by Everly Lucas
Party, it is.
Only, I don’t get to do that, either. When I open my eyes, I see Ben, three steps down, leaning against the wall and staring at his shoes. A fierce guilt grips me. How much did he hear? Maybe he just got here. That’d be the best possible scenario.
“You like me?” he asks in a hushed tone, looking at me with pain and hope written all over his face. If he caught that part, he caught everything after it, too. Out of that entire exchange between me and his best friend, that’s what stuck with him?
“Of course, I do. I thought it was obvious.” There’s no point denying it. Besides, he deserves an honest answer after what he just overheard—me opening up to Andy more than I’ve ever opened up to him.
“It’s still nice to hear.” He pauses for what feels like three eternities, and I watch him cautiously as he considers his next words. “But you like him, too.”
Five words, like five fingers curled into a fist and punching me in the gut.
“I’m not sure what I feel when it comes to Andy, but I think…yeah, I might like him.”
Ben nods, accepting my answer. I’m glad someone accepts it because I sure as hell don’t.
“It doesn’t matter, though. Not right now. It’s just, it might, at some point, and I don’t want—" I don’t want a lot of things. I don’t want to have these feelings for Andy. I don’t want to hurt Ben in any way, ever. I don’t want to go back downstairs and fake being pleasant when what I need more than anything is to be alone. “I don’t want to cause problems between you two. I can’t have that on my conscience.”
For one brief moment, the length of a blink of an eye, I envision Ben going all possessive-alpha-male on me. Telling me I’m his and only his, and making me believe it. Caging me in with his strong arms and long, powerful frame. His body closing in on me, forcing me against the ice-cold plaster at my back. One of his hard thighs slipping between mine. My hands roaming over his body, hungry for every solid inch I’ve been denying myself. Our hips rocking in sync. His stiff cock grinding against my aching clit.
His lips kissing mine.
But that’s fantasy, and for the first time tonight, reality is far easier to deal with.
“Like you said, it doesn’t matter right now.” His sweet smile relieves some of the guilt I’ve felt since I found him standing here. “Now, come back downstairs, before my mother sends out a search party for us.”
I can do this. I can laugh at the appropriate times, smile when called for, and hide my guilt and shame from the rest of world. Compared to the last twenty minutes, it’ll be as easy as breathing.
Sixteen
Ben
All of my guests, Andy included, left a while ago. Except Claire. She stayed behind, insisting on helping with the cleanup. No way was I letting her lift a finger, so I sat her on the couch with a glass of wine while I washed the few dishes I couldn’t fit in the dishwasher. Too much time later, I’m still at the sink, scrubbing a plate that was spotless five minutes ago.
I need her to know we’re okay, and, knowing Claire, she’s stuck around for that same reason.
I pushed her too far tonight. She wasn’t ready to meet my entire family, and I knew that. I knew it before I even invited her. It was pure selfishness on my part, and I couldn’t feel like a bigger asshole for it. But I got my payback, and then some.
It feels the same as when a car crashed into my driver’s side door back in college. There was the initial shock of the impact, and in the aftermath, I’m left with a residual ache all throughout my body. The analogy sounds dramatic, but my brain can’t tell the difference between that crash and hearing Claire and Andy’s conversation.
What’s worse is that I didn’t just hear it—I saw it.
I was hoping to catch Claire upstairs, to apologize for, I don’t know, everything. But when I reached the top step, it was just in time to hear her response to Andy’s question about her feelings for me. “Ben’s amazing. How could I not like him?” I don’t care what she meant by that—if she likes me only as a friend or as something more. In that moment, those words were branded on my skin, my heart, and my soul.
I wanted to barge in and tell her the feeling is mutual, but their conversation took an unexpected turn, so I stayed back, out of sight. That is until I heard cold anger in Andy’s voice. It doesn’t matter what Claire said—or was trying to say—there was no way he was getting away with talking to her like that.
And that’s when I saw it. I saw him touch her.
Rage was a blazing fire inside me, and I swear, I was going to kill the man I think of as a brother. But that fire was doused as soon as I realized…she let him. She let Andy touch her. She let him hold her fucking hand—something I’ve wanted to do since the moment I laid eyes on her. And there she was, letting down that wall for him, not me.
They didn’t see me. She was looking at their joined hands and he couldn’t take his eyes off her face, and I may as well have been invisible. My best friend and the woman I’m falling for were shredding my heart, and they had no clue.
Claire was supposed to be the One. Since coming into my life, she’s been the woman I picture as my wife when I imagine my future family. Our kids have her red hair, and her belly is swollen with my child. I want that future more than I want my next breath. But in that moment, watching her with another man, my fantasy was crushed under the weight of reality.
I couldn’t go back downstairs, not with my agony so fresh. My mother and sister would’ve picked up on it in a heartbeat. Even worse would’ve been joining Claire and Andy in my bedroom, an awkward interloper in whatever moment they were sharing. So I stayed frozen, halfway down the stairs.
Tuning out the rest of their exchange, I focused on a couple points. First, Claire’s never made any promises to me. She’s never intentionally given me the impression she wanted anything but my friendship. All this time, it was just me reading too much into her words and actions. It’s not Claire’s fault I have an overactive imagination.
Even more important—"How could I not like him?” After everything else I heard and witnessed, that’s still at the forefront of my mind. So I’ve latched on tight to it and tried to ignore everything else. Plus, she’s still here with me and not with Andy.
But she won’t be here for long if I don’t man the fuck up.
I pour myself a glass of Malbec and turn to find Claire watching me with a nervous smile on her exquisite face. There’s no reason for her to be nervous. No matter what happens, she’ll always have a place in my life, if she wants it.
“Are we okay?” she asks as soon as I’m settled on the couch. I’ve given her a couple feet of space, but she scoots closer. She’s had a few glasses of wine tonight, so her inhibitions must be lowered. Her willingness to be near me doesn’t mean she wants to be near me.
“We’re more than okay, Claire. Really.” My words do nothing to relax her tense brow. “You said you like me. How could I not be okay with that?”
“Because I also admitted I have feelings for your best friend,” she says. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to hear that without flinching. Certainly not yet. “There’s no way you’re fine with that part.” Then something occurs to her, and her eyes go dim. “Unless you don’t—"
I cut her off because I can’t have her thinking I don’t want her that way, let alone saying it out loud.
“That’s not it, believe me. But I’m not upset with you. Hell, I’m not even upset with Andy.” That earns me a dubious look. “Fine, I don’t want to be upset with him. Tonight notwithstanding, I admire the shit out of the guy. There’s a reason he’s been a crucial part of my life for this long, so if anyone gets it, Claire, it’s me.”
She bites her lip and fusses with the hem of her dress, and I fight the instinct to catch her hands to stop her. Just because she let Andy touch her, that doesn’t mean I get to cross the same line.
“What happens now?” she asks, her eyes wide and vulnerable and begging me for an answer. “Do we all just keep being f
riends like tonight didn’t happen? Does that mean I string you along, hurting you both? How unfair is that? And what if I’m never able to be—"
“Shh… Claire, stop.” I won’t sit here and let her work herself up over things beyond her control. None of this is her fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. “You never have to be anything for me. I just want you in my life, any way I can get you. Do you understand?”
She nods, but it’s clear she’s not fully sold on my assurances. “Thank you, Ben.”
“You have nothing to thank me for.”
Needing to lighten the heavy mood, I tell her I’ll be right back and fetch her present from my bookcase. For no good reason, I’d wrapped it, which feels silly now. But when her entire face lights up, I know it was the right move. I hand it to her as I reclaim my spot on the couch.
“What’s this?”
“Just something I picked up the other day. It reminded me of you.” I don’t tell her how I went into the store with the sole purpose of buying her this gift or how much time I spent combing the shelves to find the perfect one.
With a grin that makes all the shit from tonight worth it, she rips the paper, laughing when she sees what’s inside. “You got me a book. And it has a redhead on it!” She shows me the cover, like this is my first time seeing it, too.
“You like it?”
“Um, duh,” she says, distracted by the handwriting on the title page.
As she reads the note, I remember the words I spent close to an hour agonizing over.
For the girl in the park, who took a chance on a guy who tells cheesy jokes, flaunts his bilingualism and knowledge of obscure words (pretentious ass that he is), and mocks your taste in books.
This is my apology for that last part.
Yours Truly,
Ben
She stares at the page while I wait in silence and watch her cheeks flush with color.
“Erubescent.”
Her eyes snap to mine before she has a chance to blink away the wetness in them. I can hear it in her voice, too, when she asks, “What does that mean?”
“Blushing.”
She gives me a playful shove, and her cheeks turn a deeper shade of pink. I’m so busy noticing how the color sets off the blue of her eyes, it takes me a second to realize her hand hasn’t moved from my shoulder. Her gaze falls to my lips, and, just like that, I can’t breathe.
There’s no way I’m reading too much into this. This isn’t wishful thinking. This is Claire inching closer, breathing harder. It’s her mouth just inches from mine, about to make contact. My muscles burn, wanting to take what I know deep in my soul is mine, but this needs to be all her. This is her wall to tear down.
When she’s so close I can taste the sweet wine on her breath, my hands break rank and cradle her face. The instant my fingers brush her heated skin, she’s gone and crying, “No!” Tears spill over, streaming down her cheeks. Her skin blanches white, and I fucking hate myself.
“I’m so sorry, Claire. I shouldn’t have—"
“Don’t. You did nothing wrong. Nothing. This is all me.”
She hugs herself tight, like she’s trying to keep all her pieces from falling apart. And I’d be the one who broke her. I claw at my thighs, keeping my hands busy, so I don’t try to hold her and apologize over and over.
How did this go so wrong, so fast? I’m certain she was about to kiss me, and she came damn close. Now she’s on the other side of the room, shaking and crying. I can’t stand seeing her like this.
“Damnit, Claire. Who did this to you? Who hurt you?”
Surging to my feet, I take a step toward her but freeze when I see her cringe. A thick, tense silence settles like a fog around us as I wait for her to answer. Or not answer. She doesn’t have to tell me anything because none of it is my business. I just want to know who I have to kill.
A look of pure horror takes over her face. Her mouth drops open, and she covers it with a trembling hand. Her other hand falls to her stomach as she doubles over, and I could swear she’s about to be sick. Instead, she lowers her hand from her mouth, her eyes flooding with despair. Then she answers my question, cutting through the silence—and my heart—like a knife.
“Me.”
Despair gives way to shock, as if she just witnessed a murder, then realized she’s the one holding the gun.
Just when I think there’s no way I heard her right, she goes on, her voice so weak and thready, I have to strain to hear her. I’m not even sure if she’s talking to me or to herself. “I did this. I have no one else to blame for the way I am.”
I know I should tell her to stop, that she doesn’t need to explain, but I don’t have it in me.
“Oh, God, I hate myself for it.” She barks out an unamused laugh that worries me. “And now I hate myself even more for hating myself.”
All I can do is watch her with sympathetic eyes and wait for her to get whatever this is off her chest. But it kills me to see her like this, to hear her pain, and not do anything to fix it.
“I kept blaming Cameron. He was fucking awful, so it was easy to convince myself he’s the one who broke me,” she says, looking up at me. “But the only reason I let him treat me like shit was because I already believed I was.”
That makes no sense. To me, Claire is perfect. Even her imperfections are perfect. “I don’t ever want to hear you say that. You’re a good person. You have to know that.”
“I do know it, Ben. I know it, but I don’t feel it.” She wipes the last tears from her stained cheeks. “I don’t know how else to explain it.”
I try so hard to make sense of her cryptic confession but fail miserably. As I search my brain for the right words to say, Claire grabs her clutch off the sofa. Panic sends me into action, and I rush to her side.
“You’re leaving?”
“I need to be alone.” She sounds so detached. Whatever fissure had weakened her defenses enough to allow her vulnerability to come through is sealed shut, now. Is it wrong that I want to tear it back open?
She can’t go—not when she’s this upset and probably still feeling the effects of the wine. But what am I supposed to do, forbid her to go? No. She told me what she needs, and that’s to be far away from here. Much as it goes against my instincts, I have to respect that and let her go, but the least I can do is make sure she gets home safe. I pull my phone from my back pocket to request a car for her.
Claire shakes her head and descends the stairs as fast as she can in her heels, refusing to look back at me. “Thank you, but no.”
“How are you getting home? It’s not safe this late. Please, let me—"
“I can catch a cab. I’ll be fine.”
She’s already one foot out the door, leaving me feeling helpless. What the hell good am I if I can’t keep Claire safe—from the world and from her own thoughts?
“Text me as soon as you get home.”
She promises she will, and then she’s gone.
Seventeen
Claire
As soon as I walk out on Ben, I realize the flaw in my cab plan—I’m flat broke. Resourceful city girl that I am, though, I always keep a spare token in my wallet. The air is warm as I wait under the shelter at the corner of Twentieth and Walnut. The temperature isn’t unpleasant, but warm enough for me to sweat through my silk, which, okay, is pretty unpleasant.
When the Route 21 bus pulls up, I climb on, drop my token in the slot, and make my way down the aisle to the back. At this hour, everyone looks tired, blitzed, or kind of shady, but they all peep at me like I’m the weirdo.
And that’s how I’ve ended up winning the title of Most Pathetic Loser Ever to Ride SEPTA. Anyone who’s had the pleasure of using public transportation in Philly knows this is no small feat. But I’ve got it all—sweat-stained dress, matted hair, mascara streaks over puffy eyes, and tears that refuse to call it quits.
Seriously, though. At what point should I start to worry about dehydration? There has to be a limit to how much water can leak from your
eyes before your body goes into shock. I’m sure I’m close to finding out. But by then, I’ll be in my apartment, all alone, with no one to discover me until it’s too late.
My God, that took a turn for the morbid. Snap out of it, Claire.
When I left home tonight, I’d assumed my biggest challenge would be charming the socks off Ben’s family. Okay, I wasn’t as optimistic as all that. I would’ve settled for being passably likable. But the entire world falling apart wasn’t even a blip on my anxiety radar. Looks like it’s time to upgrade that shit.
This past month, I’ve done what I could to show Ben how important he is to me. Before meeting him, I was convinced I’d be spending the summer hiding in my apartment and beating myself up for mourning the loss of a terrible relationship. I’d been prepared for boredom, loneliness, and steadily diminishing sanity. And then Ben happened.
He changed everything for me, and I’m beyond grateful for his presence in my life. It was time he knew that, and I was planning on telling him, I swear—just, when I was ready. Who knows when that would’ve been, though, so it’s for the best it happened by accident.
For the best. What utter bullshit. Sure, it would’ve been for the best, if not for the whole Andy disaster.
I can’t stop thinking about it. His eyes bored into me like they were seeking out all the little nuggets of truth I squirrel away to make sure no one ever finds them—not even me. His voice was all deep and sexy, vibrating through my body and making my heart race out of control. And his touch…fuck. Andy’s touch made my stomach do this down-low clench that felt naughty and nauseating at the same time. Just being near that man is a quality control check on my comfort zone.