by Lily Kate
“You need to get out more—specifically, with me, tomorrow night. Lilia wants you to be there.”
“I’ll call you when I’m done with the show. That’s the best I can do.” I wave and take a few steps down the front lawn. “I promise if there was a way I could get out of the show, I would. I’m sorry.”
He remains silent, a hand coming up to return my wave in a stiff gesture.
There are no more words to be said, but the entire drive home I’m thinking about the look on his face as I stepped into my car. I’m almost certain he wanted me to stay.
Picking up my phone, I debate quickly between Angela and Lisa, decide on Lisa, and hit dial.
“Hey,” she says. “What’s up? Everything ok?”
She was obviously sleeping, and I realize how late it is. At the same time, I’m realizing that maybe I want to keep this moment private, a secret between Ryan and me, at least for now. “Sorry, butt dial,” I say. “Goodnight Lisa.”
“You woke me up for that?”
“Sorry,” I say. “Go back to bed.”
“Asshole.”
“Love you too.”
CHAPTER 22
Andi
When I push open the door to our small home in a deteriorating neighborhood on the almost-east side of Los Angeles, my dad is there, sitting at the kitchen table in full alert mode. The slight scent of marinara sauce lingers in the homey kitchen, which hasn’t changed a lick since my mother died.
The scent suggests my dad didn’t feel like cooking tonight. The beer in front of him suggests he’s had a long night of waiting. I cringe, but there’s no going back now.
“Do you like him?” Papa Peretti asks as he looks up from his half-empty beer.
“Who?” It’s not a good answer to the question, but I don’t have anything better to say.
He gives me a look that tells me he knows I’m full of it, and I flinch. “The boy, Andi, the one who called here today. Do you like him?”
“He’s nice,” I say. “Tips really well.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I don’t know Dad, it’s too early to tell.”
“Sometimes you just know these things.”
I remember the feel of Ryan’s lips on mine, his fingers squeezing my hips, the look of those chocolatey brown eyes as he said my name. Then I change the subject. “If you could go back and fall in love with Mom all over again, knowing she wouldn’t be here today, would you do it?”
His eyes close for a brief minute.
“Sorry.” I take a seat at the table and squeeze my dad’s hand. “Forget I said anything.”
My dad and I are not ones for serious heart-to-heart conversations. We’re hardly ones for conversations at all unless they involve yelling at each other over pizza orders.
“Forget I said anything,” I say. “I know you don’t like to talk about it.”
“Her,” he says. “I’m always willing to talk about her.”
I hang my head, the somber moment seeping throughout the room. The ache in my heart comes back, stronger than before. My dad hasn’t figured out how to live without her yet, not successfully at least. I’m not sure any of us have.
“I’d do it all over in a second,” he says. “A hundred times, a million times.”
“But this heartache…”
“Is a sign that I did at least one thing right in my life.” My dad has these furry brown eyebrows and they crinkle, his expression filled with pain mixed with joy as he looks at me. “Your mother was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I’d never have known what it meant to love unless I’d met her.”
“But—”
“There are no buts,” he says. “That’s it. I loved her, love her still, and that’s all. She’s the best part of me, even if she’s not here physically. She’s still here, Andi.”
I fall silent, lost in my thoughts, wondering how on earth we even got onto this subject. I’m not in love with Ryan; I’m hardly in like with him. We’ve just met. “Ryan asked me to go to a wedding with him, as friends. Sort of like a date, but…it’s complicated.”
My dad swirls his beer around and looks at me. “Are you friends?”
“I suppose.”
“Does he treat you well?”
“I hardly know him, Dad.”
“Do you want to go?”
I pause, considering everything, and I finally nod. “I don’t know why, though. It’d be easier not to go.”
“Go,” he says.
I blink at him. “What?”
A smile turns his lips upward, and for the first time since my mother’s funeral, I see tears smarting in his eyes. “Go. What’s the worst that can happen? You have a horrible time and come back to your family, your studies, your work?”
“I suppose.”
“Have I told you how I met your mother?”
“No,” I lie. He’s told me many times before, but I love hearing the story.
“It was Christmas, and we were both shopping for gifts for our significant others. I had a girlfriend, she had a boyfriend, and there was exactly one Beach Boys album left.”
“The Beach Boys?”
“A joke,” he says. “We had the same taste in gag gifts.”
“What happened?”
“I let her have it, of course,” he says with a wry smile. “I was a gentleman.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Fine, she was beautiful and I wanted her to like me.”
“But you were both dating other people.”
“Exactly,” he says. “So of course nothing happened. We parted ways until exactly one year later, when I saw her while looking for Christmas gifts again. This time, we were shopping for ourselves.”
“Two bad breakups?”
“Within days of each other,” he says. “I still didn’t know her name when I asked her out to dinner that very night. We were engaged six months later.”
My heart warms and aches all at once. My father might be many things—abrasive, stoic at times—but he always loved my mother more than anything. I saw it, my siblings saw it, and that’s why none of us has married yet. We haven’t found that sort of love.
“The reason I’m telling you this story again—yes, I know you were lying. I’ve told you this story many times before.”
I laugh. “I love hearing it.”
“I love to tell it,” he says. “It brings her alive again.”
“I’m so sorry, Dad.” I pull him in for a hug. “I don’t know what else to say.”
I hear him swallow over the lump in his throat, which surprises me. Of all nights to get emotional, I hadn’t expected my night with our star customer would be the inciting incident for our first real talk in a long while.
“You don’t have to say anything.” He pulls back, takes a drink of beer. “What I’m trying to say is that sometimes, these chance opportunities come along, and you need to take them. Take your chance and run because you never know where the path may lead.”
I smile and sit with my dad until he finishes his drink. He stands first, depositing the bottle into the recycling bin. I stand too, pulling my polo tight around me.
“When’s the wedding?” he asks.
“The twentieth,” I say. “A few weeks away.”
“You have that week off work,” he says. “Angela will cover, and I’ll call your friend Lisa. She does a good job.”
“She does a horrible job.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says with a grin. “Goodnight Andi.”
“Night Dad.”
That night, I find myself too excited to sleep—excited about my night with Ryan, the upcoming trip, and maybe, just maybe, the possibility of something more.
CHAPTER 23
Andi
My lack of sleep shows the next morning. I wake up early, too excited to lay around in my bed, so I pass the time working on new material. It’s only seven in the morning, and I’ve already come up with a new bit to test during my show tonight.
The more I think about it, the higher my hopes drift, and the higher my hopes drift, the easier it is to forget that this whole thing is a ruse. I’m to be Ryan’s fake girlfriend to save him from having to go with one of his mom’s picks. Even though he posed it like a date, he meant as friends; both of us were clear that there would be—could be—nothing more.
On the positive side of things, after last night, there is no doubt in my mind that he wants me just like I want him—physically, all of him, all the time.
Maybe we could do this thing in a way that meant we could have awesome sex and then call it quits after the wedding, no strings attached. People do that all the time, right? Not me, necessarily, but I bet Ryan has done it plenty of times before.
That’s what puck bunnies are for, if I’m not mistaken. I might not be very familiar with hockey, but I know the meaning of the term: girls hanging around the rinks, throwing themselves at the men for a chance at their beds. Maybe he thinks I wouldn’t want that, I realize as I swipe on some mascara. Maybe if I bring it up to him, he’ll be interested in rearranging our deal to include sex.
If he can use the stick in his pants like he uses his fingers, I’ll be in for a treat. Plus, it isn’t fair that he got me off and I have yet to return the favor. I pull out my phone, intending to call him and ask for an update to our agreement.
As soon as I hit the dial button, however, I cancel the call. No, I tell myself. That’s not a phone call to make at seven thirty on a Monday morning; it’s probably something we should discuss in person, anyway…or maybe we could just have sex first and talk about it later. I am all about ignoring problems until they can’t be ignored any longer.
If we both enjoyed the sex enough, why would we need to have a problem? Like my dad said, worst-case scenario is I come home from Minnesota and resume my daily life here in Los Angeles. No harm, no foul.
Whether or not Ryan actually gets traded doesn’t make a huge difference. The way I see it, if he does move out here, I’ll never see him…unless he keeps ordering pizzas from me; then I suppose we’d have to talk about things. Maybe. If he doesn’t move, well, we’ll be thousands of miles apart.
My phone rings, cutting off my wandering thoughts. I look down in horror to find Ryan’s name on the screen. Shit. He saw me dial him and hang up. I can probably blow it off as a butt dial on my way to class.
Speaking of class, I’m about to be late, and I can’t take another tardy in my econ class. I grab my backpack, shove my legs in some jeans, my feet in some booties, and my arms into a black t-shirt. It’s my go-to uniform—it takes me from school to work to the comedy clubs without having to change more than my shirt and the amount of mascara on my lashes.
I take the steps two at a time. “See you this afternoon, Dad!”
“Andi, there’s—” my dad yells back, but I’m already out the door.
I feel a little bad, but he can text me if it’s that serious. I am late, and I’m planning on walking the half mile to school since it takes longer to find parking on the stupid campus than to hoof it on foot.
My phone rings again when I’m halfway to the sidewalk—Ryan again. Shit. My finger hovers over the accept button. It wouldn’t take all that long to explain about the butt dial, but at the same time, I’m really late.
I press the ignore button.
Somehow, I still hear his voice.
“Blowing me off?” Ryan asks. “Nice to see you, too.”
My head jerks up and around after I first check my phone. The call isn’t connected, so I turn my attention to the sound of his voice, and that’s when I see him. There, in all its glory, is his gorgeous body perched against a car, his t-shirt form-fitted around sexy, strong arms. In his hands—those hands that made me feel amazing just last night—he holds two coffees.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask. Then I raise a hand to cover my mouth. “I’m sorry. I mean, what brings you around on this fine morning?”
“You didn’t answer your phone.”
“You couldn’t possibly have gotten here since I didn’t answer…” I trail off, realizing he’s joking. “Funny. I’m running really late to class. I promise I was going to text you as soon as I got there.”
“Get in.” He shifts, pointing to the car behind him. It’s a third car, neither the BMW nor the Ferrari. I’m not sure where he got this one, but it’s probably best if I stay away from moving vehicles with my track record.
“Oh, I was just going to walk. It’s not far.”
He grins a cheeky smile that compels me return it. “I brought you coffee.”
“What?! You drove across town, in morning rush hour, to give me a cup of coffee?”
“You’ve delivered plenty of things to me, and I figured it was my turn.”
“But…” I trail off. “You’re nuts.”
“I wanted to see you,” he says. “You’re late to class. Get in the car and let me drop you at the doors. Parking sucks around there.”
“Well, if you’re sure.”
“If I get five more minutes with you, it’s worth it.”
“Who turned you into Romeo?” I give in, taking quick steps toward the car. I grin to make sure he knows I’m kidding, and then accept the proffered coffee.
He kisses me on the cheek as I take the cup from him, the sweet scent of espresso and frothed milk rising to meet my nose.
It’s a familiar scent, and I raise my brows at him. “This is from your favorite little coffee shop.”
“Tell me it’s not your favorite now, too.” He opens the door for me, assists me inside like I’m some fragile doll, and then presses a kiss to my forehead before he closes the door. “Keep your hands and arms inside the vehicle for this wild ride.”
I think he’s kidding, but he slides into the driver’s side and the wild part starts. He pulls away from the curb, and I realize he definitely wasn’t kidding. He drives like a maniac, but this is not a bad thing. In fact, he not only gets me to class on time, but he drops me off at the door seven minutes early.
I feel like my hair is a little windblown as I turn to him in shock. “Quite the ride.”
“I’ve been training,” he says with a smirk. “I heard the traffic out here was horrible.”
I laugh. He’s funny, kind, and smart. I remember my dad’s words from last night, and I turn to face him. “Hey,” I say more softly, my voice taking on a slightly serious tone. “I have to talk to you about something.”
“Of course.” He tries to hide it, but his face sinks in disappointment. “I expected you to change your mind, Andi, don’t worry. Minnesota is a long way away. I just met you, and if you don’t want to come, I totally understand. It was…”
I rest a hand on his arm, squeezing tighter and tighter until he stops talking. “It’s not that at all.” I set my coffee in the cup holder, and then I do the thing that feels most natural in the world. I slip my hand around his head and pull him in for a kiss—a deep, lingering kiss that makes my chest heave something more than lust. When I pull back, I wait for him to open his eyes. “That’s all I wanted.”
He blinks, surprised. “That is significantly better than what I hoped you were going to say.”
“There’s one more thing, but it’s not bad,” I add quickly, before he gets that crumbly, disappointed face again. I hate that face on him—it ruins the sparkling, beautiful one I’ve come to adore. “I think we should have sex.”
“What?”
“Sex.”
“I understand the word,” he says, running a hand over his forehead. “Do you mean…right now?”
I look at the students flooding around our car in the drop-off lane, and I blush. “No, of course not! I’m
talking about our agreement.”
“Agreement?” He seems a little lost, and I can’t say that I entirely blame him.
“You asked me to come to Minnesota as a friend, to get out of your mom’s date choices.”
“Yes,” he says.
“And I want to add an amendment to that agreement.”
“An amendment?”
“Let’s be friends who have sex. I don’t want to go as your friend, I want to go as your…well, friend with benefits.”
He raises his eyebrows. “I have to say this a surprising development.”
My face flames red. “Unless you don’t want to! I didn’t mean that we have to, I just thought after last night, maybe—”
He leans so close to me that I stop talking. “After last night, how could you think I would have any objection to this arrangement? I want nothing more than to take you to bed…” He trails off, his hand landing on my thigh and inching higher and higher. “I want nothing more than to kiss you, taste you, take my time with you.”
My core is about to spontaneously combust, and if I don’t get out of the car soon, I’m going to be dry humping him again, and that just wouldn’t be classy—not in the parking lot drop-off lane. “So that’s a yes?”
A flash of something in his eyes makes me nervous. “Andi, you’re gorgeous. You know I want you.” He slips his hand underneath my shirt, his fingers brushing against my stomach. “But I like you too much to not be honest.”
“I’m not asking for anything more,” I say, feeling the sting of rejection before it hits. I try to ward it off. “I’m just volunteering my opinion that we should have sex. If you don’t want to, just say no. It’s not a big deal, honestly.”
“I don’t know if I’m going to get traded or not. Jocelyn hasn’t even decided if she wants to take me on as a client, so everything’s up in the air. I just can’t get into a serious relationship right now.”
“I understand that. I don’t want one either.”
“I know you say that, but—”
“Look,” I interrupt. “I have to get to class, but I’m an adult woman. I make my own money, follow my own passions, and sleep with whomever I want. If you don’t want to get involved with me, that’s fine. I was just offering because based on what happened last night, I thought we might have a good time, but if you’re not interested, just say so. I’m a big girl.”