“He was okay with that?”
Something that might have been pain flashed over her face, but she nodded. “Eventually, yeah. But it was hard getting back on track. I shouldn’t have ever slept with him in the first place.”
“Do you think he—”
“No. Absolutely not.”
She was adamant, but Renly wasn’t convinced. He nodded, but at the same time he made a mental note to check this Travis guy out.
“How about you?”
He didn’t have to ask what she meant. Of all the friends he’d ever had, it was always Abby he understood perfectly. This time, though, he wasn’t sure he wanted to answer. But he did, because she deserved to hear the truth, just like she’d told him the truth. “I guess I’m the opposite. I’m not a big fan of relationships. Sex I like, though. So the concept of friends with benefits suits me just fine.”
“Oh. Why?”
That was not a subject he was getting into now, so he just shook his head and asked, “You really didn’t know I was in town?”
“Not a clue. I already told you that. And why are you changing the subject?”
He exhaled, then decided he’d rather she hear it from him. “You know I’ve been working in Hollywood. Well, I’ve been dating there, too. Francesca Muratti and Marissa McQuire. A few others, but those were the ones that landed my picture all over social media.”
She shook her head. “I’ve never really paid much attention to celebrity gossip, but I know the names. They’re both huge. You’re saying that you dated both of them.”
“More like fuck-buddies,” he said. “I’m not really the relationship type.” It was who he was—who he always had been, at least since high school. Before that, he’d been sure he’d marry Abby and they’d move to Hawaii. He’d never been to Hawaii, but it seemed exotic, and at eleven the idea of marriage had seemed exotic enough that Hawaii made sense.
Now he knew how foolish he’d been. Getting serious with Abby would have been a mistake. Hell, they wouldn’t even be here now, having this conversation, because it would have invariably fallen apart, and then they would have lost everything, this perfect, easy friendship most of all.
“Why not?” she asked, and it took him a second to realize that she was asking why he didn’t do relationships.
“It’s just—I don’t think it ever works out the way people think it will.”
“Wow. Well, that just makes me sad. Why?”
He lifted his hands, then let them fall. Then flat-out changed the subject, easing back to their childhood. At first, he thought she was going to protest. But soon enough they were both on their third glass of whiskey and laughing their asses off remembering the time they’d tried to build a treehouse. “The look on your face when you fell though that flooring.”
“Hey, I could have killed myself.”
“Nah,” she said with a grin. “You’re indestructible. That’s why you make such a great military guy. And Stark Security guy. What?” she added with a frown, apparently noticing something in his expression.
He forced a smile. “Nothing. I’m just thinking you make a good point. I wasn’t built for either architecture or constuction. Construction,” he said, realizing he’d had just enough whiskey to be pleasantly buzzed.
“You should stay here,” she said. “It’s silly to take an Uber home only to come back to the area tomorrow to get your bike. Plus, this couch is super comfy.”
He patted the cushion, hoping she couldn’t tell the way that her suggestion that he stay had perked up every cell in his body, only to have them sagging in disappointment when she made it clear that he’d be camping on the couch.
“I don’t know,” he began.
“Oh, come on. It’s getting late, but I don’t want to stop talking. Do you?”
“No,” he said honestly. Right then, he felt like he could talk to her forever. More, that he wanted to. “Do you remember the time we decided to run away?”
“Are you kidding? Of course. Third grade and we had different teachers. It was horrible.”
“And you had a friend who was homeschooled, and when our parents said no way, we decided to homeschool ourselves.”
“It seemed reasonable at the time,” she said, and he chuckled with the memory.
“We each took an encyclopedia, water, and potato chips,” he said. “I had X-Y-Z.”
“Because it was the thinnest and you were lame,” she said, and he really did laugh.
“Not lame. Just lazy. Not like you. I had to talk you out of taking three because they were heavy. You said we’d sneak back for others after we read each one, and by the time we came home, we’d know everything there was to know.”
“It was a good plan,” she said. “Just missing some key pieces of, um—”
“Reality?”
“That about covers it,” she admitted.
They shared a smile, and he felt so damn settled. It was a good feeling, and terrifying too, because he knew so well that it could all evaporate in an instant. It had with his parents, after all. His mom going deaf. His father packing up and leaving. Being dragged to Houston when he wanted to stay firmly at home. And in Iraq as well. Close friends, gone in an instant. His own life changed in the blink of an eye.
“Hey?” Her gentle voice pulled him from his dark thoughts. “Did I lose you?”
“I miss those days,” he said honestly.
“Me too.” She took another sip of her drink. “I’m a little tipsy, or I probably wouldn’t say this, even though I’m sure you already know.”
“Yeah? What?”
“I had a total crush on you freshman year.”
“No way.”
She nodded firmly. “Oh, yes. But you were so popular, and I thought you’d forgotten I existed.”
Her words were like a knife to his heart.
“God no. I kept—I was afraid to hang out with you.”
“What? Why?”
He drew a breath. “Because I couldn’t stop thinking of you. I had this fantasy that you’d knock on my window one night, and I’d let you in, and—”
He shook his head, cutting off the words. “But we’d never been like that—we were friends—and I thought if you saw it in my eyes, I’d lose you. The same way I lost my dad. He didn’t even try to work it out with my mom. It just got hard and he couldn’t deal and he left.”
“You thought that would happen to us?”
“I wanted you as a friend more than I wanted you in bed—hell, back then I didn’t even know what that would be like. Not really. But I imagined it in living color.”
“Yeah?” She scooted closer, her knees pulled up inside that pale pink dress. “So, um, how was I?”
He swallowed, trying not to look at the way her nipples were tight against the thin material. Or the way her pulse was beating in her neck. He needed to stop this. Needed to back it down, because this conversation had taken a dangerous—enticing—left turn. Keep going, and he’d regret it. He knew it.
And yet somehow he couldn’t quite veer off the path. “You were amazing,” he whispered. “And you tasted like strawberries.”