The Boyfriend Effect

by Kendall Ryan

  We take our pizza to go and head to Maren’s. Rosie waits in the car while I walk up to the door. My heart pounds with every step closer I take. I knock, but no one answers. I knock again. Still nothing. When I get back in the car, Rosie gives me a confused look.

  “No answer?” she asks.

  I grip the steering wheel and watch my fingers go white. “I know where she is.”

  I take us east. Maren’s always had the same place she goes when things get hard. The same place she’s retreated to when some asshole hurt her, when she needs somewhere to be alone. I never would have thought that I’d be the one to send her there.

  We pass a sign that reads MONTROSE BEACH, and I park and tell Rosie to wait in the car.

  She places her soft, warm hand over mine and gives me a small smile. “Go get your girl.”

  I smile back at her weakly. If only she knew what those words really meant.

  A cool breeze greets me as I make my way to the beach. Waves crash gently in the distance, and it doesn’t take long until I spot Maren huddled into a tiny little ball a few yards away on the sand.

  When I get closer, she hears me coming and shoots a curious look over one shoulder. Her eyes are swollen from crying, and she gives me a blank look as I approach.

  Ouch. I deserve that.

  “I have nothing to say to you,” she says, curling her arms tighter around her knees and facing the waves again.

  “Wolfie’s worried. He asked me to check on you.”

  She scoffs. “That’s why you’re here? Fuck off, Hayes. We have nothing to talk about. Call my brother and tell him I’m fine.”

  She rises and begins brushing sand off her pants, ready to walk away, when we both hear the sound of another set of footsteps approaching from behind me.

  “Is my grandson the reason you’re upset?” It’s Rosie, wrapped in her cream-colored knit cardigan, the breeze lifting her thin gray hair.

  Maren looks at me in surprise, then to Rosie. “I’m sorry, Rosie. I didn’t know you were here.”

  Rosie clucks her tongue and slides her arm around Maren’s shoulders. “Get in the car, little one. We can sort this out without everyone catching a cold.”

  “She’s right,” I say. “I think it’s starting to rain.” The breeze has picked up, and I’ve definitely felt a few drops fall.

  Maren glances between us, and Rosie gives her a reassuring look.

  “I’ve got some cookie dough ready to be baked in the fridge, and I’ll brew us all a hot pot of tea the second we walk in that door.”

  Maren nods and lets Rosie guide her to the car.

  The whole drive home, I can’t help but feel uneasy. What am I supposed to say to Maren? And how did Rosie see right through me?

  I can’t keep my gaze from drifting to the rearview mirror to steal a glance at Maren in the back seat, but she just stares straight out the window, looking anywhere but directly at me, it seems.

  When we get back to my place, Rosie makes good on her promise. Within ten minutes, the three of us are sitting in my kitchen, the smell of cookies wafting through the air.

  Rosie pours us each a mug of tea, quickly followed by a healthy pour of whiskey. “Can’t hurt,” she says with a wink.

  Maren smiles and thanks her, but I can’t help but notice that her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

  I down my mug in one gulp. The heat and the whiskey burn down my throat. It’s exactly what I need. Inside me is all kinds of turmoil. Half of me wants to fix things between Maren and me, and the other half vows to remain strong.

  Rosie pulls the cookies from the oven. As she arranges them on a plate, she instructs me to get Maren something dry to wear. I go to my closet and grab a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, and Maren takes them into the bathroom to change.

  Rosie pours me another mugful of tea, and I add in more whiskey this time. She arches a thin, wispy brow at me, but says nothing. My stomach hasn’t stopped churning all night, and I’m hoping a little more booze will help drown out some of the noise.

  Maren returns, and my heart drops out of my chest. It’s not fair. She can’t look this beautiful in my T-shirt and sweats. Especially not after I just told her we can’t be together anymore.

  “It’s getting late,” Rosie says, glancing between us, “or at least, it’s late for me. I’ll leave you young folks alone. Good night, you two. Don’t eat all the cookies.” She kisses my forehead and pats Maren on the shoulder before slipping into her room and closing the door.

  Silence falls between us. The whiskey’s made me a little tipsy, and I can tell Maren is too. Her cheeks are flushed, and when she looks at me, her lids are heavy over her hazel eyes.

  “Please, dove, can we talk? I have a lot I need to say to you.” My voice is even, but on the inside, I’m wavering. It hurts my heart to see her like this.

  “Okay,” she says in a small voice, her arms crossed over her chest. “I’m listening.”

  I touch her shoulder to guide her to the couch. It’s an innocent gesture, but the second we touch, I feel a jolt of something. It’s bittersweet, and I inhale and try to gather myself as Maren takes a seat.

  I sit down beside her and slowly release the breath. She watches me, quiet.

  “I’ve never felt about you the way I should have,” I say slowly, meeting her eyes. “My feelings were . . . far from brotherly. There was always an attraction there, one that I fought hard to turn off. But I never should have acted on it. I know that now. I was only trying to protect you.”

  “From what?” She blinks.

  “Me.”

  Maren shakes her head ever so slightly. “I’m a big girl, Hayes. I don’t need protecting.”

  She’s right, I realize. She’s an adult. We both are. We can make our own decisions.

  Suddenly, the tension that’s been building between us all night snaps. Everything else fades away, and it’s like we’re back at the lake house. All that matters is the two of us. And there’s too much room between us.

  I lean closer and she falls into my arms, her hands grasping at my chest as our mouths collide, all heat and desperation. This is what I’ve wanted from the moment I spotted her on that beach. This is what I’ve wanted from the moment I let her go.

  I guide her into my lap and lose myself in the moment. My hands in her hair, her hands on my chest, our bodies intertwining. Everything is exactly as it should be, as it always should have been.

  And then it hits me.

  Rosie.

  “Not here, dove.”

  I scoop Maren up in my arms, and she squeals and buries her face in my neck. That’s the kind of sound I want to hear more often. I’ve got a few ideas about that. I carry her into my room, making sure to close the door gently behind us, and lay her down on the bed.

  Nothing else matters now. Not Wolfie. Not my grandma. Not even what I thought was right or wrong just this morning. Nothing that feels this good, this perfect, can be wrong, can it?

  I take off my shirt, and she does the same. Our eyes are locked as we watch each other undress, me standing at the foot of the bed, Maren splayed out before me. She tosses my sweatpants in the corner, and a small smile forms on her lips. My body responds instantly as my cock springs free from my briefs, pressing up against my abdomen.

  “You’re so beautiful,” I murmur.

  She props herself up on her elbows to watch me move closer. My cock twitches in anticipation, and this time, she definitely notices. Her smile widens, and her eyes grow hungry as I lie down next to her on the bed.

  We kiss again, deeper and more intensely than before. I reach between her legs and brush lightly over her center. She shudders, smiling into my mouth, and responds by giving my balls a gentle squeeze.

  “Careful, dove,” I growl.

  She kisses me harder and takes my cock in her hand. Pleasure spreads throughout my body from her touch. When I push her away, she looks up at me with confusion in her eyes.

  “You first,” I say, placing my hand between her legs.


  Maren moans, and I draw circles over her sensitive spot, watching the pleasure rock through her body. When I know she’s ready, I slide inside her, and we make the kind of love I’ve only ever heard about in songs. The kind of love so good, so in sync, it’s hard to imagine ever doing it with anyone else.

  After we finish, she cleans up in the bathroom and stands in the doorway, looking hotter than hell in one of my T-shirts.

  Holding a strand of hair between her fingers, she says, “So, should I—”

  “Stay,” I say before she can finish asking. “Please. I want you to stay.”

  She climbs into my bed next to me and curls into my side. The moment we’re settled, I can feel myself drifting off to sleep, content knowing that she’ll be there in the morning when I wake up.

  “Oh, Maren! I didn’t know you were still here.”

  Nothing makes me feel more like I’m sixteen all over again than surprising my grandmother with a girl in the morning. But this isn’t just any girl. This is Maren. And the fact that she’s still here right now, sneaking out of my bedroom? Well, that’s pretty much our smoking gun.

  Rosie gives us both an amused smile, and Maren blushes so hard, her whole chest turns red.

  “Good morning, Rosie,” she says meekly, taking a mug of coffee and sitting down at the table.

  Rosie chuckles and pats her on the arm. “No need to be sheepish around me, sweetheart. I was young once too, you know.”

  I shoot her a look, and she shoots one right back at me. I live here too, Rosie’s eyes are telling me, and don’t think I don’t know what’s going on here.

  “So, uh, Rosie, any big plans for the day?” Maren asks, clearly desperate for a change in subject.

  “Probably another day of soaps and your favorite books, right, Grandma?” I ask.

  Rosie shrugs. “Am I that predictable?”

  “You should come to Riverside,” Maren says, half to herself.

  “Oh no, I wouldn’t want to impose,” Rosie says.

  “No, you wouldn’t be an imposition at all. Guests are always welcome at the community center. It’s bingo day today, if you’re willing to try your luck.” Maren smiles widely at her, and I can’t help but smile watching her.

  “Well, I do love bingo,” Rosie says.

  “So you’ll come?” Maren’s practically about to fall out of her chair.

  “All right, I’ll come.”

  Maren squeals and pulls Rosie in for a hug. It’s nice, seeing them like this.

  “I’ll drop you both off,” I say.

  “Well, I need my car,” Maren reminds me.

  “Okay, so I’ll drop you both off at your place so you can drive, and then I’ll come pick Rosie up when bingo’s done.”

  “Okay.” Maren gives Rosie a smile. “Bingo will be done at eleven. And don’t worry, Rosie, we’ll take great care of you at Riverside. We’ve got coffee, pastries, fruit. Whatever you might want, there’s a good chance we can make it happen.”

  Rosie smiles and looks between us. “Oh, don’t worry, dear. I’m not worried at all. In fact, I have a very good feeling about all of this.”

  16

  * * *

  MAREN

  “I’ve always said that Hayes should settle down with a nice girl like you.”

  Rosie peers at me through her cat-eye glasses, popping another mint from the jar on my desk into her mouth. She’s graciously agreed to let me stop by my office and send out a few emails before dropping her off at bingo. But now, comfortably seated in the chair across from my desk, she seems to be entirely uninterested in giving me any quiet time for concentration.

  “Rosie,” I say, regretting the long-sleeved dress I put on after Hayes dropped us off at my apartment. It’s suddenly very warm in here. “I don’t know if—”

  “He’s a real sweetheart, my grandson. And a gentleman, when he makes the effort. I’ve always told him that if he’d just treat a young woman like he treats his grandmother, he’d have been married by now. Although I don’t mind the attention,” she says with a giggle, one hand resting on her heart.

  A smile slips through my defenses. There’s something so disarming about Rosie . . . you can’t help but tell her all your secrets.

  The truth is, I like where Hayes and I are right now, in this sort of friends with benefits, will-they-won’t-they scenario. I can’t know for sure if it’ll last longer than one of his typical summer flings.

  I try very hard not to think past our next hookup. I’d much rather think about the mind-blowing sex we’ve been having, the complete abandon in which I give my body over to his hungry mouth and hands.

  Memories of his thick length, pounding me into oblivion, awaken a familiar tension deep in my belly, grounding me back in the present where the innocent old lady across from me is clueless to my dirty thoughts. A little reluctantly, I close my laptop, giving Rosie my full attention.

  “The truth is, I really like Hayes. A lot.”

  Rosie chuckles. “I can tell.”

  I swear this room’s temperature has spiked ten degrees since we got here just fifteen minutes ago.

  “I think Hayes likes me too. Well . . .” I pause, thinking. “He’s at least attracted to me.”

  “I doubt there’s a difference in Hayes’s head,” Rosie says knowingly, and I feel my heart clench.

  Doesn’t she know that she could be setting me up for the disappointment of a lifetime?

  “True,” I say, scratching my temple. Rosie leans closer, and unconsciously, so do I. “It’s just that he’s never really been the commitment type. There’s always been something holding him back.”

  She’s nodding before the words are fully out of my mouth. “There has been. But once he’s with the right girl, none of that will matter anymore. Believe me, I know.”

  With a slow sigh, I lean back. As wise as she is, I have no idea if Rosie’s right about this one.

  I clear my throat. “Well, enough talk about all that. Ready to win some high-stake rounds of bingo?”

  Rosie angles a single wiry eyebrow, but says nothing more. Instead, she collects her purse and gestures for me to lead the way.

  My guest seems to like Riverside even more than I do. Bingo isn’t until ten, and Rosie isn’t one to wait around, so she insists I give her a tour of the facility. She’s fascinated with every nook and cranny as I walk her down each resident hallway, through the medical ward, past the courtyard, and back into the main corridor, finally stopping in the media center.

  But when we walk through the double doors of the game room, I spot a handful of aides rearranging the seating, and remember that a summer camp choir is joining us this morning.

  Making sure that Rosie is comfortable by the room’s small kitchenette, brewing herself some tea, I help seat the residents who wander in one by one. Some are confused, others grumpy, but the majority are eager for another exciting event to take place. The group of thirty or so kids is a total hit with our residents, visiting from a local children’s summer camp for the second time this week.

  Lucky for us, our fundraiser allotted Riverside a lot more than just money. With the press coverage and corporate involvement, the attention on our little operation has rejuvenated both our financial status and our programming. Even the alderman’s office is involved now. There’s a consistent stream of messages in my in-box, small business owners and HR departments asking how their company can contribute.

  If the local children’s choir isn’t visiting, then vendors are dropping by to donate fresh fruits, veggies, jams, and cheeses in a simulated farmer’s market, reminding our memory-care residents what it’s like to shop for groceries. One of the neighborhood’s art collectives even visited last week, providing all the paint, brushes, smocks, and canvases to make a glorious mess of abstract art pieces now hanging along the walls of the main corridor. I’m most excited about the after-school “Reading Buddy” program we’ll be offering come late August, where school-age kids will read to our residents, and vice v
ersa.

  Before long, a few dozen residents are crammed into the room, wheelchairs and sofas rearranged to serve as audience seating. At nine thirty, the kids file in, wearing matching green polos and khaki shorts.

  Scanning the room, I find Rosie standing where I left her, but she’s not alone anymore. Don, world-class charmer that he is, leans over his own cup of tea and murmurs some joke that has Rosie positively rocking with laughter.

  “Uh-oh, that can’t be good.” I chuckle, approaching them with my arms crossed over my chest and a playful sternness to my voice. “I see you’ve met Don, Rosie. Don’t believe anything he says, especially if it’s concerning the meatloaf.”

  “We hadn’t gotten that far,” Don exclaims in mock-earnest, turning to Rosie to ask, “Have you ever seen the 1973 movie Soylent Green?”

  I don’t understand the reference, but Rosie laughs uproariously. My heart fills with joy. It’s rare that you get to watch a friendship bloom between two people right before your eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Don so charismatic, or Rosie so carefree.

  “Where have you been hiding this treasure, Maren?” she asks, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin. “He’s an absolute riot.”

  We’re the only ones still talking when the choir director steps forward, pointedly clearing her throat into the microphone before introducing the children.

  Giggling like preteens who’ve just been reprimanded, we sneak into the back row and squeeze onto a sofa. The music is lovely, even when the kids forget the words to a shortened version of “Let It Be” by The Beatles. When they start their third and final song, I have to nudge Don gently with my elbow to keep him from interrupting the singing with another quip to Rosie. He shoots me a look of mild disdain. I smile and give him a wink before nodding my head toward Rosie.

  “One more song, okay? Then you can get back to flirting.”

  “Who me?” he asks, but the smirk on his lips is impossible to miss.

  The students’ version of “Ave Maria” is a bit pitchy, but none of the residents seem to mind in the slightest. I hear a sniffle to my right and turn to find Rosie tearing up at the final notes. When the applause begins, she shoots off the sofa, hooting and hollering for an encore. While a handful of our more reserved residents appear rattled by the outburst, the excitement dominoes down the rows until nearly the whole room is chanting for more. The poor choir director looks flustered, fumbling through her folder of music.