"Will you look at me?" I beg her, completely exasperated. I hate this. I'm her friend. I'd do fucking anything for her, but this one stupid lie could destroy fucking everything, and it's all my goddamned fault.
Finally, she meets my eyes, and I expect anger, or even betrayal, but instead, she just looks sad and lost.
"What's up? You okay?" I ask. I'm so confused by her reaction, and the fact that she seemed off even before Kendall opened her big mouth. I need her to articulate it, to tell me what she's thinking, so I can fix what's been broken between us tonight.
Rory shrugs, and her indifference, however fake, cuts me deeper than anger would. "Why wouldn't I be?"
That pisses me off, even though rationally I know I'm not the one with a right to be upset. But she's insulting my intelligence – no, not my intelligence, she's insulting us. Our friendship. The way I know her, the way I care about her.
"I don't know," I quip, unable to help my sarcasm. "Maybe that plastic smile you've had on all night? Something's off. Tell me, Ror, what's up with you?"
Her eyes go wide for a moment, as if she's surprised at how well I read her. But I don't know why, because I know she reads me just as easily.
"Why didn't you tell me you're a football player?" she counters. "I mean, I know I didn't ask. I know it's not like you lied or anything, but—“
"No, Rory, actually it is like I lied," I say cautiously.
She frowns, but I have to come clean if I'm going to fix this, not make fucking excuses. She deserves better than that.
I sigh. "I did. I lied. You know, you weren't exactly easy to get to know," I remind her. "Your trust in me was never more than tenuous at best, and you'd been pretty open about how you feel about football and football players in general... I didn't want to give you a reason to dislike me before you even got to know me," I explain, shrugging away the burden of the lie.
She doesn't say anything for a long moment, and I pray my honesty is enough for her – it's all I've got.
"I never asked," she breathes, and the burden lifts further.
"Yeah, but every time it came up and I said nothing, I felt guilty as hell, Ror," I confess. "You mad?" I feel like a criminal about to be sentenced, and Rory is my judge, jury, and executioner.
Again, she takes her time before she responds, completely unaware that I feel like I'm the one developing an anxiety disorder in the meantime.
"Football players are a real bad trigger for me," she says shakily, confirming what I already knew – the reason I hid the fact in the first place.
"Well I'm not a football player anymore, am I? The seasons been over for months, it's not like I'm playing in college." I try to argue the technicality even though I told myself I wouldn't make excuses.
Another interminable moment, and I can't bear the thought that she might just cut me off.
"Come on, Ror, I'm still just me," I remind her.
For a moment, I think she's wavering, but then she looks away. "I'm tired. I just wanna go home. You should get back to your girl," she murmurs, and then turns to head to her car.
Desperation engulfs me, I can't just let her walk away!
"Rory, I need to know we're okay!" I call out frantically.
Her shoulders rise and fall with her deep breath before she turns back to me. "We're the same as we've always been, Sam. Friends," she says, and then climbs into her car and drives off without looking back.
I stare after her for long minutes in some kind of stupor. Her words imply that nothing has changed – that despite Kendall's big mouth and my big deception, we're the same as we were yesterday, but as I stare at the spot her car just fled, I realize that nothing is the same, that nothing has been the same since the moment I met her. These feelings I have for her are not just a crush, not just a desire or attraction, they're real, they're… something more.
****
Not Fooling Me
This trip is an opportunity. Not to make a move on Rory, as Kendall so eloquently put it, because I'm fully aware that isn't an option. But it's a chance to just be us. Removed from the social template of high school, even with many of our friends here with us, I hope Rory can let go and relax, and we can just enjoy each other's company.
Rory is the last to arrive, and we all check in curbside while we wait. I notice Carl on the phone, and realize it's Rory, so I tell her to go ahead with Tucker and everyone else – that I'll wait for Rory. Five minutes later, I'm alone outside of the JetBlue terminal at JFK, and Rory's mother pulls up.
I open the passenger side door, unable to help my grin. She looks adorable in her jeans and a hoodie, her hair long and loose, fresh faced and tired-eyed.
"Ready?" I ask her not bothering to veil my excitement.
Rory yawns in response, and I laugh. She's so not a morning person and it's early as fuck.
"Wake up, Pine. You can sleep when we get back," I tell her as she climbs out of the car and heads to the trunk.
But I beat her there, and I grab her suitcase as her mother greets me and reminds me to take care of her little girl. I promise her I will, and shake her hand. I toss my duffle over my shoulder and reach for Rory's bag.
"I got it," she yawns again. "It rolls."
I smirk. She's fucking adorable. "Why don't you just focus on walking straight, sleepyhead, I'll check the bags."
Thankfully she doesn't argue, and we head to the counter to check the bags and get our boarding passes.
The security line is short, and even though it's spring break, this early in the morning the terminal isn't especially busy. I slip off my shoes, belt, and hoodie, and start taking things out of my pockets for the X-ray when Rory gets tapped for additional screening. I go through the metal detector, grab my things, and hastily get myself together to follow Rory to where some TSA agent is disinterestedly murmuring instructions.
I'm slipping my belt back through the loops of my jeans when I glance at Rory, and stop dead in my tracks. Her eyes are wide in terror, and it makes my pulse race.
Rory's saying something to the agent, but she stops, and I watch her breathing grow quick and shallow, and she starts to tremble. Fuck!
I'm by her side in an instant, firmly taking her hand in mine. This is my fault. I didn't even consider she would have to endure a pat down from security. How is she going to handle a stranger touching her like that? I'm such a fucking idiot. Shit!
"Ror, it's okay. You're fine," I whisper to her.
But I don't know what to do. This is a fucking airport. I have no power here.
"Excuse me, sir, you need to wait over there," the TSA agent warns, and it infuriates me. Can't this woman see Rory is fucking panicking?! I want to call her out for the heartless, inept moron she is, but I stay in control of my anger. I have to. Because that reaction would only make the situation worse for Rory, and I need to help her, not hurt her.
"Can I have a quick word?" I ask, forcing a respectful tone.
"I just need to do a security check and you can both be on your way," the agent replies, and I grit my teeth.
"Just a quick word," I repeat.
The agent rolls her eyes, and I reluctantly release Rory's clammy hand, and it kills me the way her fingers try to grip after mine.
I gesture a few feet away, not wanting to embarrass Rory any further.
"My friend has an anxiety disorder. You can't touch her," I say, and I inwardly cringe at my own choice of words. That's not the way to get what I want, and when her eyebrows rise in challenge, I rephrase. "What I mean is… “ I glance at her ID tag. "Lidia, my name is Sam Caplan. And that's Rory Pine. Rory has an anxiety disorder, and she gets panic attacks, and they're triggered by certain things, including being touched by strangers." I stare at her meaningfully, appealing to her humanity, and at least the irritated look on her face has gone.
"She is panicking right now. Just look at her. There must be something else you can do," I plead with her.
"I'm sorry, sir, but our scanner is out of service, and once a traveler has
been tagged for screening, I can't let them through security without conducting it," she replies, and I do my best to hide my growing frustration.
"Can I at least hold her hand?" I ask.
She shakes her head. "That's against protocol, sir."
I glare at her, resenting this fucking standstill when Rory is six feet away doing all she can not to fall apart.
Slowly, a look of sympathy passes over Lidia's features. "Look, you're supposed to wait over there, but I can let you come stand with her. You can't touch her though," she warns.
"Can I grab her pills from her carry on? Just in case she needs them?"
"Sure."
She accompanies the four more feet to where Rory's bag sits and I grab them from the front pocket and make my way back over to Rory as fast as possible.
Rory's eyes open and close, blinking, trying to control her breathing, and my heart breaks at the sight of it. But I'm also proud. Because she's handling it. She's struggling, but she's handling it.
"Ror, take these." I press her pill bottle to her palm, and her fingers close around it. I'm right beside her, so close I could wrap her in a hug without taking a single step. "Lidia here needs to pat you down." She's so focused on her breathing she can't even look at me, but she's got this. I know she's got this. "You're going to be okay, but if you need to take one, then take one, okay?"
I wait for her to nod with understanding. "I explained to her that you don't like being touched, so she's going to make it as quick as possible, right Lydia?" I look at her beseechingly, and am slightly relieved to find compassion in her eyes.
"It will take less than a minute," Lidia assures us.
"I'm not allowed to hold your hand, but I'm going to be two feet away, see?"
I wait for her to manage eye contact, and with some effort, she does. I take one step back, making sure her gaze doesn't waver. "Keep looking at me, Ror," I encourage her.
She does. I'm sure I don't blink even once as Lidia conducts her pat down, letting my eyes say everything I can't. That I'm here, that I won't let anything hurt her, that I care about her more than she'll probably ever know.
"You're done," Lidia says, and then waves me over, and I'm back at Rory's side in a millisecond.
"See? You're fine," I promise her. "And you didn't even take a pill." I can't help the pride swelling in my words.
Rory whimpers, and it grips me right in that fullness in my chest.
"Oh, Ror," I murmur, pulling her against my chest and wrapping my arms tightly around her. I press my face to the top of her head, breathing her in, and we stand like that for long minutes while Rory catches her breath and pulls herself together.
I don't rush her. I'm in no rush. I could hold her like this forever.
Finally, she pulls away.
"Thanks," she murmurs, and it pleases me that there's no shame in her voice – that perhaps she's beyond embarrassment with me by now.
"Anytime, Ror. What are—“
"Friends for, I know," she grumbles adorably. She's finally getting it.
I'm having one of the best nights of my life. The day was pretty damn awesome, too. I'm barely even drinking, busy keeping my promise to look after Rory. Not that it's a burden. In fact, I'd say it's the best fucking job in the world. But I do take it seriously. I promised her a fun, safe spring break, and I'm determined to deliver.
That incident with TSA was a snag. I blame myself – I should have anticipated it – and ever since I've been racking my brain, searching for any and all potential triggers that can get in the way of the carefree vacation I promised her. But she got through it, without even taking a pill, and her nightmare on the plane, and by now I'm convinced that that girl can handle fucking anything.
The rest of the day on the beach and by the pool went down without incident. Except for that one guy who grabbed her arm when he hit on her, the night has gone smoothly as well, and at our third bar of the night, Rory's about as drunk as I'm going to let her get. She pouts when I tell her she's cut off, but she doesn't argue. She's the most adorable drunk I've ever seen.
I suspect most of the guys out tonight think we're together, and I've been happy to let them think that. I cringe to think the kind of attention she'd get otherwise.
When I found her outside her room before dinner, she literally shocked me into silence.
Rory's gorgeous on any day. She's just got a natural kind of beauty that doesn't require cosmetic enhancement. But seeing her all done up like some supermodel made me feel like I was fourteen again, struck dumb by a hot girl. Her hair is all curled and tousled, and her already dark, thick lashes look even more so with mascara. It makes her eyes look impossibly large and round, and it's hard not to get lost in them. The shine on her lips makes my gaze fall to them even more than usual, and I've found myself fantasizing about pulling one into my mouth all night. And seeing her in a skirt for the first time is taunting me in ways that are completely inappropriate for a friend.
Andy and Tina left to go back to the hotel a few minutes ago, and Dave and Lily are making out in the corner of the bar. Carl and Tucker are shouting at each other, between make-out sessions, and I decide to call it a night.
I take Rory's hand and lead her toward the exit, and when the crowd gets dense, I pull her to my side and tuck her under my arm so no one can accidentally touch her. She giggles randomly and I raise my eyebrows. She looks giddy, and I'm loving this side of her.
"You, my friend, are drunk," I tease, and she giggles again as I hail a taxi.
"So are you," she replies.
I slip my arm around her waist to help her walk straight and she cuddles into me. It feels so damned good. This is what I wanted. Just an opportunity to let everything else go, and enjoy each other.
I laugh. "Actually, I'm not," I tell her. "I only had a couple, and I can hold my liquor better than some people."
I help her into the cab and get in behind her. She looks me over appraisingly, and then lets out another adorable giggle.
"You're a cute drunk," I murmur.
"You're cute all the time," she retorts. This captivates me. Rory has never expressed any interest in my appearance, and I'll admit it's been a bit of a bruise to my otherwise pretty healthy ego.
"Yeah? You think?" I don't even care that I sound like an insecure chick right now.
Rory narrows her eyes as if suspicious of me, and pouts. God, I want to taste those lips.
"You know you're gorgeous. You ain't foolin’ me," she replies confidently, and I can't help but laugh a full-belly-chuckle. Her accent has emerged more and more throughout the night with each sip of alcohol, and I fucking love it, and I want to keep her talking.
"I didn't know you thought so, Rory. Anything else you want to share while you're feeling generous with information?" I prompt her. She's honest and forthcoming, when she wants to be anyway, but it's always a careful, calculated decision. Right now, she's just letting her thoughts flow out of her mouth, and I can't help but take advantage.
She bites her lip, which means she's about to think something up. It doesn't necessarily mean she's going to lie, but she's not going to tell me the whole truth either. But then she frees her lip, and she looks meaningfully at me, and I think maybe she actually is going to tell me something real.
"I love Carl," she says, and my eyebrows shoot upward. Not what I was expecting, and I feel a strange mix of disappointment, and lust as I let myself indulge in that particular fantasy.
"Is this where you tell me you like girls?" I ask her, only half kidding, because in truth I have no idea what the hell she means. "'Cause I won't judge—“
"No, shh, don't interrupt!" She chides, and I take an invisible key to my lips, and lock any further interruptions away, but I can't hide my amusement.
"I love Carl," she repeats, "she's been a real good friend to me, but… you're my best friend. Not her, you."
Warmth floods my chest. It's probably the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. I smile down at her, at a loss for what
to say, because there are three little words floating around in my head, and not for the first time, and they're completely inappropriate to say to a friend.
I open my mouth to tell her that she means the fucking world to me, but she blurts out "and you're super hot," and we both crack up laughing. God I love hearing that. I wasn't even sure she found me attractive at all.
"I like drunk Rory," I tell her, and she scowls at me, surprising me.
"And what? You don't like sober Rory?" She pouts.
Is she fucking crazy? Yeah, I spend most of my time with her and the rest of it thinking about her because I don't like her. I lean into her, needing her to hear me. "Oh, I like sober Rory a lot. I just like hearing you tell me what you're thinking. And I told you, don't pout, it's too adorable." And it makes me want to suck on your fucking lip.
Being so close to her is confusing my boundaries. Her honey and vanilla scent is invading my senses, her beauty overwhelming me. I can't stop myself when my fingers take a lock of her hair, my thumb rubbing at the perfect softness before I tuck it behind her ear.
"You think I'm adorable?" she breathes. Actually, it's more like a gasp.
I smirk down at her, and give her own line right back to her. "You know you're gorgeous. You're not fooling me." In truth, I'm not sure what she knows. If it were any other girl, I'd say there's no way she's unaware of how attractive she is, and I'd think she was fishing for compliments. But that's so not Rory. In fact, attention is the last thing she wants, and this ex of hers did a real number on her self esteem, because I really don't think she realizes that she's the most beautiful girl I've ever fucking laid eyes on.
"I tell you want I'm thinkin' all the time. I tell you all kinds of things," she says.
"You tell me things," I agree. "But usually not what you're thinking. Not in the moment, anyway. It's refreshing," I tell her honestly.
"Tell me what you're thinkin'," she challenges. "Drunk or not, it's only fair." Her confidence is far more intoxicating than any alcohol, and the way she bats her eyelashes at me makes my jeans feel painfully tight.
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