Sweet tb-2

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Sweet tb-2 Page 11

by Erin McCarthy


  I bit my lip, suddenly feeling sad. He didn’t get it. And if he didn’t get it, did he get me? And why did it matter that he got me? Other than that I didn’t want to be put in that category of women that men didn’t respect. Because I didn’t deserve that. “Maybe to me it makes more sense to be physically intimate with a friend, someone who knows you and cares about you, that you trust, than to have sex with a total stranger you’ve met in a bar.”

  He nodded, but he didn’t say anything, his brow furrowed.

  “So what were we doing here, Riley?” I asked, the fight gone from me, a heavy sense of disappointment falling over me, a blanket of negative emotion. “It’s hard to classify me as a one-night stand given that I’m living in your house.”

  “Oh, I don’t do one-night stands,” he said, and his arms dropped to his sides.

  Something about the way he was looking at me . . . I felt my heart rate kick up a notch. “No?”

  “No. I never have.”

  The magazine suddenly became a shield between us. I clutched it tighter to my chest, well aware of the goose bumps raising on my arms and the way my nipples were hard. “You’ve never had a one-night stand ever?” I tried to snort in derision, but it came out sounding like a shaky laugh. “Please.”

  “I haven’t. Not my thing. I totally agree with you. I wouldn’t want to have sex with someone I don’t know, don’t trust, don’t care about.”

  My cheeks felt hot and I licked my lips nervously, tilting my chin up so he wouldn’t see how vulnerable I suddenly felt. “So I guess you understand the friends with benefits thing better than you realized. Or maybe you would have if we hadn’t been interrupted.”

  But he slowly shook his head and I shivered. “Nah. I still don’t get it.”

  “Well, then you make no sense,” I told him flatly, unnerved by the way he was looking at me. When he reached out and touched my cheek, stroking the back of his hand on my skin, I jerked away. For some reason, I wanted to believe he was making fun of me. Yet I was almost certain he wasn’t. Which meant that instead of being able to retreat behind anger and indignation, I was going to have to face something that seemed scary as hell.

  “I think what we can conclude here is that while I didn’t say them out loud, my thoughts were running more along the relationship line.”

  “Oh,” I said, though my brain had stopped functioning the minute the R word came out of his mouth.

  “So what do you think? The princess and the prick . . . it could work. Or at least we could give it a shot.”

  My mouth filled with hot anxiety. “You want to have a relationship with me?” I asked, the very idea sending my thoughts galloping in opposite directions. On the one hand, the concept made me want to run away screaming, slamming the door shut behind me. On the other hand, there was something super hot about having Riley Mann as my boyfriend, even if that word made me want to choke on my saliva. “I thought you said you don’t do relationships.”

  He’d said that at Nathan and Bill’s, quite clearly. Maybe he had been joking. But I couldn’t grasp that he would actually want to be with me, in the way you are with someone you’re exclusive with. I also couldn’t grasp that part of me wanted to jump straight into his arms and say yes to it. I didn’t give up control like that, I didn’t.

  “I don’t. Or I haven’t in a while. Maybe we shouldn’t call it a relationship then, exactly. I mean, it’s only been a week we’ve been hanging out. Maybe it’s more like dating.”

  The relief I felt was actually scary. It was like when you skid while driving in the snow and are sure you’re going to hit the guardrail or another car and then you don’t and suddenly your heart rate jacks up in relief and you gasp for air. Relationship = risk.

  Yet on the heels of the relief was a profound disappointment.

  What the hell was wrong with me?

  “What’s the difference?” I asked. “Isn’t dating a relationship?”

  Riley shook his head. “Nah. It’s totally different. Dating is what you do pre-relationship, to see if you want a relationship. You hang out, have fun together.”

  “Isn’t that a friendship?” And were we really having this conversation?

  “No.” Riley leaned on the dresser and shook his head, looking totally confident in his logic. “Because when you’re dating, there is an understanding you both are thinking you’d like it to be more than friendship. So even though you’re not having sex, you want to and plan to.”

  Say what? “Wait a minute. You don’t have sex when you’re dating?” I wasn’t sure I understood these categories. “But weren’t you planning to have sex with me just now?”

  He shrugged, looking a little sheepish. “I might have been jumping the gun a little. Trying to skip a step.”

  I rolled my eyes. “So having sex now, pre-relationship or dating, would have made us friends with benefits and we can’t have that.”

  “No! We’re not actually friends, you know. You can’t be friends with someone you want to have sex with, you just can’t.”

  “You’ve been saying we’re friends all week! So if we’re not really friends, then you want me to be a booty call, clearly.” I knew he didn’t, but his whole insistence that we define and label whatever the hell we were doing was completely irritating. And we weren’t friends? Weren’t people in relationships supposed to be friends? Or was I even more freaking clueless than I thought? And I didn’t like being offered friendship by him, something I had actually really liked and appreciated, and now have him trying to take it away.

  “No, damn it. A booty call is someone you just have sex with, nothing else. No hanging out, no conversation. You just text and make plans to hook up.”

  “I’m guessing you don’t spend the night either.”

  “No, of course not.” He sounded frustrated, which was exactly how I felt.

  “You’ve given this so much thought it scares me.” I tossed my magazine on the floor and myself on the bed. “You’re worse than a girl and I’m done with this conversation.”

  I wasn’t sure why I felt bad, but I did. This felt like rules, like a way for him to control me. I knew in my head he didn’t mean that, he was just trying to be clear, but it just made me edgy, like I was right to stay away from relationships because I didn’t know how to do this. Why did it have to be so complicated?

  When he came over and tried to sit on the bed with me, I waved him away. “Just leave it for now, Riley, seriously. I’m exhausted and I can’t do this.”

  “Can’t do what?” he asked, voice exasperated. “We’re discussing us.”

  “There is no us,” I told him, feeling cranky and bitter. “You just said we’re not even friends.”

  “You’re twisting my words and you know it.”

  “Go. Away.” I felt like I just might have a meltdown on him if he didn’t leave me alone. And when I melt down, I say mean things. They just fly out of my mouth like darts, and I can’t stop them. So it was better in the long run for both of us if he got the fuck out of my way.

  For a heart beat, he hesitated. Then he just nodded briefly. “Fine. Good night.”

  Rolling toward the wall, I closed my eyes and formed praying hands. “Night.”

  Yes, I was conscious that I left the “good” part out.

  What can I say?

  He was the one who seemed to think I was deserving of my last name.

  I knew that when I was hurt, I wasn’t all that nice.

  And he had sliced me deep in several spots.

  Which meant if he had the power to hurt me like that, I was falling hard for him, and it was better if we didn’t start down a path that was going to result in me being pathetic.

  It was small comfort at the moment that I was preventing myself from future weight gain from heartbreak. Someday my ass would thank me, but now it just sucked.

  Chapter Nine

  After eight hours of sleep, I emerged from my room, hoping that Riley and I could just pretend the night before hadn’t happened a
nd go back to our easy companionship.

  But he wasn’t even home.

  Which surprised me, because it was Sunday, and he didn’t have to work. We had been planning to finish the house cleanup in anticipation of his brothers coming home on Monday. I poked around, but there was no note in the kitchen, no text on my phone from him. He just wasn’t there, and empty, the house felt lonely. Which was dumb, because I’d been alone in the house before, but this was different. It felt forlorn in the aftermath of our fight, if you could call it that.

  After eating a yogurt and drinking a soft drink, I showered and decided that Riley or not, I was going to finish the job I’d started. For ten minutes, I Febrezed the shit out of the couch to get the smell of smoke out of it. I dumped the ashtray in the trash bin out back and after rinsing it with the hose, set it on the picnic table. The smoking lounge in the living room was closed as far as I was concerned.

  Then I took the pictures we had printed from his phone at the drugstore as eight-by-ten-size prints for less than twenty bucks, and the roll of bright blue polka dot duct tape I had bought, and started to hang them in the hallway. There was no way we could afford to buy frames for eight pictures, so I had figured the decorative duct tape would have to do. It would look like a design choice, not cheap.

  It looked fantastic, I have to say, a neat row of black-and-white family shots all down the hallway, moments of joy and togetherness. I was proud of having giving the Mann brothers a nicer environment to live in, to display their unique pictures on the wall, to give them a visual sense of what they already knew. But at the same time, it made me felt lonely all over again. Riley had insisted on printing our mustache shot, since he said it was my hard work that was saving his ass, and I deserved to be on the wall, but now it felt out of place. Even though I put it last, right before the door to Riley’s bedroom, where the boys would never really see it, it still felt like I was intruding among the shots of Tyler and Jayden and Easton goofing off, and Riley’s tattoo, cropped in tight.

  Lonely didn’t sit well on me. It makes me do things I shouldn’t.

  Like answer Bill’s random “want to hang out” text with “you should come over.”

  Yes, I am that stupid.

  But I couldn’t just wander around that house, alone, bored. There was nowhere to go. Robin was at her parents’ house for church and a Sunday dinner thing. I had no car, and no desire to figure out the bus schedule to take me wherever. I had nowhere to go. Riley could be home any minute or not until tomorrow. I had no idea where he was or why he’d left without a word.

  Bill was offering a distraction. I was taking it.

  Not that I had any intention of messing around with him—I was mixed up about my feelings for Riley, and anyway, Bill had shut the door on that part of our relationship.

  Relationship. What a loaded word. One I’d never liked, and now, after the hot mess of the night before, absolutely hated.

  I figured Bill could come over, help me hang the blinds in the living room, then we could leave and go to the movies or something.

  But Bill didn’t know anything about hanging blinds. “What do I look like, a handyman?” he asked, dressed in plaid shorts and a polo shirt. “I’m a chemical engineering major.”

  “Which is why you should know how to do this,” I said, shoving the instructions in his hand. “It’s all math and spatial acuity.”

  “Forget it.” He didn’t even look at them. “I’m sure I could figure it out, but the answer is no.” Wiping his forehead, he fanned himself. “Fuck it, it’s hot in here.”

  “You’re mean,” I said. But it was a halfhearted pout. Really, why the hell would he want to hang blinds in Riley and Tyler’s house? Sometimes I forgot that just because I wanted something to happen in the next five minutes, that didn’t mean anyone else shared my enthusiasm or narrow focus.

  I also realized that I didn’t actually want Riley to come home and see Bill in the house. Regardless of how innocent it was, now that Bill was standing here, I knew it would not sit well with Riley.

  Bill just laughed. “Jessica, I admit, that usually works on me, but it’s too hot in here to do anything. It’s like a hundred and ten degrees in this house. How are you living here without suffering heat exhaustion?”

  “My room has air-conditioning. Let me go change and grab my purse and then we can leave. Come on.” I indicated he should join me. I didn’t want him to melt on my behalf.

  “Oh my God, that’s better,” he said as we entered the cool sanctuary of my room. He plucked at his shirt. “It’s like existing in a wet towel.”

  “I think I’m getting used to it.” Truthfully, it didn’t bother me as much as I would have expected.

  “So how is it, living here with Riley?” Bill asked, sitting on my bed.

  I shrugged. “It’s fine.” Digging through my suitcase, I found a cuter top than the shirt I had slept in. “Close your eyes,” I told him.

  He obeyed, but he said, “I’ve seen you naked.”

  “I know. But it’s different now. We’re just friends, we’re not going there anymore.”

  “I can handle seeing you in your bra.”

  Why did that sound vaguely insulting? “You’re the one who wanted us to be just friends. I’m trying to respect that.” What the hell was with guys? No matter what I did, they wanted something different.

  “But you don’t have to act like I can’t control myself.”

  Oh, for the love of God. “Fine. Open your eyes. I don’t give a shit.” Idiot. I pulled my knit shorts down so that I could put on denim shorts instead and rooted around in my suitcase in my bra and panties. It was like wearing a bathing suit, and he was right, he had seen me naked. I didn’t feel like discussing it any further.

  Why were women always being accused of being the ones who wanted to overcomplicate things? To talk them to death? Both Riley and Bill were driving me insane with their determination to define what we were doing.

  And a glance over at the bed showed that Bill wasn’t exactly unaffected, despite his bragging claims. He was staring at my ass.

  “So why are you hanging blinds, or attempting to talk me into hanging blinds, in Riley’s house?”

  I shrugged. “Because he needs help cleaning up before the social worker pays a home visit.” I didn’t want to go too deep into the real situation. It was Riley’s business, and I didn’t know how much he would want known.

  “How do you feel about Riley?”

  I paused, my T-shirt over my head, ready to be pulled on. I eyed Bill, suddenly feeling suspicious. “What do you mean?”

  Bill leaned back on his elbows on my bed, shrugging. “It just seems to me like maybe he is the kind of guy who can get you to open up a little.”

  “I opened up plenty for you,” I told him coldly. What was he getting at? I didn’t like the turn this conversation was taking.

  “That’s not what I mean. You never tell me anything about yourself. I don’t know you at all, Jessica, not really.”

  “I’m not a deep, dark secret.”

  “Can I ask you something without you assaulting me?”

  “Well, that’s promising.” Nerves jangling, I pulled my shirt on and down over my chest. “Sure, why not? I’ve been insulted on a regular basis lately, why not keep the trend going?”

  “I’m serious, and this is as a friend. Why do you push guys away?”

  “I don’t push guys away. That’s the real problem, according to some people,” I said wryly.

  He gave me a long look. “Okay, fine. You don’t want to talk about it with me. That’s cool.”

  “Talk about what?” I asked, totally exasperated.

  “You like Riley, don’t you? I’ve always thought you did.”

  That caught me off guard, and I felt my cheeks heat. “No, I haven’t always liked Riley. After this week, I am more comfortable around him, but there’s nothing there, trust me. He thinks I’m a slut.” Just saying it out loud made me bitter all over again, and I could hear th
e wobble in my voice.

  “Come here.” Bill patted the bed next to him.

  I obeyed, my shorts in my hand.

  “You’re not a slut,” he told me as I sat down.

  “I know.” I leaned my head on his shoulder, wanting the comfort he was offering. “But why do I feel so bad?”

  “Because having feelings for someone is a pretty miserable experience, that’s why.” He brought his arm around my back and hugged me to his side.

  I laughed. “Apparently.”

  “I think a lot of guys, myself included, are more comfortable taking our clothes off with a girl than showing her how we really feel. Sex is easier than emotion.”

  Sex is easier than emotion. That was scary accurate.

  I fumbled to drag my shorts on up over my ankles, my calves, my knees, my thighs, up, up, to cover myself. It suddenly felt wrong to be talking about this with Bill in my underwear.

  Because he was right.

  I could take my clothes off with any guy I was attracted to. Yet I showed no one who I really was.

  How ironic that naked was more covered than conversation.

  The knock on my door had me jumping. “Oh, shit,” I muttered, knowing being in my room with Bill wasn’t going to sit well with Riley. Fumbling to zip my shorts, my fingers trembling, I was still trying to process what Bill had said. What it meant to me.

  “Jess?”

  “Yeah?” I called out.

  But Riley was already opening the door. “Hey, the photos look really good—”

  His words cut off when he stuck his head in and assessed the situation.

  My fingers were still on the snap of my shorts, having finally gotten the zipper up. I tried to tug at my shirt, like that’s what I had been doing all along, but Riley wasn’t buying it. He looked at Bill, the rumpled bed we were sitting on, my hand, and no doubt my guilty expression, and exploded.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” he yelled. “Come on! Jesus! This is how fast you move on?”

 

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