Falling Over (Falling In Series Book 3)

by Andrea Hopkins

  “Is he yours?”

  “What?” I pull back and look up at Ben. An infinite number of emotions and questions reflect in his weary gaze.

  “Is Blaine your new chapter?” he mutters so quietly I have to lean in even closer to hear him and when I do, my breath leaves me in an audible whoosh.

  I don’t want to answer that question. Not even a little bit, but I can practically feel the silent plea radiating off of him. I drop my gaze like the coward I am and tell him the truth.

  “He might be.”

  Ben tips my chin up with the knuckle of his thumb, my eyes springing to his no matter how much I want to divert them. They’re like two fucking sparkly, green magnets, never ceasing to yank me in. Everything about this sexy and insufferable man is impossible to ignore. Even his damn aura is commanding.

  And then, of course, the asshole smiles, full-on and displaying that delicious single dimple, because it’s not like he wasn’t hard enough to resist. Goddess help me!

  “And he might not,” he counters, sounding a lot like a challenge. Whelp, looks like his normal level of confidence is back. Awesome.

  I ignore his statement and step out of his hold, instantly feeling cold, even in this Oregon summer weather.

  “So, are we good—goodish for tonight, at least?”

  “Yeah, we’re good, Bug.”

  “You wanna come back to the apartment, binge on non-dairy ice cream, leftover takeout, and the Brat Pack while we listen to Miles bash our thick-headed brother?”

  He chuckles deep and smiles wide and goddess help me, I think my ovaries just twerked. Damn him and my whoreish lady bits.

  “Can’t think of a better way to spend a Friday night.”

  We walk back to the apartment and do just that—gorge ourselves on carbohydrates and drink way too much wine while watching Sixteen Candles talking shit about my twin. And for the first time in a year, I didn’t hate Ben motherfucking Catalano Moretti. In fact, I kinda sorta liked him.

  Twenty-eight

  Songs to listen to:

  “Wonderland” by Taylor Swift

  “Sweet Creature” by Harry Styles

  “Close” by Nick Jonas & Tove Lo

  “Verse” By Rhye

  “Only Angel” by Harry Styles

  Ben

  I hate this shirt. The sleeves are too short and the tag scratches my neck. But I don’t say anything.

  I hate my breakfast. I wanted Magic Stars, but Uncle Ben insisted on making waffles and bacon. He’s trying. I may be nine, but I know what he’s doing. It’s what everyone’s doing this morning. Miss Evie and Dylan. They’re quiet and weird—a lot like me. And I hate that, too.

  I hate everything today, everything but her.

  Cady.

  Bug.

  She’s the only person who is treating me normal. And it’s not because she doesn’t know what today is. She does. But she isn’t letting it bring her down, and she’s trying really hard to no let it bring me down, either.

  She woke me up this morning by jumping on my bed singing a Taylor Swift song. I didn’t want to smile. I really didn’t. I definitely shouldn’t have. But I couldn’t help it. It’s impossible not to smile when she’s looking at me the way she does—like I’m the sun on a rainy day or finding a package of fruit snacks in the bottom of the box when you thought it was empty.

  She makes everything okay.

  But today, I’m not sure she’s enough.

  I pick at my food and stare at the glass of orange juice in front of me, mindlessly counting the bits of pulp in complete silence. I haven’t said a word all morning. For a while, that had become a normal thing, but ever since I met Evie and the twins, I’ve started to find my voice again and grown to hate the quiet.

  But not today.

  Today, I embrace it. I need it. Because if I talk, I’ll break.

  It’s been two years since my parents died. Today is the anniversary or whatever you want to call it. It still hurts. I think it always will. But lately, it’s hurt a little less. Until today. Today just really freaking sucks.

  “Mom. Jake. May I speak to Ben alone, please?” Cady cuts through the awkward conversation going around the kitchen table. I lift my eyes from my drink and find hers on me. They’re so blue it’s like looking at the summer sky. Always bright. Always smiling. She’s so pretty. No, beautiful. She’s really freaking beautiful.

  Evie looks to Jake for the right answer. He nods and she does the same. Dylan looks to Cady, who immediately turns to him. They have a conversation in their heads that no one else can understand. They do this a lot. And then he leaves, throwing a small, sad smile my way as he walks upstairs. Uncle Jake and Evie follow, after placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. I watch them walk down the hallway until they disappear behind the walls. And then, as usual, I bring my eyes to Cady. She doesn’t say anything as she moves around the kitchen, grabbing a bowl and spoon. Opening the pantry door and pulling out the box of Magic Stars before grabbing the half-gallon of almond milk.

  She gets the bowl ready and walks it over to the table. But she doesn’t place it in front of me like I thought she would. Nope, not Cady. Instead, she holds the bowl in one hand while curling her other hand in mine, and then she tugs me out of my seat until I’m underneath the table. We sit crisscross applesauce and with a huge smile that makes my heart feel weird, she hands me the bowl of cereal.

  “Thanks Bug, but I don’t feel like talking today.” I don’t feel like doing anything.

  “You don’t have to. I’ll do enough talking for the both of us. I already do that most of the time, anyway.”

  That is true. My mouth twitches, but then I remember what today is and I shove a spoonful of marshmallows in my mouth to cover up the sudden pain in my chest.

  Cady is quiet while I eat, which isn’t like her. Normally, she doesn’t know when to shut up and I like it that way. No, I love it.

  Sighing, I drop my spoon in the bowl, place it on the seat of the bench and turn my head toward her. She’s chewing on her nails and hugging her knees to her chest. She looks…scared. I want to hug her. I want to hug her so bad. But I don’t.

  “I thought you said you were going to do all the talking?”

  “I thought you said you weren’t going to talk at all?”

  “You’re too quiet. You’re never quiet. That’s my job.”

  “I know,” she sighs dramatically. “I thought I could be all happy and myself and I’d know what to say to you but nothing seems good enough.”

  “You’re here with me. You made me cereal. That’s good enough, Bug. It’s more than good enough.” It’s everything.

  That dang smile is back on her face and when she grabs my hand and squeezes, it feels like I can breathe again. She tries to take her hand from mine but I hold tight.

  “Can I just…um, can I hold your hand for a little bit longer?”

  She looks like she’s going to cry and I hate it, but then she nods her head and pulls me down to lie on the kitchen floor next to her and anything I was going to say disappears.

  We lie there for hours. Eventually she starts to talk because it’s Cady, she can’t help herself. But I listen to every word. The sound of her voice is easing the ache in my chest. And even though are palms are sweaty, she never lets go of my hand.

  After a while she stops talking again. I turn to her and her eyes are already on me.

  “I know it doesn’t seem like it today, but everything’s going to be okay, Benny.”

  “How do you know?” I whisper.

  She smiles that dang smile and right then, I know she’s right.

  “Because we have each other now. And I promise, I’ll never leave you. Ever.”

  I’ll never leave you, either, I wanted to say. But I couldn’t get the words out. They stuck to the roof of my mouth like peanut butter. So, like usual, I said nothing at all.

  ***

  I wake up with an ache in my chest. It’s deep and raw and it hurts like a bitch. I haven’t thou
ght about that day in a long time. It was one of the worst I’ve had. I hadn’t felt so helpless since those first few months of my parent’s death. I wanted to scream and throw shit but I was too fucking numb to do anything. I felt trapped. And I had nowhere to go. I know Jake was hurting too, but he had Evie, and no matter how much pain he was in, you could see his happiness shining through, overshadowing and undeniable. I couldn’t take that away from him. So, I kept my mouth shut.

  I should have known she’d see right through me. Even at eight years old, Cady could read every thought, every feeling, with a just a quick search by her perceptive eyes. She knew my soul. She owned it. Still does, even if she will never admit it.

  I’m guessing that’s why my subconscious is being a major dick. I deserve it, no doubt. Still, reliving what started off as one of my worst days was a little overkill. But when I remember how Cady was just there, present and warm and understanding and just fucking perfect—holding onto my hand like she had no intention of letting go as she talked about anything and everything. All of which I wouldn’t give a shit about on a normal day, but when Cady speaks, it’s hard to ignore. She’s so animated and full of life and light that you find yourself hanging on every word and craving for more once she finally shuts her mouth. After considering this, somehow the memory morphs into something else entirely. It feels oddly…happy.

  A smile tugs at my mouth. It’s confusing; which is nothing new. Especially after yesterday. Holy shit, yesterday was a clusterfuck of emotions and admissions and kisses. Fuck, that kiss. That kiss was the kiss of all kisses. Better than the first and second combined. Times ten.

  I had her.

  I thought I had her.

  And then I opened my big-ass mouth again and said too much. Or too little. Or not the right thing. I’m not entirely sure. I just know it was the truth and it pissed her the eff off and she may not have run away, but I definitely lost her. Well, until she came after me and what started off as a fucked up day ended up being one of the best I’ve had in a long time.

  After listening to Miles completely pop off on Dylan for hours until he passed out around midnight with an empty bottle of Rosé and a spring roll in his hand, Cady and I polished off the second bottle of wine and spent most of the night arguing over which ’80s teen movie character we were most like.

  With deep analysis and intense debate, we settled on Molly Ringwald’s Andi from Pretty in Pink with a hint of Jennifer Grey’s Baby from Dirty Dancing for Cady. We couldn’t reach a unanimous decision when it came to myself, though. Cady was dead-set on The Breakfast Club’s Emilio Estevez. But I saw myself more as a Lloyd Dobler, aka John Cusack in Say Anything, which coincidently happens to be my favorite movie of all time—slightly misunderstood dude who is in love with unattainable girl. Although, I guess in my case, I was the one who made the girl unattainable. Cady was always well within my reach, but instead of grabbing her and holding her close, I chose to push her as far away as possible.

  Yeah, I know. I’m a dumbass and I’m paying for it.

  Anyway, in the end, we decided to agree to disagree. We got through Sixteen Candles, Ferris Bueller, and another half bottle of cheap Merlot before she joined Miles, passing out on the loveseat with her polka dot pajama-clad legs curled up to her chest and her wild hair piled high on top of her head. I’m not ashamed to admit, I spent a solid thirty minutes watching her sleep. Yes, I felt like a total creeper, but it was effing worth it and something I’ve grown used to. Take what you can get.

  Goddamn, she’s beautiful. Like, to a point where it’s almost unreal. Even with the little dribble of drool that leaked onto the throw pillow she made, she is still freaking magnificent. Yep, I said it. Mag-fucking-nificent. Her flawless skin looked silky to the touch while the year-around tan popped against the white blanket I placed over her. Her full lips pouty, slightly tinted with purple from the wine and damn did I want to steal another kiss. My body begged for it, screamed at me to claim her lips one more time. I settled with a peck to her forehead.

  But then she moaned in her sleep, a definite sex-moan—low and needy and damn sexy as hell. It was my undoing, and I was another moan or adorable sleepy sigh away from waking her up and tossing her over my shoulder. So, I did what any horny gentleman would do in that situation—I booked it the hell out of that living room, shut my bedroom door quietly behind me, dropped my pants, and had my dick in my hand so fast I would’ve been ashamed had it not been completely necessary.

  As was the morning tug in the shower five minutes ago.

  Don’t judge me. No one likes a judger.

  And now I’m up at the ass crack of dawn, dream pushed down to the back of my mind and yesterday’s sliver of hope now in the forefront, showered, dressed and ready for the effing battle for Cady’s heart. Yeah, I know that’s corny as fuck, but I had to say it. Made me feel like a book boyfriend, which really is the ultimate goal in life. In case you haven’t caught on yet—I, Benjamin Catalano-Moretti, love romance novels. I can’t help it. I tried, I really tried to stop, but fuck it, they’re amazing. They’re sexy and funny and dark and they give insight into the complicated minds of women! Every single man should read at least a few a year—your sex life will thank me, trust. I’m on my fiftieth and it’s only June. But anyway, back to the task at hand, i.e. getting my Bug back, or in our case, getting her technically for the first time.

  Yeah, that doesn’t sound sexy or romantic at all.

  All right, how about—getting Cady as far away from Blaine as possible, and when she’s not looking maybe push him off a big-ass cliff. Too extreme? Meh, if you say so. Okay, I got it, task at hand—be the man she thought I would be, the man she needs me to be, the man I will work day in and day out to become.

  Piece of cake, right?

  Yeah, I know. Time to fucking woman up and get my girl.

  ***

  “What are you doing here?” Cady asks, her eyes wide, almost cartoonish, looking adorably confused and fuck me, absolutely sinful in the tiniest pair of shorts I’ve ever seen. They sit high on her waist but end just under her ass-cheeks, which starts a war within me—the urge to either bend her over the dog kennel I’m currently cleaning or cover her up with my hoodie are at odds right now. She’s seriously trying to kill me.

  Death by ass-cheek. What a way to go.

  Before I can think about it and stop myself from saying the worst fucking thing possible (surprise, surprise, right?) my mouth opens and complete shit comes out.

  “What the fuck are you wearing?” Yep, I’m a dead man. Her cute little surprise face now morphs into imminent murder face. Great start on the whole winning Cady’s heart, moron.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. What. The fuck. Are you wearing? Those shorts—if you can even call them that—are glorified panties!” Fuuuuucking. Stop. Talking, Ben. Just stop.

  “Are you kidding me right now?”

  “I can see your ass cheeks, Bug! Your ass cheeks!” Oh my god, what the fuck are you doing? Mouth, shut the fuck up!

  “And you’re complaining because?”

  “Ummm…” I turn my head away from her in thought. Why the hell am I complaining? Fuck, this girl has got me riled. I flick my eyes back to her and she’s freaking smirking. Smirking!

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. And not that it’s any of your business, but it’s seven in the morning and already fucking ninety degrees. This heat wave is going to be the death of me. It’s hot as tits outside and frankly, I can wear whatever the fuck I want to wear and I look damn good wearing it, so you can get the fuck over it and suck my lady-dick.”

  Lady dick? Before I think better of it, my eyes drop to her crotch and she punches me in the shoulder. Hard. Damn.

  “I don’t actually have a lady-dick, Ben! Jesus!”

  “I know, I know. I’m sorry. I’m all out of whack today.” I blow out a breath and then walk the few steps between us. I reach out and cup her face with one hand, while the other teases at the hem of her booty shorts.
“You do look damn good in these shorts. Too good. It made me fucking lose my mind the second I saw your fine ass in them. You’re so fucking sexy, you stole my breath and my brain cells, apparently. I’m sorry, and so is my idiotic mouth.”

  Cady sighs into my words, her face softening, eyes dropping to my mouth briefly before she shakes whatever thought that just flashed through her brilliant head of hers, and then she smiles. Wide and real and so mother-effing beautiful my breath literally gets stuck in my throat.

  “Apology accepted, dumbass.” She squeezes my shoulders before pushing me away and heading over to greet the dogs clamoring for her attention. Get in line, pooches. This girl is mine. She opens the cage of a black pit-bull mix and the second the door swings open, the dog jumps into Cady’s arms, licking her face like she’s a spoon of peanut butter. “Now, since you’re done throwing a bitch-fit—”

  “It was not a bitch-fit!” I yell in denial, knowing that it was in fact a damn bitch-fit.

  “You can deny it all you want, we both know the truth. Anyway, as I was saying, now that you’re done throwing a bitch-baby tantrum, you can tell me why you’re here. At the animal shelter. Where I work and you don’t. At seven in the freaking morning…”

  “That is a very good question, Cadybug. There is a slight possibility and when I say slight, I mean a one hundred-percent certainty that I kind of called your boss last week—the week you avoided all things moi—and charmed my way into getting your schedule coordinated with mine as best as I could. Did you know you were understaffed here?”

  “Yes, of course I knew. Wait, no, you did not do what I think you did! Ben!”

  “If you’re thinking that I volunteered for as long as you guys need me, then yes, I totally did. You’re looking at your new puppy bitch, bitch! Shit! Nope, I so did not mean to call you bitch. I may have gotten a little carried away there. You are not a bitch. Not even the slightest. You are perfect and sassy in the best way—”

  “Sassy?” Cady snorts.

  “You know what I mean. Jesus, Cady. I’m trying here—”