by G. , Whitney
“Looking forward to it. Oh, and Rachel?”
“Yeah?” I headed to the door.
“For the record, if another guy suggests that you meet him at a coffee shop at seven thirty in the morning, for a first date, he probably will blow you off. That’s the standard brush-off hour.” She smiled and returned to the counter, and I stepped outside.
Fresh out of “make a new best friend” options and officially done with Plans A through Y when it came to finding someone consistent to talk to, I decided it was time for Plan Z.
I made my way to Crème and Cocoa, a hot chocolate shop Ethan mentioned the other day. When I stepped inside, I spotted him sitting near the back, writing.
“You’re awake early,” he said, looking up. “Do you have an eight o’clock class today or something?”
“No. I can’t help but wake up super early every morning. It’s a habit.”
“How uninteresting.” He shut his notebook as I took a seat. “What do you want?”
“I came here for the hot chocolate, Ethan,” I said. “I didn’t come here for you.”
“You don’t like hot chocolate, Rachel.” He rolled his eyes. “Even though I’m willing to guess that to this day, you’ve never tried it.”
“I have tried it.” I lied.
He stared at me blankly. “What do you really want?”
“Okay, fine,” I said. “I came here to talk to you about something, but you have to promise not to laugh.”
He crossed his arms. “I’m listening.”
“I would like to propose an arrangement.”
“What type of arrangement?”
“A temporary arrangement that will highly benefit me.”
“What about me?”
“You have every girl on campus fawning all over you for some strange reason,” I said. “You don’t need any benefits.”
“So, you’re finally admitting that every woman on this campus is attracted to me?”
“No. I’m admitting that this proposal is my last resort, and every woman on this campus is brainwashed.”
“Jealousy isn’t sexy, Rachel.”
“Neither are you.”
He laughed. “What’s the proposal?”
“I want us to pretend to be friends for a few weeks, until I find some real ones of my own,” I said. “I don’t want to have a lonely senior-year, you know? No one I’ve texted has gotten back to me, and even Meredith—who I thought was great when she was on the shipseems to have had a brain transplant since then. I’ve had coffee with her twice, and all she wants to talk about are her selfie-taking skills and her social media accounts.”
His lips curved into a slow, sexy smile, and he sipped his coffee.
Has his smile always looked like that?
“I would also like to have someone who I can talk to about personal stuff from time to time,” I said, pausing. “But this would only be temporary, and the moment I’m convinced that I’ve made a new, and genuine friend, the two of us can go back to not standing each other. What do you say?”
“Define ‘pretend to be friends.’ What does that entail?”
“I just told you what it entails, Ethan.”
“I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Okay, fine.” I stood to my feet. “Forget you. Literally.”
“I’m kidding, Rachel.” He motioned for me to sit down. “If we’re going to pretend to be friends, you’re going to have to work on not being a hot-head all the time. You’ll have to see me as your friend and not your enemy.”
“Fine,” I said, sitting down again. “I can do that.”
“Also, since you have little to no experience in this department, you should know that friends talk without arguing, and they tell each other the truth about things. No matter what.”
“This is only temporary, Ethan.”
“I’m aware.” He smiled, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “And as your temporary friend, I’d like to let you know that from the moment you walked in here, I could see your nipples through your bra, and I could also see your red lace panties through your shorts.”
“What?” I felt my cheeks reddening.
“You heard me.” He glanced at my chest. “In exchange for my temporary services, I’ll need your thoughts on the Ripped Bodice’s inventory whenever I ask for it, since it ties into my Silk Stem project. Deal?”
“Deal.” I extended my hand, and he shook it.
Then the two of us sat in silence and stared at each other.
“So, what are we supposed to do now?” I said. “If I was your friend Rob or Michael, what would we be doing?”
“They wouldn’t be awake right now.” He laughed and pulled out his phone. “But since we’re ‘friends’ now, I guess I can tell you about two things that you might be interested in doing, so you can meet some new people.”
He showed me his screen. “First, you need to sign up for this fall’s senior trip to Peak Ridge Lodge.”
I opened my purse and pulled out my notebook, but he took it away from me.
“No need to write this down, just start a Facebook account.”
“Okay.” I took out my phone. “What’s the second thing?”
“Depends. Do you still have a dream of running your own art school someday?”
“Always.”
He clicked on his screen, and a group called Ultimate Art Lovers appeared. “You should probably look into this and try to make some friends there.”
“I will.”
“Good,” he said. “Now, give me your phone, so that I can set up your Facebook and Tinder accounts. I highly doubt you’ll know how to pick the right pictures …”
* * *
A few days later …
I swiped left on my fiftieth Tinder guy of the night, approved another ten friend requests on Facebook and set down my phone. Social media and handling e-friends were already starting to feel like a full-time job.
Since I was only taking elective courses this semester, I was starting to wonder if I should pursue a part-time job or something that would prevent me from spending half of my days scrolling through the newsfeed.
I sent Penelope a quick, “Spent time on Tinder like you said. Met a cute guy named Ryan who happens to be in my art class!” message, and then I turned on the music system in the living room.
I waited for Ethan or Greg to join me as usual, but neither came.
Relieved to finally have the house to myself for a change, I opened the windows that overlooked the beach—letting the salty air waft inside. I made myself a cup of hot coffee and sat on the couch, picking up one of my favorite romances.
I made it halfway through the first chapter when I heard a loud crashing noise coming from my bedroom.
Remembering what Ethan said about locking my windows at night, it suddenly hit me that I hadn’t done that earlier. Nervous, I jumped off the couch and grabbed a baseball bat from the coat closet. I tiptoed down the hallway and held the bat high, prepared to bash the intruder’s head in.
Just as I was about to enter my room, Ethan stepped out of it, bare ass naked.
“What the hell are you doing?” He snapped, looking up at the bat.
“I should be asking you the same thing! Why the hell are you naked?”
“Last time I checked, I live here.” He didn’t make a move to cover himself, and my gaze wandered down past his perfectly chiseled abs, to his perfectly defined “V,” down to—
Oh. My. GOD!
His cock was huge. HUGE.
I felt my jaw dropping as I stared at it, and after several seconds, I had to force myself to look away.
“Can you grab a towel or put on some clothes?” I felt my cheeks warming. “Please?”
“Why would I do that?” He stepped closer. “You seem to like what’s in front of you.”
“What?”
He laughed and slipped into the bathroom. Then he returned with a towel around his waist.
“Why were you in my room?” I asked.
“I know … Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be.” He looked me up and down, setting my nerves on fire as he smiled. “Do you have plans for tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Like what?”
“Like enjoying the entire house to myself for a change.”
“Those are my plans as well.”
“Ugh … Can I please, for once, have the place to myself?” I asked, unsure of why there were butterflies fluttering around in my stomach.
“I guess that would be fair.”
“Glad you finally learned how to be that way.”
He smiled, looking me up and down one last time before slipping into his bedroom. He was dressed within five minutes, and he gave me one of his sexy smiles—sending the butterflies fluttering all over again, before walking out of the front door.
I let out a breath and shook my head.
There was no way I was feeling an intense attraction toward him right now. I was just having a long day. Had to be.
He’s still the boy next door I hated … Nothing more. Nothing less …
Track 9. Don’t Blame Me (4:25)
Ethan
“Sociology is the study of the development, structure, and functioning of human society.” Greg repeated for the umpteenth time tonight. “Sociology is the study of the development, structure, and functioning of human society …”
“Please tell me you’ve gotten farther in your book than that, Greg.” I watched as he paced the floor of our living room.
“I have,” he said. “I’ve committed the first seven chapters of the text book to memory so far. The test is on the first five this Friday, but just in case this asshole tries to pull a fast one on me, I went the extra mile and memorized the next two, you know?”
My friend Michael shook his head from across the room. “I think I’ve officially been replaced as your craziest friend.”
“I agree.” I laughed and motioned for him to follow me into the kitchen. “Good knowing you’re still alive.”
“I could say the same for you, my friend.”
The two of us didn’t hang out as much as we used to, since his pre-med major was kicking his ass these past few semesters, but the reckless times we shared during our freshmen and sophomore years would always be something for the record books. Something we could always remember.
“Okay,” he said, getting a beer from my fridge. “I came over to ask you for a huge favor.”
“You could’ve just called.”
“I did call. You didn’t answer.”
I looked at my phone and sure enough there was a missed call from him, but there were also forty new missed ones from the phones that belonged to Lisa’s friends.
Ugh. Take the hint, Lisa.
“What’s the favor?” I asked.
“It’s simple. I need you to take out the best friend of a girl I’m interested in.”
“Why do I feel like it’s slightly more complicated than that?”
“Because you have a great intuition.” He laughed. “This needs to be an extended type of thing, since I want to um, get to a certain point with her by the senior trip.”
“Is there something wrong with the best friend?”
“Besides the fact that she hates me and thinks I’m bad news for her friend?” He shrugged and showed me her pictures on his phone. “Not really. And call me crazy, but outside of that, I think that the two of you would really get along.”
“She’s cute,” I said, then I shook my head. “So, out of all the things you said, should I just assume that your girl said that she was willing to go out with you, if you hooked her friend up with one of your hot friends?”
“The word ‘hot’ was never used, Mr. Conceited.” He laughed. “But yes, your intuition wins again. Can I give you her friend’s phone number? Her name’s Teresa.”
“Of course.”
“As I was saving it to my phone, Rachel walked into the kitchen wearing a sports bra and a pair of black booty shorts. She went straight for the refrigerator, moving around all the alcohol and beer until she found her SAS water bottle.
Michael and I stared at her, and I started to envision her on top of me, in the backseat of my car.
Shit …
“Hey, Ethan.” She finally turned around, extending her hand to Michael. “Hey, Ethan’s friend.”
“Michael,” he said, looking her up and down. “And you are?”
“Rachel.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “Ethan’s ‘gone at sea’ friend.”
“We’re not friends,” we said in unison, a habit.
“For a while there, I thought he was making you up.” He continued talking, as if he hadn’t heard our intrusion. “I must say that his description didn’t do you any justice.”
“I’m sure.” She laughed. “But if you’re the Michael Han he wrote about from time to time, he never talked shit about you.”
“Good to know.”
Another image of her wrapping her legs around my waist crossed my mind and I didn’t shake it away.
“Guess what?” she said, looking at me.
“What?”
“I just got asked out on a date! Like an actual date that won’t take place on a cruise ship or at an international excursion.”
“Somehow the cruise ship and international excursion sound much more appealing.”
“Not to me,” she said. “I just wanted to run the guy’s name by you before I said yes. Do you know a Brett Gallagher?”
“Brett’s an awesome guy,” Michael said, still looking her up and down.
“He’s an old associate of mine,” I said, making a mental note to hit him up this weekend. “We were closer before he joined a fraternity, but he’s a good guy.”
“Great! Someone you can vouch for.” She hugged me—catching me completely off guard, and the second her breasts hit my chest, I started to get aroused. “If this date goes well, and we go out a few more times, I’ll ask him to share my buddy ticket for the senior lodge trip!”
I stepped back. “When’s the date?”
“This weekend. Can I run a few outfits by you, so I won’t give off the wrong impression?”
“Of course.”
“Great,” she said. “You know, you’re a pretty good temporary friend, Ethan.” She rushed away and Michael stared at her until she was out of sight.
“What the hell?” He walked over and hit my shoulder. “You never told me that the girl you ‘supposedly’ hated looked like that.”
She didn’t …
“Hell,” he said, laughing, “I probably would’ve written her back all those times, too. Especially if I knew she was coming back and living with me.” He lowered his voice. “Have you hit that yet?”
“No,” I said, enjoying the new images of Rachel bent over the couch that were currently playing in my mind.
I took out my phone and tried to stay focused on the favor at hand. The Teresa girl.
As I texted her number, I tried to convince myself that the feeling in my chest when Rachel mentioned Brett Gallagher wasn’t jealousy. It couldn’t be.
She’s still the girl next door I hated. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Back Then: 16 Years Old
Ethan
Subject: Today’s Ride.
Dear Ethan,
I won’t need a ride home after school today. I’m getting a ride with my new boyfriend.
Forget You,
Rachel
P.S.—I didn’t vote for you for Mr. Popular.
Subject: Re: Today’s Ride.
Dear Rachel,
Seeing as today is April Fool’s Day, I’m not sure whether to take this joke of an email seriously or not. I’ll wait for you at the car for five minutes.
If you’re not there by then, I’m leaving.
Forget You,
Ethan
P.S.—Thanks for letting me know. The teachers were wondering who cast the lone ballot in the other guy’s box …
Rachel never showed up to my car, so I assumed she wasn’t lying about having a boyfriend. I was also sure it wouldn’t last too long. The first two guys she’d attempted to date dumped her because she refused to “dress like all the other girls” whenever they hung out, and she refused to comb the mop that she called her hair more than three times a week.
Heading home, I went upstairs to my room and texted my newest girlfriend, Chelsea.
Me: Hey. What are you up to?
Chelsea: Getting my nails done with Sarah. (Ugh. Her new hair is so gross.) What’s up?
Me: I was wondering if you wanted to come over and watch the new horror series tonight.
Chelsea: LOL No. I’d rather you take me to dinner … Can you come pick me up in a few hours?
I didn’t text her back. We’d only been dating for a few weeks, and all she ever wanted to do was go to dinner (spend my allowance money), and gossip about her friends. She never did anything that I wanted to do, and I’d already told her that horror series and movies were a big deal to me.
Her response? “Aren’t horror movies whack?”
I took out my notebook and started writing a plan to dump her next week.
I was tempted to go next door and ask Rachel if she was going to watch the horror series tonight, but when I looked up, I saw Glen Easton through her window.
He was sitting at her desk, giving her a smile I’d seen him give to tons of other girls at our school before.
Even though Rachel was lame as hell, she could do better—way better, than Glen Easton.
Last week, he’d bragged to all the guys in gym class about how he’d fucked Taylor Redding and how he was going to “bang another virgin this month.”
I highly doubted Rachel had ever had sex. She still rolled her eyes whenever I begrudgingly told her about my escapades (only because my guy friends weren’t available), and even though I hated her, I didn’t think Glen should be her first.
