by Kelsie Rae
“I met Ben a couple months ago.” She glances in my direction, her lips quirking up with a ghost of a smile that acts like a balm to the ache in my chest.
“Was it on a dating app? Please tell me it was on a dating app.”
Marcy laughs. “It was actually at his office. Then it was on a dating app.”
“Meh. A dating app was involved in some way, shape, or form, so I’m still gonna take credit. Pay up, Benny Boy.” With her hand outstretched toward me, she jokingly waits for me to fill it with some cash. When she catches Marcy’s confusion, Krista explains, “I had to fight tooth and nail to get that boy to download a few dating apps. In fact, I’m the one who set up most of his profiles because he was so against dating after my twin sister died. I believe his argument was, ‘Not a chance in hell will I be able to find a girl worth dating on the internet,’ to which I replied, ‘Wanna bet?’ And now, he owes me a hundred bucks because you, my friend, are obviously worth dating, or he wouldn’t have cooked for you.”
“Cooked for me?”
“Aaand, now, it’s time for you to go, Krista,” I interrupt. “Thanks for stopping by.”
She purses her lips before murmuring, “Don’t let this guy push you around, Marcy. He likes strong women.” She winks. “See ya around.”
With a pat on my chest, Krista heads right back out the front door while Marcy watches her retreat. Her stunned expression would be adorable if I wasn’t so terrified about what she’s thinking right now.
When the front door closes a few seconds later, it blankets my house in silence as I carefully study the girl in front of me.
“She seems…nice?” Marcy offers, though it comes out as more of a question than a statement.
Chuckling, I sit down across from her. “She’s a pain in the ass, that’s what she is. I’m sorry if she scared you.”
“She didn’t scare me. She seems like a handful, but the good kind. Honestly, if she hadn’t introduced herself, I probably would’ve made a few wrong assumptions that would’ve definitely soured the mood for the evening.”
“What kind of assumptions?” I ask, unable to help myself.
Digging her teeth into her lower lip, she stays silent for a minute before finding the courage to look over at me. And what I see nearly breaks me. The vulnerability. The uncertainty. And above all, the shame.
“I’ve uh, I’ve been the other woman before…without even knowing it. We weren’t even dating or anything. We’d just met at the bar, and he wanted to come to my place, but I had a roommate at the time, so he danced around the subject for a while before inviting me to his house. I didn’t think much of it at the time and was too buzzed to notice the family pictures hanging on the walls until she walked in on us in their bed.”
“Shit, Marce––”
“I know, huh?” She tries to keep her tone light, but I can see the regret in her eyes. Hell, it’s practically suffocating her. “And when I heard a feminine voice at the front door, I kind of had a weird déjà vu moment. I guess it felt like I was intruding in your home. That I was where someone else was meant to be.”
Kate.
Cupping the side of her face, I pull her into another kiss in hopes of erasing her doubt along with my guilt for inviting her over here in the first place.
It doesn’t work.
Krista’s words echo through my head as I sample Marcy’s mouth, savoring her unique flavor that is nothing like Kate’s, yet familiar all the same.
She would want you to move on.
Bullshit. Besides, having sex with Marcy isn’t moving on from Kate. It’s sex. Simple. Transactional. I’ve done it before with other women, and I can do it again without getting attached.
Then why the hell did I invite her to my place? Why did I offer to cook for her? Why did I let her wear Kate’s backup apron since her favorite is tucked away in our room? Maybe Marcy’s right. Maybe she is intruding. It’s not her fault, though. It’s mine. I should’ve never put her in this position. I’m just as bad as the asshole from her story. Maybe I’m even worse because I laid it all out on the table for her. I explained that I want to use her, but I’m unwilling to give her anything real. Then I practically played house with her by planting her in the middle of a scenario I’ve acted out a thousand times with my wife.
That’s so messed up.
Kate’s gone. And the terrifying part is that I haven’t really thought much about her since Marcy stepped into my house. It’s like she turned on a bright light and made the haunting memories retreat like shadows in the sun.
Then Krista showed up and reminded me why this is a terrible idea even though it finally feels like I can breathe.
With a groan, I end the kiss. “We should probably call it a night.” The feel of her soft skin against the palm of my hand is like heaven, but I pull away from her anyway and hate myself as soon as I do.
“Oh. Uh, yeah. I had a hunch you’d say that.” She releases a dry laugh before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re right. It’s for the best. Thanks for dinner, though. It was probably the best steak I’ve ever had.”
“Probably?” I challenge, scrambling to hold onto the banter I’m slowly growing accustomed to whenever Marcy and I are together.
She shrugs one shoulder with a smirk firmly in place. “Probably. Goodnight, Ben.”
“Goodnight, Marcy.”
Leaning toward me, she drops a soft kiss to my mouth that has me questioning every decision I’ve made in the past two minutes before she pulls away, grabs her purse off the kitchen counter, then heads out the front door while I’m left staring at the heavy oak long after she disappears through it.
9
Marcy
“So, how are the Braxton Hicks?” I ask before pressing the speaker button and setting my phone on my desk.
“They’re a bitch.” Dylan’s laughter softens her response, but I still feel for her. The waiting game must be brutal.
Clicking on Photoshop, I open the images from a recent photo shoot and start editing as I reply, “I believe it. Ben said you could go into labor anytime.”
“That’s what he told us too, but that almost makes it worse. Now I’m just…waiting. Ya know? Grady keeps telling me to enjoy it, and I’m trying to, but I’m also so ready to meet this little nugget.”
“I’m not even related to her, and I’m dying from anticipation. When is your mom coming into town? Will she make it for the delivery?”
“Grady and I decided we wanted to have a little time as a new family before she comes to visit, so we booked her flight for the end of the month.”
“That’ll be good,” I acknowledge while erasing a giant flag pole in the background of the image in front of me. “Is she still on the sober train?”
“Yup. She’s riding that thing like a champ. It’s weird, but totally awesome too.” The relief in Dylan’s voice makes me want to hug her.
“Aww, I’m happy for you. And for her.”
“Me too. Speaking of being happy for each other…. How was your date last night?”
She waits with bated breath as I release an epic sigh of resignation while tweaking the hue and saturation in the image I’m working on.
“That bad?” Dylan mutters with disbelief.
“I don’t even know.” I laugh dryly while analyzing the night for the billionth time since I left.
“Come on, Marcy. You gotta give me more than that.”
“There’s not much to tell. He invited me over for dinner, cooked me steak––”
“Ooo, fancy. Was it good?”
“It was delicious. Then we started making out, but someone knocked on the door and kind of ruined the mood.”
“Who was it?”
Breathing out another sigh, I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes shut. “It was his wife’s twin sister.”
Silence.
“Yeah…,” I confirm, answering her silent question.
“Holy shit, Marcy.”
“I know.”
<
br /> “So was she like…mad that you were there?”
“No. That’s the weird part. She was super friendly and welcoming. It was Ben who acted all weird after she left. And then he kissed me, told me we should call it a night, and I left.”
“That’s it?”
“Yup.”
“And have you heard from him since?”
“Nope. Something spooked him. I told him about an experience I had a few years ago when I went home with a random guy, and his wife walked in on us, but I had no idea he was married––”
“You don’t need to defend yourself to me. And how the hell is that your fault?”
“It’s not. And he knows that. He sounded super accepting when I brought it up. Then we kissed. Then he pulled away and basically asked me to leave.” Frustrated, I close the file I’m working on and grab my phone, turn off the speaker option, press it to my ear, and start pacing. I can’t focus on photography right now. Not when I’m this amped up.
“Would it be weird to message him?” I ask, cringing at the desperation that slips into my voice.
“I dunno? Maybe? Since he asked you to leave….”
Pouting, I plop onto the couch in my family room, then reach for a pillow and hug it against my chest while keeping the phone pressed against my ear.
“I like him, Dylan.”
“I know, sweetie,” Dylan consoles. I can practically hear her pity.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Grady…I saw him at the photo shoot for the firefighter’s calendar before you guys got married. I saw how broken he was. How insecure he felt. And I saw how he looked at you. How did you…?” My face scrunches up as I try to figure out the most delicate way to ask this. “How did you help him heal? How did you convince him to give you a real shot?”
“I thought you only wanted sex…?”
“I thought so too. And I do,” I clarify, though I’m not entirely sure who I’m trying to convince. “But I also hate seeing him in pain. He hides it well. But I can still see it. He misses her.”
“Can you blame him? I heard they were high school sweethearts. That’s what Grady says, anyway. Did you go to high school with them?”
“I moved here during my sophomore year of high school, but they were a few years older than me, so I didn’t really know any of them.”
“Grady says they were a perfect match made in Heaven. Then the car crashed, and his life shifted in a way he’d never expected.”
“Just like Grady’s,” I point out.
“Yeah. I wish there was a clear-cut answer I could give you. But honestly? We moved at his pace, and I played by his rules until I couldn’t. Then we both learned to compromise until he finally realized that our wants and needs aligned.”
“That sounds simple enough.” My voice is dripping with sarcasm, pulling another laugh from Dylan.
“Mmmhmm, piece of cake,” she quips. “But I think you need to really consider what you want out of this because if all you want is a fling––”
“That is all I want.”
“Then be up-front about that. Build a friendship with a healthy dose of sex on the side. He’ll know you’re there if he ever wants to talk about his wife, but he won’t feel any pressure to dive into anything more complicated because you’ll have already set the boundaries beforehand. It’s a win-win.”
“I thought I did do that,” I mutter.
“Maybe his sister-in-law freaked him out or something?”
Recounting the night in my head, I realize that’s exactly what happened. Then I followed it up with my stupid comment about feeling like I was somewhere that someone else was meant to be. At his kitchen table. In his home. Where his wife would be if she hadn’t passed away. Of course, that freaked him out.
“That’s definitely possible.”
And I might’ve helped push him over the edge too.
“Then make yourself a little clearer,” Dylan suggests.
“How?”
“I dunno. Send him a nude photo and a text that says pregnancy hormones make you horny. That’s what I do with Grady.”
Chuckling under my breath, I shift the phone from one ear to the other. “That sounds promising.”
“It works every time, my friend. Again, I gotta go because Baby is jumping on my bladder, but I’ll talk to you later, okay? Keep me updated.”
“I will. And let me know when you head to the hospital.”
“Deal.”
10
Marcy
Netflix is flashing on the television screen in my family room, but I have no idea what’s going on because my phone is taunting me. I wish it would light up with a notification from DRBen918.
It doesn’t.
Flipping my phone over so the screen faces the coffee table, I set it back down, then rest my feet beside it and attempt to focus on the documentary in front of me. With my arms crossed, my knuckles turn white as I hold onto the gray sleeves of my oversized hoodie.
Don’t grab the phone, Marcy.
Don’t.
Do.
It.
As I glare at the stupid device, it vibrates on the table, and I scramble for the damn phone like it’s a hundred dollar bill on the side of the street.
There’s a notification from The Birds and Bees app, and my lungs refuse to cooperate as I check to see who it’s from.
RDY2GETDWN would like to contact you.
Gritting my teeth, I lean forward to set my phone back down before impulse finally prevails, and my fingers fly across the screen like they have a mind of their own.
My conversation with DRBen918 is opened, and an edited photo from my scandalous album is blindly attached in five seconds flat before it’s sent into cyberspace.
Shit. I shouldn’t have done that.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I wait.
And wait.
And wait.
You’re an idiot, Marcy. Did you really send a picture of you in a freaking bubble bath to him? Are you even allowed to take bubble baths now that you’re pregnant? I thought I read that somewhere, but maybe I’m imagining things. Now, you’re gonna look like an idiot. Or maybe I didn’t send him the bathtub one? Maybe it was the one in bed? That one’s better, but then again, it’s like four in the afternoon. Who on earth would be in bed in the middle of the day? Now, I’m gonna look like a lazy slob. What else is in that folder? Which one did I even send? This was a terrible idea. I’m horrified. How the hell am I supposed to go to my next doctor’s appointment and look him in the eye when––
My phone vibrates, and I jump in surprise before fumbling with the lock screen like a crazy person.
DRBen918: Why hello to you too.
Marcy123Marcy: Hi.
DRBen918: Tell me, do you read minds?
Marcy123Marcy: No, why?
DRBen918: Because I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately, but I didn’t know how to reach out. Seems I should’ve just followed your lead, though. That picture made my day.
Curious, I reopen the image I’d sent to see which one actually went through before busting up on my couch. There, front and center is my unimpressed face saved for unsolicited dick pics that find their way into my inbox.
What the hell?
I mean…I know I picked blindly, but out of all the pictures I had in the folder, that’s the one that was sent?
I slap my palm to my forehead, searching every nook and cranny in my brain for something witty to reply.
Marcy123Marcy: Glad I could help. Are you as unimpressed with your day as I am?
DRBen918: Definitely. Everything that could go wrong has gone wrong today. It’s been a mess. And then I got a message from you.
It’s the way he writes it. Like his message isn’t a simple play-by-play itinerary of his day. It’s as if my picture was the solution to all the problems he’d been dealing with. And that’s what really gets to me.
With the knowledge of how lame I sound while still feeling despe
rate for his attention, I type my response.
Marcy123Marcy: Happy to help. Is there anything else I could do to ease the pain of your day?
He doesn’t reply.
Of course, he doesn’t.
So I start typing again.
Marcy123Marcy: BTW, I’m sorry if I made our date weird. I want you to know that I was serious about the whole friends plus benefits thing. I know you’re not looking for a relationship, and I promise I’m okay with that. Honestly, I’m even fine if you want to drop the whole benefits part too. Your messages have been making me smile, and I’d love for them to continue.
Before I can press send, a notification pops up.
And I freeze.
DRBen918: Thanks, but I think I’m good for right now. I just need to sort through a few things. Make sure you keep up with your prenatals. I’ll see you at your next appointment.
Holding down the delete button, I wait for my message to disappear then close the app without bothering to reply.
I guess that’s that.
If only I could explain why his brush off hurts like hell.
11
Ben
“Hey, sorry I’m late,” I mutter as soon as Krista opens her front door.
“No worries. I got your text. Is Dylan okay? How’s her voice? Still intact? Is she gonna be able to put out another platinum record? Because so help me, if you didn’t protect those vocal cords….”
Krista fell in love with the infamous Dylan as soon as she released her first album. When she found out I was her OB/GYN, she almost had a heart attack.