I dried off my hands on a kitchen towel, crossed my arms, and leaned against the counter, staring him down.
“Before you make us dijon steak sandwiches, you’re telling me what the hell you meant earlier.”
He winced. “Damn it. Can’t I just win you over with food? I thought I was going to get out of doing that.”
I just stared at him, unsmiling.
“I like you, Dash,” he said, and I thought I almost heard a little shake in his voice. “I like you, but I’m not… good at this. I’m not good at relationship stuff. I always mess it up, like I clearly did today. And I know you probably have zero interest in anything with me—”
“Okay, listen, Eric,” I said. “I can see why you’d think this wasn’t fake anymore. I mean, clearly we have good sex. Really good sex. And to be honest, I’d like to keep doing that.”
“Me too,” he said.
“But,” I said, holding up a hand, “don’t be stupid about this, Eric. We have to remember why we were doing this in the first place. For the show. We can keep having sex, but we both don’t want a real relationship. We’re not in the right place for it. Right?”
Eric was silent, eyeing me warily, idly rubbing his temples. “So… you’re saying you just want to keep being fake boyfriends, but we can fuck each other, too?”
I nodded, swallowing hard. “That’s for the best, isn’t it?” I said, my voice coming out a little weaker than I’d intended.
He looked hurt, dejected, like a kicked puppy, and I felt terrible all of a sudden.
But I had to stay strong. No matter how much it felt like a relationship would work between us, I knew it was a bad idea.
“Yeah, I guess that’s for the best,” he said, and he took a step closer to me, leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to my lips. There were still a few droplets of rain on his cheeks and I felt them, cool and fresh, against my skin.
And I tried so hard to be angry with him, but I couldn’t. It felt too right, like I was a magnet drawn toward him. The party should have been a red flag, I should have walked away, and probably shouldn’t have even cleaned up his house. It was so undeserved, but I wanted it. I wanted him, even if I wouldn’t let myself admit it. And my cock was responding already, hardening as he touched me, even though sex was the last thing on my mind.
I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, pressing my body to his and kissing him back. I broke the kiss and rested my head on his shoulder at the crook of his neck, and I felt as he let out a long sigh.
“You’re amazing, Dash, I hope you realize that. You didn’t need to help me today,” he murmured into my hair.
I shrugged against him. “It’s what friends are for. Or… fake boyfriend friends-with-benefits.”
He moaned and squeezed his arms around me tighter. “I’ll try to do better. I promise.”
He smelled so good, like rain and clean laundry, and for a moment I just let him hold me, against my better judgment. His hands slowly trailed along the sides of my body, finally settling around my hips and squeezing me tight. It felt so fucking good, and comforting, and it terrified me.
I couldn’t feel this good, this tender, with him.
I had to keep him at a distance. He was my fake boyfriend, who I sometimes fucked. And that was it.
So I pushed him back gently, missing his touch almost immediately but trying to hide that fact. “Okay,” I said when I finally pulled away from his warm embrace, “I was promised sandwiches.”
He made them for us, taking the most care I’ve ever seen him put into making anything, and we ate at his breakfast bar, swapping stories about crew members on the show.
As we were finishing and all that was left on my plate were a few stray leaves of arugula, my phone rang.
“Oh shit,” I said, as I looked at the name on the screen. Caleb was calling.
“What?” Eric asked.
“It’s… sorry, I’ve gotta take this call. I’ll be right back.”
I took the phone out into the back yard and shut the door behind me. My heart was pounding in my chest—I’d barely talked to Caleb at all since we’d broken up, which was at least 8 months ago now. I felt the familiar sting of anxiety that I always used to get when I saw his name light up on my cell phone—despite the fact that we’d been broken up for so long, I still found myself worried about whether he was okay.
“Hello?” I answered, my voice cracking a little.
“Hi, D. Wow, it’s been a while.” I’d forgotten that Caleb always had just called me “D.” It was weird to hear it now.
“Uh… yeah, it really has been a while. How… how are you doing?”
“I’m doing so well. Listen, do you have a minute? I really wanted to talk to you about something. Just a minute, it won’t take long.”
Oh god. I started to panic immediately—what was he going to tell me? I thought it had to be something important—something really bad, otherwise he wouldn’t sound like he did.
“Sure, Caleb, go ahead.” I looked back in through the window at Eric inside, and saw him eating a spoonful of ice cream straight out of the container.
“So, I know we haven’t talked in a long time, but a lot has happened in my life since we parted ways. I actually… started seeing someone pretty quick, and I just wanted to let you know… oh, I’ll just come right out and say it, because I’m so excited. We are getting married, D.” His voice climbed a register as he said the last sentence.
I paused for a moment, and time slowed down as my brain went through the possible responses I could have to what he’d just told me. Searching for a normal reaction to hearing that your ex, that you’d dated for 10 years, was about to marry someone else.
“Oh,” I finally managed.
“Yes. And I just… I really wanted you to be the first person to know, D, and I know I’ve read that you and Eric Ronson are dating, so I figured you wouldn’t mind hearing now. You both always look so happy in the photos.”
“You… you look at photos of us?”
“There were a couple of them on TV the other night. You know, they like reporting about who Eric dates. More power to you, by the way—I know that guy is known for being a player, so if you reined him in, congrats.”
“Um, thank you?” I said. My head was absolutely swimming with all of the information he’d given me—he was not only fucking getting married 8 months after we’d broken up, but apparently he also was aware of what I’d been doing, who I’d been “dating.” I didn’t know Caleb cared at all what I was doing.
“So, you’re okay with this, D?”
“Of course,” I said. “I mean, you don’t really need my permission.” How else could I really answer that? For fuck’s sake, I didn’t even know why he was calling me in the first place.
“Thank you so much. It means so much to me that I can share this with you. I really do think you’re starting to blossom, finally, D. You could really be a great person someday.”
Wow.
Someday.
I was suddenly remembering what the last five years of my relationship with Caleb had been like, with backhanded compliments, and insults masquerading as advice.
“I’ve gotta go, Caleb,” I said, and before he could even say goodbye, I hung up.
I took a few steps back and sat on one of the patio benches in the yard.
Caleb was getting married. Married, already, and what had I done today? Cleaned the house of my fake boyfriend who couldn’t even bring himself to show up for a fake date with me?
Caleb had something so real—God, he was going to get married—and yet I was acting like an idiot.
I suddenly felt so much younger than I was. It was like I was still in college, and Caleb was an adult. He had always been the irresponsible one in the relationship—he criticized me for not having a “real job,” despite the fact that he was the one living off his inheritance money. But now it felt like the tables had turned, that he was moving on and moving up in the world. And what was I doing?
I
leaned back on the bench, taking a deep breath.
The back door of Eric’s house swung open, and he walked out, appearing in front of me with a concerned look on his face.
“Is… everything okay?” he asked. “You look kind of shellshocked. Did something bad happen, Dash?”
I shook my head, ready to tell Eric it had just been a call from the bank or something innocuous—but as I did it, I felt tears welling up in the corners of my eyes. I couldn’t fucking believe it. How could I let myself cry in front of Eric?
He sat down on the bench beside me, at first keeping his distance, eyeing me like I was an animal in the wild.
“Fuck,” I said, “It was my fucking ex. He’s getting married.”
“Oh God,” Eric said, and he leaned in and put his arms around me. When he did it, I felt both infinitely better and somehow even more emotional—like the fact that his comfort felt so good made me realize just how sad I was.
“I know, it’s stupid, I didn’t even enjoy our relationship in the last half of it, I don’t know why I even care.”
“Dash, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” he said, leaning forward to look in my eyes. “You were with him for 10 years. Basically all of your adult life. And you expect to not be affected by this?”
I sighed and leaned into Eric, completely weak. He buried his face in my hair and kissed me there, not saying anything, but just holding me. Finally the tears stopped coming, but the raw ache in my chest remained.
“Let’s go on a walk,” Eric said simply.
I took a breath, sniffling. “But it’s like, gross and grey outside.”
I felt him shrug. “It’s not really raining that much anymore. I’ve got raincoats anyway, just in case. We can just wander, we don’t have to talk, we don’t have to do anything in particular. Just walk with me. Okay?”
I leaned my head against his shoulder. “Okay.”
“Hey Dash,” Eric said, his voice soft and low.
I nodded against him. “Yeah?”
“Why don’t eggs tell jokes?”
I pulled away from him a little, looking up at him, confused. “What are you talking about, Eric?”
“Just what I said—why don’t eggs tell jokes?”
A sad smile crept over my face as I realized what he was doing. I shook my head. “Why don’t eggs tell jokes, Eric?”
“Because they’d crack each other up.”
It was stupid, and juvenile, and not even close to being funny, but I puffed out a laugh, wiping away one last stray tear from my eye. He was trying to distract me from my sadness, and it was starting to work, just a little. “Your jokes really fucking suck, Eric.”
“You love them, and you know it.”
I shook my head more vigorously. “Nope. Don’t love them. But it says a lot that I tolerate them, coming from you. If anyone else told me your jokes I’d have to excommunicate them from my life.”
“Well I’m glad you like me enough not to do that,” Eric said, smiling at me and then pressing a kiss to my temple. “Now let’s go to the beach. And when we get back, I have just the thing for us to watch.”
“Are you gonna make me watch more of that British baking show? I mean, it really is good, but I can’t do another three hours of it.”
He shook his head. “Nope. Even better.”
“Don’t tell me it’s some cheesy romantic comedy.”
“Dash. Have you ever seen a little movie I like to call Ratatouille?”
“Um… I have heard of the movie Ratatouille. And you’re not the only one who calls it that, Eric—that’s the name of the movie.”
He smiled. “Well. We are watching it when we get back. Dash—it’s about a chef, but he’s a rat.”
I nodded slowly, looking at him like he was nuts. “Yes, I’ve heard.”
“But it’s so cute! He’s a rat, but he’s a chef… oh, you’re going to love it.”
And seeing Eric squeal with glee over a kid’s movie is what finally made me feel something close to happy.
Fifteen
Eric
Maybe it seems like an exaggeration, but I really do believe that there was nothing cuter than the way Dash looked when he slept—breathing softly next to me in bed, face completely at peace.
Apparently I had become the kind of person who cared about that kind of thing. I guess because it was him. Everything was different with him.
The night before had been difficult. I’d never been good at comforting people—I didn’t know what to do, really, and had always avoided people who seemed like they were inconsolable.
But I couldn’t do that with Dash. It was too much, seeing him upset, especially after what his ex told him. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what that felt like—my dating history didn’t support it—but I did know that I hated seeing Dash like that, like another version of himself. Dash, but less vibrant. Less present. I knew I couldn’t just snap my fingers and make him happy, but the very least I could do was momentarily distract him.
We had walked down to the beach, then come back to my house and watched the best movie ever—Ratatouille—and then followed it with random TV shows until he had fallen asleep in my arms. I’d gotten him into bed and now it was 8 hours later. I’d woken up embarrassingly early and he was still snoozing away, perfectly, the sun dappling over his face, and I kept looking over at him like some kind of creep.
Or maybe just someone infatuated.
I was in so deep, and yet I still couldn’t really have him.
Suddenly there was a low buzzing sound and I realized that it was his phone again, sitting on the nightstand. I hoped to God it wasn’t his goddamn ex calling again.
Dash blinked his eyes open, first looking to me.
“It’s yours,” I said, gesturing over to the nightstand.
He sighed when he saw the caller ID, and answered the phone, still lying in bed.
“Hey, mom,” he said, closing his eyes again as he spoke. Relief flooded me—it wasn’t Caleb. “Sure, yeah, that sounds good. No, I’m awake, I’m awake. Yep. I’ll be there. Bye, ma.”
He hung up and then sort of burrowed in next to me, wrapping his arms around my stomach.
“Parents?” I said, stroking a hand through his hair.
“Parents. Yeah. They’re visiting this week. I gotta go pick them up from the airport in a little while, actually.”
I kissed the top of his head. “Is it their first time visiting you here?”
He nodded. “Yup. They’re gonna come see our taping later this week. They’re way too excited about it.”
“Well, it is the season finale. We get a whole month off afterward.”
“I know,” he said, smiling wide. “I’m so excited. I wish we had more time off in between seasons, but I guess that’s how Eat Network operates.”
“You know what I’m excited about?” I asked.
“What?”
“How fucking endearing you look when you sleep,” I said, catching his eye. “You know you snore a little? Well not snore, just breathe in a cute way.”
“Oh God,” he said, “That is way more embarrassing than it should be.”
“Not embarrassing. Adorable.”
If I could have, I would have stayed in bed with him forever, but eventually we got up and I made us a simple breakfast of eggs and toast. We ate next to each other, sometimes talking, and sometimes lapsing into comfortable silence. It was strange—I usually felt an urge with other people to make conversation, to make things less awkward, but I didn’t feel it was necessary with him at all. It didn’t feel awkward with him.
What did feel awkward was having to say goodbye a while later. He stood by the door, like he wasn’t quite ready to leave.
“Sorry I was… a lot to deal with yesterday,” he said.
I took a deep breath, pulling him toward me. He looked so vulnerable, standing there with his eyes pointed toward the floor, and I kind of wished I could wrap him in my arms and not let go.
“Are you kidding me right now
? You weren’t ‘a lot to deal with’ at all,” I said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t you remember that I was the idiot with the party? I want you to be happy, Dash. I know that might sound shocking coming from an asshole like me, but it’s true.”
He puffed out a laugh, looking up at me from under his lashes. “You’re so not an asshole, Eric. You’re just… hard to pin down.”
I smiled at him. “Glad someone thinks so. I hope you have as much fun with your parents as is possible.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I’ll try,” he said, “They said they wanted to meet you, but I had to stop myself from laughing when they asked. I knew there was no way that was gonna happen.”
“Wait,” I said, pausing a beat. “They want to meet me?”
“I mean, yeah, but I told them no way.”
“Why?” I said, “I’d love to meet them, Dash.” Usually, Dash would have been completely right—meeting anyone’s parents was the last thing in the world I typically wanted to do—but it made me a little sad that he hadn’t even tried to ask me. For some reason I felt like I’d almost be excited to meet his parents, to learn more about Dash.
“He looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah. I mean, you’re not exactly the kind of guy who seems like you’d want to meet parents, I guess. They just ask about you because of the show, and they probably have seen some online ‘news’ article saying we’re dating.”
I nodded and swallowed hard, for some reason completely unable to form words.
“Okay. I’ll see you later, Eric. Thanks again for helping me out yesterday.” He opened the front door, taking a step forward.
“Dash,” I said, catching him by his lower arm. I swallowed hard as he looked back at me. “I… I’ll do it.”
I started to freak out the moment I said it. This—meeting someone’s parents—had always been my personal hell, the thing I most tried to avoid in any relationship. I had only done it a couple of times and it had gone horribly each time, even leading to a breakup in one case.
People’s parents didn’t like me. Usually they’d read about my “player status” and already had that idea embedded in their mind, and there was no use trying to get it out. It was an uphill battle, and it made me uncomfortable, and I think it always would.
The Sweetest Star: Under the Stars Book 2 Page 16