Reece had been planning out an automated sneaker closet. Guys bought their parents brand-new homes. They paid for their siblings’ college tuition. If they were smart with their money, people they loved never had to worry about anything, and they got the best medical care in the world.
I just had to get there.
Marisa shoved papers back into the now empty duffel. “I can’t find my tutoring notebook.”
I slid a few folders to the side and pulled the worn purple notebook from the stack.
“I know I had it,” she grumbled and shoved more back into the black and gray bag.
I held out the notebook beside her, dangling it in my hold.
Her head snapped to the side and she looked at it and up at me.
I scrubbed my chin. “We need to talk.”
5
Marisa
No, we most definitely didn’t. Not even a little bit. We didn’t need to talk because I didn’t want to hear what he was going to say. He’d telegraphed it all loud and clear downstairs in front of Ron.
My stomach had knotted tight and painful when he’d dropped my arm, letting it flop to my side like a sunbaked fish covered in flies.
A couple minutes before, I’d sworn he was going to kiss me. I could almost feel his lips pressed against mine from the intensity of his gaze.
The ache between my thighs had plowed into me and I was ready to take our friendship to the next level. Obviously, I’d been a freaking moron for forgetting what our relationship was.
Once again, reading the room hadn’t been my strong suit. How many times were we going to do this? Too many, it seemed. Only this time, I hadn’t kissed him—I’d gone straight for his dick. Stepping up my game. Maybe next time around, I’d grab a strap on and some lube.
I’d gotten a big head thinking his morning wood was due to me. Maybe he had forgotten who I was for a second, just thinking of me as another woman who’d woken up in his bed, not Marisa, his best friend.
With any of the other women he’d slept with, it probably would have been, but not me. And then I’d gone for it and he’d stopped me. Who stopped a girl mid-hand job? Although it was more like a hand-internship or hand-volunteer-work than an actual job.
He’d been looking at me so tenderly in a way that made my heart thump against my ribs and made me feel lighter than air. I had been thinking he was holding onto my arm because he had to touch me. Instead, it was more likely because he’d been trying to keep me from going any further.
And the second I attempted to go for it, he was ready to head for the hills.
How stupid was I? And then he’d stepped away in front of Ron. Double rejection right in my face.
It wasn’t like Ron hadn’t cancelled three weeks of dinners for some scouting and recruiting trips he needed to go on. After all the posturing he’d done about how much he wanted to connect, he’d cancelled more dinners during the season than we’d actually eaten. Instead of making me happy, it pissed me off even more. He’d shown me exactly what was the most important thing to him.
I’d thought about calling Ron after the fire, but I hadn’t, even after promising LJ. I kept meaning to, but other things kept coming up. Maybe it was a test. One where I waited it out to see how long it would actually take for him to realize his daughter might have died in a fire. Maybe.
And I’d gotten my answer: three weeks. It had been three weeks since Liv had woken me from my study hangover with an index card stuck to my face and smoke choking the air from my lungs. Panic had shot through me and all knowledge of exits and fire escapes were wiped from my memory as smoke burned my eyes and seared my throat. We’d crawled out of the apartment, tumbled down the stairs, and were met with firefighters and paramedics on our doorstep.
Three weeks.
It was a hell of a lot better than fourteen years, I guess. That was how long the radio silence had lasted before. I hated that I’d counted the days. Hated that I cared. Hated how much it hurt.
It wasn’t like I expected him to come swooping in to rescue me. Liv and I had done most of the saving, and LJ picked up the rest of the slack, but three weeks?
I had a tutoring session in an hour and I couldn’t find my damn notebook.
LJ dangled it beside me.
Making sure to keep my fingers far from his, I took it from his grip after he’d uttered those fateful words: ‘we need to talk’.
Turned out they worked just as well on girls as they did on guys.
“I’ve got tutoring this afternoon.” Flipping through my schedule taped to the front page, I bit back my groan. Of course today, I was tutoring Chris. The perfect addition to an already supremely shitty day.
“I know.”
Why’d he have to say it like that? Like he’d committed my schedule to memory and knew everything about me. Well he mostly did, but like a best friend did, not like a guy who wanted to jump my bones.
“I need to get changed and get to the library.”
“About this morning—”
“Nope, we don’t have to talk about it.” I stood and opened the drawer where my other clothes were, seconds from slamming my hands over my ears and screaming ‘la la la, I can’t hear you’.
“We should.”
I lifted my head to meet his gaze, feeling like I was a rusty robot. “Why? I crossed a line. It won’t happen again.” Why had he looked at me like he was going to kiss me? Why had I given in to all the feelings I’d bottled up for so long? Why did I want it so bad?
“You didn’t cross a line. I was there too.” And he didn’t look happy about it.
“With nowhere to go.” I’d cornered him and felt him up. The cringe was real and intense. My mom’s voice rang in my ears. They all leave.
“We were early morning groggy. You know, just…I’m not upset or freaked out. it’s not a big deal.”
Well, I wouldn’t say that. “Right, my hand has just been one of many to paw your junk.”
His neutral face dipped into a full-on frown. “I never said that.”
“So if I slipped my hand into your sweats right now for a little handy action?”
His eyes widened and his whole body locked. Not in a hell-yes-more-of-that kind of way. More like please-don’t-let-my-pain-in-the-ass-friend-paw-me-again kind of way. “Let’s keep our hands outside our pants.”
“So you’re up for an over-the-pants handy? Might be a friction burn in store for you.” I shrugged and stepped closer, shoving my shirt sleeves up to my elbows. “But if that’s what you’re comfortable with.”
I’d push this past the realm of serious talk straight into slapstick. Better that than the alternative of getting called out for being willing to go through with it and hoping against hope he’d been about to kiss me earlier.
“Could you be serious for five minutes?”
I extended my hand. “Hi, I’m Serious. Nice to meet you.” Dad jokes for the win at defusing insanely embarrassing situations.
He scrubbed his hands down his face and gave me the exasperated look that told me we were okay. He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked up at the ceiling.
My smile wasn’t paper thin anymore. It was a full on grin. Distraction mode activated!