We spend time with the boys, trying to wear them out in the backyard while Marissa finishes dinner. It’s a nice night out, so after dinner, Marissa tells Lane she’ll do bath time with the boys so we can enjoy our last night together.
“Thanks, baby,” he says, giving her a smack on the ass while I grab us some beers and head out to the patio.
“Just remember, you owe me.” She winks back at him.
We both sit in silence for a moment, looking out over Black Mountain in the distance before Lane finally brings up August.
“You need to do right by her.”
“Do right by her?” I ask, a little confused. “This isn’t 1920 and she’s not pregnant if that’s what you’re implying. I’m not going to marry her just because we hooked up.”
“That’s not what I mean, Remi. You need to get your head out of your ass with this whole thing you’re doing. Either make a commitment to her or move the fuck on and stop playing with her feelings. It’s childish schoolyard shit.” He takes a swig of his beer.
“Okay, O Wise One. First, she’s the one who propositioned me with the friends-with-benefits situation, so I’m not toying with her emotions or whatever. She’s the one fucking with mine.” I hate that I just admitted that out loud.
“Oh yeah? Do tell.”
I let out an audible breath and stand up. I start to pace—something I do when I’m anxious.
“You know I’ve always had feelings for her, and that’s never changed. But I just don’t know if I can be the man she needs . . . or wants. She’s hoping for a family and marriage and all that right now, and I just don’t think I’m ready.”
“What’s holding you back from being ready? You’re 33 years old, man. By the time I was your age, I already had a wife, a house, and a kid. I don’t know why you’re so scared of it all—of commitment and growing up.”
I can tell he’s frustrated with me, but I think he’s frustrated for me—for the fact that I can’t seem to figure out life like he did.
“I know how old I am, Lane, and it’s not that I haven’t grown up. I’m not out doing that dumb shit like getting in trouble or knocking someone up. I’ve got the business, a nice home, and a good chunk of money in the bank. I just—”
I don’t finish my thought because I’m not sure what point I’m trying to make or what the actual end of that sentence looks like.
“You know what the problem is?” he finally says.
“What?” I look over at him.
“You’re taking your situation for granted. Apart from the college years, August has always been there, but you guys have always been around each other and had that friendship to fall back on. So when one of you would break up with someone, you never felt alone or like you were taking an actual risk, because you’d just run back to each other. If you took a chance on a relationship with her and it didn’t work out, you wouldn’t have that familiar person to run back to anymore.”
I sit down slowly. Damn, he’s actually spot on now that he put it that way. I take a few long pulls on my beer, finishing it off.
“Never thought of it that way, but sounds about right.”
“Just something to think about then. See if the feelings you have for her are worth taking a risk on. I can tell that you two are very compatible. You’ve kept a deep friendship alive for two decades, which isn’t very common, and you’ve always overcome any fights or obstacles you’ve had. I know you two could make it work and be happy, so I guess you just have to decide if she’s your person.”
I rest my elbows on my knees and stare at the ground. He’s right. I know that August is my person, but what I can’t figure out is if I’m scared of losing her to someone else or scared I’ll fuck it up and lose her on my own. Either way, if I don’t figure shit out soon, she’s going to meet someone else and I’ll be left wishing I’d done something different.
I feel incredibly tense. Sweat beads on my forehead as I try to relax on August’s couch. Her feet are slung casually over my leg—something she’s always done—and she’s reclined back into the couch, her eyes focused on the movie.
I, on the other hand, am just trying to focus on not popping a boner. Not looking at her long tanned legs. Not running my hands over her silky smooth skin. She lets out a loud laugh, snapping my attention back to the movie. It’s a romantic comedy about a girl who ends up trapped in a romantic comedy herself, completely missing the fact that her best guy friend is in love with her. I can’t make this shit up; it seriously couldn’t be more ironic.
If she’s feeling any sort of anxiousness herself, she isn’t letting on. She’s been snacking on popcorn and M&Ms most of the night, casually sipping her wine now and then.
When I got back from Nevada, I thought a lot about what Lane said to me and decided that I can’t keep hooking up with August until I figure out what it is I want. I haven’t broken the news to her yet, though. I’m not sure how to say it without making her think she did something wrong or that I don’t want her. The problem is, I want her too much, but I refuse to use her . . . or at least that’s what I keep telling myself.
“What are you so tense about over there?” she says, poking her big toe into the side of my thigh.
“The movie,” I say, nodding toward the TV.
“Really? Because you seem like you’re just staring right through the television. Everything okay?” she asks, poking me a few more times. I reach out and grab her foot.
Fuck. Big mistake.
The warmth of her skin is enticing, and instead of letting go, I do something even more stupid: I watch my thumb draw lazy circles on the top of her foot. Just that one little touch has my heart about to beat out of my chest. I don’t dare look up and make eye contact with her. Instead, I continue to rub the skin softly, but soon I’m using both hands to massage her foot. Her red nails tease me as she curls her toes at the sensation.
She sinks lower into the couch, letting out a content sigh. I glance up at her and see her eyes have drifted closed, and I realize I may have just avoided an awkward situation. But the feeling doesn’t last long, because I can’t keep my hands on her feet. I slowly start to move them up her legs to her calves.
“Ohhh God, that feels so good,” she says, her eyes fluttering open to meet mine. “I was in heels for, like, nine hours today.”
I can’t stop now. She lets me continue for another minute before pulling her legs away. I figure she’s had enough, but then she’s rising to her knees and crawling toward me on the couch.
Before I can say anything, she’s climbing into my lap to straddle me. Her eyes meet mine and she leans down to kiss me, but I pull back. I see a look of shock settle on her face, and it quickly turns to confusion.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. We just—” I place my hands on her arms and slowly pull her off me and back onto the couch next to me. “We don’t need to hook up every time we hang out or I feel like lines could get blurred and stuff might become . . . confusing.”
She nods her head slowly. “Yeah, for sure. You’re right,” she says, standing up and grabbing our empty wine glasses. I think I see embarrassment on her face and I feel like shit.