The Difference Between Somebody and Someone (The Difference Trilogy Book 1)

by Aly Martinez

  I sucked in a shaky breath, willing my racing mind to slow. There I was, lost in anguish over a story, when the man I was falling in love with had lived every horrific detail.

  Jesus, Remi. Get it together. This isn’t about you.

  But in a way, it was.

  “I am so sorry about not letting you know where I was. You must have been terrified.”

  His arms sagged the smallest fraction, and he blew out a breath. “I was. I thought it was happening again. And when I realized you were at the hospital, it hit me like a brick wall that, even if I found you physically, it still might not be you who came home with me.”

  “Oh, Bowen.” I buried my face in the curve of his neck. “It’s still me. I’m right here. I swear.”

  “I know. It’s just going to take a while for it to really sink in. For me to believe it’s real.”

  “Well, I’m here for as long as it takes.”

  He stroked the back of my hair. “That might be forever.”

  “Okay. I kinda like it here.”

  He let out a low hum. “You think I’m kidding.”

  “I hope you’re not.”

  His arms cinched around me, and he turned his face to kiss my cheek. “There you go again, making it impossible for me not to say I love you.”

  “You don’t need to. I think I got a head start on falling in love with you anyway.”

  He stared at me for a second, his warmth encompassing me as his gaze branded me more than any declaration of love ever could. “Don’t be so sure about that.”

  And then he kissed me.

  Deep and hungry.

  Carnal and consuming.

  His lips were a promise.

  My moans were a plea.

  And as he tore the T-shirt over my head and drove inside me, our bodies joining as one, I was positive there was no more falling left to be done for either of us.

  Remi

  Me: My Uber took the slowest route possible. I’m so sorry I’m late.

  Bowen: Babe, it’s 6:01. Late for you doesn’t start until at least 6:15.

  After the incident at the hospital, I’d spent the next week being the world’s most punctual and communicative girlfriend. I’d texted Bowen every morning when I woke up. He’d laughed because five of those times he’d been lying in the bed beside me. I’d also texted him before showing houses, after showing houses, and during lunch, and again, two of those times he had been sitting across the table from me.

  He’d never asked for any of it. It wasn’t a trust or control thing. But if it made him feel comfortable to know where I was, a simple text was the least I could do.

  It wasn’t like I was alone in the understanding and thoughtful department. While Sugar and I had officially become besties, Clyde still scared the shit out of me if we ran into each other when he was loose in the house. Bowen—my sweet, sweet Bowen—had tied a bell to the collar of his hulking, one-hundred-plus-pound goodest boy so he could never sneak up on me.

  Give and take. It was all about the give and take.

  Me: Okay, well, anywho, I’m walking in now, Sirfriend.

  I flashed my ID to the bouncer at the door and then walked into the crowded bar. It was trivia night, and since I hadn’t been in a few weeks, I was far past due to thrash some drunk co-eds who thought they knew it all. And to ensure my victory, on this particular night, I’d brought a secret weapon.

  Not so shockingly, he’d been early. It wouldn’t have been Bowen if he hadn’t. But as I caught sight of him at a small high-top table wearing a tailored suit, complete with a vest that honestly might have been hotter than the sleeve-rolling thing, I regretted being even a few minutes late.

  He stood as I approached, immediately pulling me into a hug.

  “You look dashing,” I said.

  He traced a hand down my side, stopping to tease the exposed flesh where my pink T-shirt failed to meet my short denim cutoffs. “You should have told me it was a college bar. I would have gone home to change first.”

  I leaned away and smiled. “Oh, please. You look amazing. Plus, now everyone will think you’re a professor and be on their best behavior.”

  His eyes darkened and he slid his hand down to my ass, slipping it into my back pocket before giving it a firm squeeze. “Well, in that case. Miss Grey, I graded your essay today and you failed miserably. I will be offering extra credit tonight, but it will involve an oral presentation.”

  My entire body heated, not at all limited to my cheeks. Using the lapels on his jacket, I dragged his mouth down to mine, kissing him indecently—or at least it was indecent for two people in or nearing their dreaded thirties like ourselves. “You’re so gracious, Professor Michaels. I assure you my presentation tonight will be my finest work to date.” Hopeful and horny, I slipped my hand inside his jacket and… Bingo. I pulled out a clean, neatly folded handkerchief. “Perfect, I needed a good luck charm.” I shoved it down the front of my shirt and into my bra for no particular reason other than I liked the idea of him spending the night thinking about my boobs. “However, until we get home, I need to borrow your brain and not your body.”

  He let out a deep rumble, and as I’d hoped, he glanced around to see if anyone was watching before sneaking his fingertips under the hem of my shirt, trying to get his hanky back.

  I did not miss the way his fingertips slid across the curve of my breast.

  And he did not miss my soft moan or the way I licked my lips.

  “Fuck,” he rumbled. “What’s the prize for winning this little trivia thing?”

  “Little?” I scoffed, using his wrist to remove his hand. “I think not. There are two orders of nachos and a pitcher of beer up for grabs here.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Import?”

  “Domestic, but whatever. A win’s a win.”

  “Orrr…I buy you nachos and a beer that is actually palatable and then we both win-win naked back at my house and skip the whole damn thing. What do you say?”

  I patted his chest. “Nice try. But I have a good feeling about tonight. I’ve never won before. Aaron is terrible at trivia. Smart guy, but he’s about as speedy at picking answers as a ninety-year-old man with no hands.”

  “What makes you think I’m any faster?”

  Pressing up onto my toes, I nipped at his earlobe. “Those fingers gave me two orgasms the other night. You help me win this, I’ll let you try for three.”

  I started to move away, but he caught the back of my head, holding me a breath away from his mouth. “You are an evil, brilliant woman. But as soon as this is over, you get a raincheck for your nachos and beer because I’m claiming number one on the way home.” He licked the tip of his finger before tracing it over my bottom lip.

  My breath caught. Damn. Suddenly, I’d never wanted to play trivia less. But I’d committed, and honestly, getting off on Bowen’s fingers as he drove me home was a much better prize than nachos.

  “Okay, then,” I whispered. “I guess I’ll…go get us signed up.”

  He smirked as he let me go, but it morphed into a full-blown laugh as I reached into my shirt, pulled his handkerchief out, and dabbed it across my flushed face as I headed to the bar.

  I’d been wrong. Bowen wasn’t good at trivia. The man was freaking incredible.

  The bar issued everyone an electronic device and then questions appeared based on the designated category. Each question was multiple choice, A through F. Some had more than one answer and you had to pick all of them to be right. Others had no correct answer at all, so you had a button for that too. Points were assigned based on how quickly you submitted the correct answers, and I was not wrong about Bowen’s long, dexterous, and nimble fingers.

  He dominated every history, sports, and math question to appear on the screens mounted around the bar. I pulled up the rear with pop culture, literature, and geography.

  The only reason it wasn’t a complete blowout was the damn science category. We struggled through though and managed to have a ninety-nine-point lea
d over Team Beer Goggles by the end of the third round. The only problem was the final question was worth exactly one hundred points, and I didn’t need Bowen to do any accounting to know that if we got it wrong, we would end up in second place with nothing more than the order of cheese sticks as a consolation prize. I loved a good mozzarella stick as much as the next girl, but dammit, Team Sexy Professor was no loser.

  After a few taunting glares at the Georgia Tech frat boys across the bar, Bowen and I huddled together, shoulder to shoulder, the rectangle touchscreen centered on the table between us and our eyes glued to the TV in the corner.

  What 1989 film directed by Rob Reiner follows two fated lovers for over a decade as they attempt to settle the debate of whether men and women can ever truly be strictly platonic friends?

  I hadn’t finished reading the question before I stabbed my finger down on the screen so fast I nearly elbowed Bowen off his stool.

  I didn’t bother to look to make sure we’d gotten it right. I could have done a one-woman play reenacting that movie word for word if they’d asked for it.

  “Yeah, buddy! Take that!” I shouted, launching myself into Bowen’s open arms.

  Stools tipped. Drinks sloshed. He spun me in a circle, laughing, not a lick of good sportsmanship to be found in either of us. In fact, I think there were a few boos from the other teams, but whatever. I had just won nachos and orgasms. I was allowed to celebrate.

  Out of breath but still laughing, Bowen and I sat down and waited for the waitress to bring our gift cards to claim the future spoils of our victory.

  “Holy shit, Remi. That was amazing. You were an animal,” Bowen teased. “I barely saw Rob Reiner before you had already answered.”

  “Damn right.” I brushed invisible lint off my shoulder. “Though I’m not sure I would have been that fast with any other film. I have a slight obsession with When Harry Met Sally. I’ve watched it no less than two hundred times.”

  He shook his head. “No way. That movie is older than you are.”

  “No, seriously. My freshman year of college, the TV I had was a crap hand-me-down, and by second semester, it wouldn’t change channels anymore, so I was stuck at the mercy of the TV gods for what I got to watch. I swear, for a month straight, When Harry Met Sally came on every day. I hated it at first, but it was background noise while I studied, and eventually, I’d memorized the entire thing. When my TV finally died, I missed it.” Smiling, I leaned in close. “Harry Burns especially. The way that man used humor to hide his sadness pulled every single one of my heart strings. Anyway…I bought the DVD and the movie became the soundtrack of my college years. You ever seen it?”

  “Actually, yeah. Although Billy Crystal didn’t do anything to my heart strings.”

  I laughed. “Well, it’s clear whoever created the questions tonight has never seen it. Harry and Sally weren’t fated lovers. They were friends who fell in love. Thus proving the debate that men and women can’t just stay friends.” I slanted my head and thought about Mark and Aaron. “Present company excluded.”

  Bowen propped his elbow on the table and lifted a finger. “Wait, wait, wait. You don’t think they were fated lovers?”

  “Psh, no. They had to grow on each other. She hated him at first.” I pursed my lips and tapped them with my fingertip. “Sounds like somebody else we know, huh?”

  “I never hated you, and she didn’t hate him, either.” He rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. That car ride, where her friend just so happens to set them up on an eighteen-hour road trip together when they’d never even met before? The airport? The bookstore? There is no way all of that happened by coincidence.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at him. “Holy hell, Bowen Michaels. This might be more surprising than the truck. Do you believe in fate?”

  He nodded, firm and confident. “Absolutely I do.”

  “What? How?”

  “What do you mean how? Fate is about predestination and the development of events beyond a person’s control.” His handsome face was so serious that I didn’t want to laugh at him. But I was barely holding it back.

  “So let me get this straight. You believe your entire life has already been determined. If that’s the case, what’s the point in living?”

  “Just because there’s a path doesn’t mean you have to walk it. Was I destined to be an accountant? I don’t know. I’m happy though. In some other life, could I have been more successful in a different career? Possibly. I guess what I’m saying is this goes back to the whole somebody versus someone thing. Somebody is a person you found. Someone is a person fate picked for you. Let me guess, you don’t believe in soul mates, either?”

  My jaw fell open. No way. Of all people. After everything he’d been through, there was no way this levelheaded, pragmatic man was about to tell me he believed in soul mates too. And not because I thought the entire idea was beyond ludicrous—which I did—but mainly because he had been engaged before. Planned a life with a woman. Was going to spend forever with a woman. Did that make Sally his soul mate? Shit. That was even her name. Sally.

  More so, if Sally was his soul mate, then what did that make me?

  Mozzarella sticks.

  A ball of fire formed in my chest. What the hell was my problem? Why did I keep getting hit by a wave of jealousy every time we talked about his ex? The woman wasn’t even alive. How could I possibly be bitter that he’d once been in love with her?

  Oh, right. Because I was in love with him now. In the present. And the mere idea that I didn’t have all of him was a dagger in my heart.

  It should be known that green was not my color.

  Exhibit A: “So do you think the plane crash was fated?” I snapped.

  I shouldn’t have asked it. It was childish, spoken out of some seriously misplaced resentment. And the guilt when he flinched was more painful than any therapy I’d done since the crash itself.

  I slapped a hand over my face as if I could hide. “Don’t answer that. Oh, God, do not answer that. I am a horrible human being. You officially get to keep both the nachos. I’ll upgrade the pitcher of beer for you too. Fuck, what is wrong with me tonight?”

  He tugged at my wrist, trying to pry my hands away. “Babe, stop. It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not. That was a really shitty thing to say.”

  The legs of his stool scraped across the floor, and I felt his thighs close in around the outside of mine. With his hand on the back of my head, he guided my forehead to rest on his shoulder. It was a half-assed barstool hug—and still more than I deserved.

  “It wasn’t shitty. You asked it with a shitty attitude for some reason, but the question itself is valid.”

  “I never should have—”

  “Hey,” he whispered in my ear. “I wouldn’t wish that nightmare on anyone, but I absolutely believe fate was in control of that flight. At least for me. Because through a statistically impossible chain of events, it brought me here. With you.”

  Oh my God.

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  While I was having some sort of jealousy-induced stroke, comparing myself to a deep-fried appetizer, this gorgeous and wonderful man was sitting beside me, thinking fate had brought us together.

  Chancing a glance at him, I tilted my head up. “I wish it hadn’t taken a plane crash for us to meet.”

  He smiled and used both hands to palm my face. “Me too. But fate isn’t always the good stuff, Remi. Sometimes the path provided isn’t a straight line but rather a journey filled with obstacles and detours. It took the unimaginable for me to find you, but I will never stop being grateful that there was even one single junction in time in which our paths crossed.”

  I closed my eyes and blew out a shaky breath. I was grateful for that too. Whether it was fated or coincidence didn’t matter. Bowen Michaels was mine.

  I wanted to tell him I loved him.

  I wanted to tell him I was sorry he’d lost Sally.

  I wanted to t
ell him that, whether I believed in soul mates or not, I knew that he was someone I saw a future with.

  But I’d said enough for one evening. “Let’s go home. It’s getting late and three is going to take you a long time.”

  He grinned. “And you have an oral presentation to prepare for.”

  I brushed my nose against his. “After that win, your fingers have done a lot for me already tonight. What do you say you give them a rest and we both do a little oral presenting…at the same time?”

  I don’t know how it happened, but in the very next blink, I was off my stool, one of his arms under my legs, the other wrapped around my back to hold me against his chest.

  “Bowen!” I laughed, clinging to his neck.

  “You better get your nachos,” he said, carrying me past our waitress.

  She lifted a paper gift card in the air, and I snagged it from her hand as he paraded me out the door as if I were the real prize he’d gone there for.

  Turned out, Bowen’s fingers didn’t need a night off after all.

  He made me come with his hand down the front of my shorts on the way home.

  On his mouth, atop his couch as soon as we walked through the door, unable to even make it to the bedroom.

  And just before midnight, he finished the hat trick with his cock, me on my knees, him taking me from behind.

  Bowen

  “Soooo, how’s work?” my mom asked through the phone as I wiped my bathroom counter.

  I rolled my eyes knowing good and damn well this call had absolutely nothing to do with my job. We’d been on the phone long enough for me to scrub down both the bathrooms, sweep the kitchen, fold a load of laundry, and pack up another load to be dropped off at the dry cleaner.

  Tyson gave me hell for not hiring someone to clean for me, but there was something therapeutic about the act of such mundane tasks. Maybe it was the distraction of it all, or possibly the ability to wash the past away and start fresh and new. But whatever the case might have been, it afforded me countless hours to humor my mother and sister with their marathon phone calls.