

  Friends.

  I gave one of those funny-­it’s-­not-­actually-­funny laughs, and my breath came out like smoke. I could see them standing on the corner up ahead. Bliss’s arms were wound around Garrick’s neck, and the two of them stood wrapped together on the sidewalk. Bundled in coats and scarves, they could have been a magazine ad or one of those perfect pictures that come in the frame when you buy it.

  I hated those pictures.

  I tried not to be jealous. I was getting over it.

  I was.

  I wanted Bliss to be happy, and as she slipped her hands in Garrick’s coat pockets and their breath fogged between them, she definitely looked happy. But that was part of the problem. Even if I managed to let go of my feelings for Bliss completely, it was their happiness that inspired my jealousy.

  Because I was fucking miserable. I tried to keep myself busy, made some friends, and settled into life all right here, but it just wasn’t the same.

  Starting over sucked.

  On a scale of one to ghetto, my apartment was a solid eight. Things were still awkward with my best friend. I had student loans piling so high I might asphyxiate beneath them at any time. I thought by pursuing my master’s degree, I would get at least one part of my life right . . . WRONG.

  I was the youngest one in the program, and everyone else had years of working in the real world under his or her belt. They all had their lives together, and my life was about as clean and well kept as the community bathrooms had been in my freshman dorm. I’d been here nearly three months, and the only acting I’d done had been a cameo appearance as a homeless person in a Good Samaritan commercial.

  Yeah, I was living the good life.

  I knew the minute Bliss caught sight of me because she pulled her hands out of Garrick’s pockets, and placed them safely at her sides. She stepped out of his arms and called, “Cade!”

  I smiled. Maybe I was doing some acting after all.

  I met them on the sidewalk, and Bliss gave me a hug. Short. Obligatory. Garrick shook my hand. As much as it irked me, I still really liked the guy. He’d never tried to keep Bliss from seeing me, and he’d apparently given me a pretty stellar reference when I applied to Temple. He didn’t go around marking his territory or telling me to back off. He shook my hand and smiled, and sounded genuine when he said, “It’s good to see you, Cade.”

  “Good to see you guys, too.”

  There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Bliss gave an exaggerated shiver. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m freezing. Let’s head inside.”

  Together we filed through the door. Mugshots was a coffee place during the day and served alcohol at night. I’d not been there yet, as it was kind of a long trek from my apartment up by the Temple campus and because I didn’t drink coffee, but I’d heard good things. Bliss loved coffee, and I still loved making Bliss happy, so I agreed to meet there when she called. I thought of asking if they’d serve me alcohol now, even though it was morning. Instead I settled on a smoothie and found us a table big enough that we’d have plenty of personal space.

  Bliss sat first while Garrick waited for their drinks. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, but the winter weather agreed with her. The blue scarf knotted around her neck brought out her eyes, and her curls were scattered across her shoulders, windswept and wonderful.

  Damn it. I had to stop doing this.

  She pulled off her gloves, and rubbed her hands together. “How are you?” she asked.

  I balled my fists under the table and lied. “I’m great. Classes are good. I’m loving Temple. And the city is great. I’m great.”

  “You are?” I could tell by the look on her face that she knew I was lying. She was my best friend, which made her pretty hard to fool. She’d always been good at reading me . . . except for when it came to how I felt about her. She could pick up on just about all my other fears and insecurities, but never that. Sometimes I wondered if it was wishful thinking. Maybe she never picked up on my feelings because she hadn’t wanted to.

  “I am,” I assured her. She still didn’t believe me, but she knew me well enough to know that I needed to hold on to my lie. I couldn’t vent to her about my problems, not right now. We didn’t have that kind of relationship anymore.

  Garrick sat down. He’d brought all three of our drinks. I didn’t even hear them call out my order.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “
No problem. What are we talking about?”

  Here we go again.

  I took a long slurp of my smoothie so that I didn’t have to answer immediately.

  Bliss said, “Cade just finished telling me all about his classes. He’s kicking higher education’s ass.” At least some things hadn’t changed. She still knew me well enough to know when I needed an out.

  Garrick nudged Bliss’s drink toward her and smiled when she took a long, grateful drink. He turned to me and said, “That’s good to hear, Cade. I’m glad it’s going well. I’m still on good terms with the professors at Temple, so if you ever need anything, you know you just have to ask.”

  God, why couldn’t he have been an asshole? If he were, one good punch would have gone a long way to easing the tightness in my chest. And it would be much cheaper than punching out a wall in my apartment.

  I said, “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  We chattered about unimportant things. Bliss talked about their production of Pride and Prejudice, and I realized that Garrick really had been good for her. I never would have guessed that out of all of us, she’d be the one doing theatre professionally so quickly after we graduated. It’s not that she wasn’t talented, but she was never confident. I thought she would have gone the safer route and been a stage manager. I liked to think I could have brought that out of her, too, but I wasn’t so sure.

  She talked about their apartment on the edge of the Gayborhood. So far, I’d managed to wriggle out of all her invitations to visit, but sooner or later I was going to run out of excuses and would have to see the place they lived. Together.

  Apparently their neighborhood was a pretty big party area. They lived right across from a really popular bar. Garrick said, “Bliss is such a light sleeper that it has become a regular event to wake up and listen to the drama that inevitably occurs outside our window at closing time.”

  She was a light sleeper? I hated that he knew that and I didn’t. I hated feeling this way. They started relaying a story of one of those nighttime events, but they were barely looking at me. They stared at each other, laughing, reliving the memory. I was a spectator to their perfect harmony, and it was a show I was tired of watching.