The Trouble With Before

by Portia Moore

  I shift in my seat and cross my legs. “We don’t need to talk about this.”

  “I want to talk about it.” His voice is low and husky.

  There’s an energy buzzing in the room. It’s almost tangible, like waking up in a room full of gas and my answer could be the match that sets everything on fire.

  He leans forward a bit and shakes his head. “Out of every guy you’ve dated, kissed, slept with, he’s the only one who gave you”—he makes air quotes—“‘the feels’?”

  “Yes.” I try to read his face. I try to note the change when his curiosity changes to disgust, but it doesn’t. Instead his eyes hone in on me, and a sly grin spreads across his face.

  “I don’t think you’ve been with the right guys.” He sort of shakes his head as he says this. There’s a defiance in his voice, as if I’ve just offered him a challenge, and the mischievous look in his eyes says that he’s accepted.

  He pushes off the floor and walks toward me, each step making my heart pound as it never has in my life. He looks down at me as if he’s waiting for me to make a slick comment or ask him what he’s doing. But I can’t. My throat has literally closed up, and it’s taking everything in me to just keep breathing. I have to look away from him, my heart is pounding so hard.

  Then I stretch my neck to take all of him in and see his face. I think back to the year that he outgrew me. When we were in the 7th grade, he and I were five one. Over the summer, his mom dragged him away as she always did, and he came back as five four. He reminded me of his height advantage in every argument, and as each year passed, his inches steadily surpassed mine. By high school, not only inches made us different—muscle was layered on him. Lean, beautiful muscle wrapped around his body, and there was no question of who could take who in a scuffle, unless I kicked him in the nuts, which I always reminded him.

  But looking up at him today, not yet thirty, he is at the height of masculinity. His body is ripped to shreds, and he’s standing in front of me looking at me as if he wants to devour me. No, as if he’s going to devour me. My friend, not just a friend of a friend anymore. He’s my best friend, the only other man whose given me butterflies and made every muscle inside me clench and the only man who’s made goose bumps break out on my body like a rash with just a look.

  He kneels so we’re at eye level, staring directly into one another’s eyes. His hands land on my thighs, and I remind myself to breathe as he pulls them apart and pushes his body between them. His strong arms wrap around my waist, and he pulls me toward him, so close our chests are touching. His fingers trickle up my back, and his touch shoots electricity through me.

  I had the feels with Will, but this right here isn’t the feels.

  It’s everything.

  He looks at me with such intensity, a passion that’s intoxicating. Is this why girls go crazy over him? If he looks at other girls how he’s looking at me, I see why they don’t want to let him go, why they want him to promise to be only theirs. If he does this with a look, I’m afraid for his lips to touch mine, but they’re so close, I can almost taste the tequila on them.

  “How does this feel?”

  His voice vibrates through me. His heartbeat is slow and steady while mine is frantic. Can he feel it? I lean forward the tiniest bit, wanting him to take my lips, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pushes me back into the couch until my upper body is stretched before him. His lips find my stomach, and I let out a moan. He looks up at me, his eyes grinning as they trail upward, and with each inch, he lifts my shirt. Until my stomach is in full view.

  He kisses my belly button and trails lower, undoing my pants. I’m literally frozen. I’m not the shy girl who sits back and enjoys the ride. I usually take control. I’m aggressive with my sexuality, but now I feel as though I’m not me, I’m someone else watching all of this happen. He pulls my pants below my hips, and my shirt goes over my head like I’m a ragdoll.

  Moments later, I’m stretched out on the couch and he’s kissing every part of my body. Unable to speak, I can only whimper as his tongue makes his way inside me. I’m floating. Each stroke of his tongue goes deeper, faster, and I’m falling harder. Each moment is better than the last. I’m on a cliff and about to throw myself over into the deep end, then I let go. I’m afraid to fall, but I can’t stop it.

  I can’t hold in the pleasure that explodes in me. I call his name so loud that I’m afraid the neighbors have heard it. When he stretches his body over mine, I feel whole, like I’m a puzzle piece missing its other half. He comes up with a mischievous glint in his eye and the sexiest smirk I’ve ever seen. His body is stretched entirely over mine. I can feel how much he wants me, and I want him so badly. I want to feel him inside me.

  I’m desperate for it, but he pulls back and looks me in my eye. He still hasn’t kissed my lips and I want to beg him to. He seems hesitant, and it terrifies me. Why is he hesitating to kiss me after he’s kissed every inch of my body? My heart beats frantically and I feel his heartbeat as well. My skin has gone from warm to cold.

  “What’s wrong?”

  His voice breaks the spell. I lean up to get him off of me, but his body is heavy and solid and I can’t move him.

  “This is wrong,” I choke out.

  He shifts his weight so I can sit up. I feel tears in my eyes. He doesn’t say anything, and I almost start to cry right in front of him. Aidan never just shuts up; he regrets this.

  I snatch up my clothing, close my eyes, and when I turn back around, I’m wearing a believable grin. “You’re drunk. We’re best friends, and I don’t want to mess that up.” I’m shocked by the steadiness in my voice.

  He looks confused, and it cuts me deeper than a look ever has.

  “Because eventually one of us would mess this up, right?” My tone is sarcastic, but I silently beg him to say that we won’t.

  He’s sitting now, a bewildered look on his face.

  I bite my lip. “I’m the daughter of a whore and a man who leaves at the first sign of trouble, and . . . well, you’re the guy who can’t commit to save his life. I don’t want what could happen to ruin us. If we’re good at anything, it’s fucking stuff up.” I sound completely sure and unaffected, even amused, but inside, I’m dying.

  He looks at me as if he’s devastated, but it’s only for a second. Then he nods, almost in agreement. “You’re right.” He stands and walks toward me, and my breath hitches. “That’s what we do, isn’t it?”

  His voice is like ice and sends a shiver down my back. He grabs my waist and pulls me toward him. I feel tears in my eyes.

  “That’s how you see me?” He shakes his head. “Is that how you see yourself?” The hurt in his voice is apparent.

  Seeing the confusion, hurt, and disappointment in his eyes, I want to smack myself. He lets me go.

  “Good night,” he says with a shake of his head and a defeated expression.

  I quickly leave the room. When I make it to mine, I break down. Emotion, lust, and damage crumble inside me, mixing in a pool of tears.

  THE NEXT DAY, I wake up and morning has melted into early afternoon. My head is light, my stomach is disgusted, and my thoughts . . . let’s not even go there. I grab my phone to confirm the time, and my heart drops when I see a text from Aidan.

  Going to Chicago for awhile. Call me if you need anything.

  I was wrong. We’re not both fuck-ups. I hold that title alone.

  I heard you’re back in Chicago . . . You should come visit . . . ;-)

  I GLANCE AT my phone and see the text from Hillary. I let out a deep breath. I’ve been in Chicago a week, tying up things for my business and crashing at Chris and Lauren’s. Chris and I are at the bar. I’m on my third beer, and two months ago, a text like that from Hillary would have made my night.

  “I’m about to have three kids. Me.”

  I glance at Chris, who has a goofy smile on his face. He’s so ridiculously happy, I want to slap him. Not really, but when you’re around a guy who’s on cloud nine and your cloud is
teetering around a two, you can’t help wanting him to shut up.

  “I’m happy for you,” I say, trying to muster up as much excitement as I can.

  He looks at me with amused disbelief. “What’s up with you, man?”

  I let out a belch. “Nothing, that’s what.”

  He laughs. “I’d think you’d be a little happier. You’re opening up your business—our business—doing what you always wanted before the end of the year. You’re single, not tied down as you say, and the waitress has been eyeing you all night.”

  I shrug. I want to tell him the truth about Lisa, how I’ve fallen for her and she basically ran away from me with a cross as if I was a member of the undead. I want to tell him that I don’t understand why I feel like a chick on her period and I can’t get her out of my head, but I can’t tell him that because of our complicated history. He doesn’t even know Lisa’s staying with me.

  “I just . . . I don’t know, I think I want something different out of life, man,” I tell him, shaking my head.

  He doesn’t say anything. I look over at him and see he’s looking at me as though he’s shocked.

  “Different like what? Are you trying to tell me you’re gay?” he asks.

  I elbow him. “If I was, I’d pull more dudes than you.”

  He chuckles.

  “Let’s take the waitress over there. I could take her home, screw her brains out, and it’d probably be pretty awesome . . .” Through the course of the sentence, I realize it would be pretty good.

  Chris shakes his head at me and laughs.

  Maybe that’s exactly what I need to shake this funk I’m in. So what if Lisa doesn’t think I’m good enough? I know exactly who’d want to ride on the Aidan train tonight.

  “OH MY GOD, I missed this so much,” Hillary purrs as we fall onto her bed.

  She smells good, she knows the right places to kiss me, and I tell myself this is awesome!

  “Why have you been MIA?” she asks between trailing kisses down my neck.

  “A lot going on,” I tell her, undoing her jeans.

  “No, you first,” she tells me with a wide grin.

  She climbs on top of me and starts kissing down my chest. Hillary’s an expert with her lips. I already know her tricks and my dick is already hard, but . . . something’s off. This is hot, Hillary’s hot, but why the hell am I in my head, instead of inside of her? Why doesn’t this feel right? She’s reaching into my underwear, and when I grab her wrist to stop her, she looks up, confused and amused. She stretches her body over mine and leans into my ear.

  “Playing hard to get? I’ll play along,” she whispers before she nibbles on my earlobe.

  I slide my hands up the backs of her thighs to her ass to try to get in the moment, to shut my brain off, but it’s not working . . . I can’t keep my thoughts from that night with Lisa and how different it felt, how charged the atmosphere was, how she felt, how I felt. I try to think of why this is different. Hillary is just as beautiful, her body is a ten, and she knows my body better than almost any woman, but this feels empty. Something is missing.

  Shit!

  I sit up, and Hillary stumbles back and looks at me as though I’ve lost my mind.

  “The feels!” I say.

  “What? Are you trying to tell me you’ve got something?” she asks with a perplexed expression.

  I shake my head and stand up, pulling my pants back up. I know what she meant! I know what Lisa means, and I have the feels for Lisa.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she asks.

  I look at her. “I-I’ve got to go.”

  “Are you serious?” she asks angrily.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come. I just . . . I messed up?” I say, genuinely sorry. I shouldn’t have come. Lisa’s right—I do fuck up.

  “Sorry? Are you kidding me? What are you talking about you messed up?” She asks frantically as she follows me down the hall to her door.

  “You deserve a guy who’s really going to love you, Hillary. Who you feel everything with. You deserve that,” I tell her.

  I shouldn’t be surprised when her hand comes across my cheek, but I am. She steps past me and opens the door.

  “You’re full of shit. Get the hell out of my house!” she growls.

  I do as she says. “I really am sorry,” I tell her before she slams the door in my face.

  As soon as I’m out of Hillary’s apartment building, I call Lisa. She doesn’t pick up. I call her again and get her voicemail. I drive all the way home, and when I get there, Lisa’s gone.

  “YOU LOOK LIKE you’ve lost your best friend.”

  I turn around and see Lauren wobbling toward me. She’s so big she wobbles now, but she’s still as beautiful as the first day I saw her. She sits next to me on their couch in front of their ridiculously huge TV. Chris is sleeping, and Ms. Red and their daughter, Caylen, are at the park. A trip I’d usually take with them, but today I feel weird, as if I’m in someone else’s skin, restless but tired. It’s been a month since I lost my other best friend, when she packed up and moved out, when she rejected me.

  Every week since that week, when Lisa basically called me a fucked up womanizer, I haven’t been doing the things I’ve normally done. I do a good job of pushing my thoughts down, and ignoring the piece of me that feels like it’s missing, but I detect Lauren has a sixth sense about matters of the heart.

  “I’m good. Lost a bet on the game,” I lie with a shrug.

  She frowns at me. “What type of bet was it?” She eyes me knowingly but plays along.

  I let out a big sigh, stretch my legs, and scratch my head. “A pretty big one.”

  She nods. “Well, you have to play to win, right?”

  “I don’t think I should’ve bet at all. Now she doesn’t want to . . . the-the team,” I correct myself.

  She giggles. “You want to just tell me what’s going on, because I know as much about sports as I do cooking and I’m probably not going to be able to keep up with the analogies.”

  I grin. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  She looks at me with a frown. “I wouldn’t believe you . . . ?”

  I laugh and nod, then let out a deep breath. I’m not the type to try to hide or sugarcoat stuff, so I decide to lay it out there. “I think I’m in love with Lisa.” I wait for her face to screw up in disbelief or disgust, but she only smiles. “You’re not shocked by this at all? Not even a little bit?”

  She shrugs. “Should I be?”

  I scratch my head. “Are you psychic?”

  She lets out a little laugh while rubbing her stomach. “No, but Gwen told me that she’s staying with you and she thinks you’ve gotten pretty close again. I mean, you guys have known each other for years, so it’s not the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

  I let out a deep breath.

  “It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever fucking heard.”

  We both look behind us and see Chris scowling at me, his arms crossed. Lauren looks at me quickly.

  “You and fucking Lisa?” he asks angrily.

  Shiiit. I definitely didn’t need him to hear this, and it’s not something I want to discuss with him at all. Chris is probably the only person in this house who doesn’t know that Lisa’s been staying with me, or that she’s been seeing Willa.

  “Are you serious?” he asks.

  “Babe, can you not—”

  He glares at her. “Can I not what? Wonder why my best friend is saying he’s in love with my father’s whore?”

  I take a deep breath and clasp my hands together. Lauren looks at me sympathetically.

  “I feel like I’m living in the twilight zone. My mom’s cool with Lisa, and now you’re in love with her.” He laughs angrily, condescension radiating off of him.

  “I’m not talking about this with you, man,” I tell him, trying to maintain my composure.

  “No, I want to talk about it! When did this happen? Is this why you’ve been MIA the past few
months?”

  “This really isn’t our business,” Lauren interjects.

  “Yeah, it is. He’s sitting in my house talking to my wife about how he’s fallen in love with a chick who ruined my family!” he shouts.

  “Ruined your family?” I laugh. “Your family looks pretty intact to me. Your mom and dad are still together, you have a little sister running around, an you’re expecting twins. Lisa lost everybody!”

  “Who did she lose? She still has you, my mom is at her beck and call, and even Lauren seems to be on Team Lisa, right, hon?” he asks sarcastically.

  “You’re being a real jerk right now!” Lauren shouts at him.

  “Oh, I’m the jerk? Excuse me for being the one who just so happened to be affected by all of this!”

  Lauren rolls her eyes at him. “If Gwen could move past this, why can’t you? No one is asking you to be her friend again, but do you have to be so horrible? She’s Willa’s mother. Can you just try to be civil?”

  His lips are pressed together. “No, I don’t think I can be.” He turns toward me. “You chose her before.”

  I wave him off.

  “No, you did. When she told you what happened, you should have told me, but you didn’t. You hid it and let her slap me in the face with it!” he shouts at me.

  I look at Lauren, who swallows hard. She shouldn’t be around this. I get up to leave the room.

  “I’ve never forgotten about that,” he says.

  “I see that now,” I say flatly.

  “If you want to be with her, leave us out of it,” he says coldly.

  I look at him in disbelief. “What? You’re making me choose?”

  “No, he’s not,” Lauren says quickly.

  “Yeah, I am. It’s her or us. If you want her to be your family, that’s fine, but you can’t have it both ways.”

  Lauren stands, looking between us. “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do. If you want to be with her, if you think she’s worth it, then stay away from me and stay away from my family,” he says quietly.

  “Dude, seriously? You’re my brother,” I say with a disbelieving laugh.