Just a Boyfriend

by Wilson, Sariah

  Unless Bethany confessed to harvesting black-market organs, I was afraid Ember was right. Sadly enough, some part of me was hoping Bethany might say something awful when she opened her mouth. Instead, all she said was, “What about you, Bash?”

  “I’m not on a diet, either,” I told her.

  She let out a little laugh. “I’m sorry, I should have been more clear. What are you majoring in?”

  “Business.”

  “That’s interesting. And what do you hope to do with that?”

  “After I finish playing professional football, I want to start some businesses with my name on it. Car dealerships, movie theaters, that kind of thing. I figured I better know what I’m doing when I get to that point.”

  Bethany frowned. “Professional football? That’s your plan for your future?”

  “Yep.” Football was profoundly important in my life. When my mom left, it was the only place for me to take out all of my rage. And I was naturally athletic and willing to work hard to improve. When I was good at something I became heavily invested in it. “I know playing professional football is just a fantasy for most athletes, but I think I can make it.”

  “That’s not really a life plan, though, is it? Don’t you have a backup plan? A Plan B?”

  “Not really.”

  Bethany shook her head disapprovingly. “Football is such a violent sport. I can’t stand to even watch it. I mean, you could get seriously injured tomorrow, and then where would you be?”

  If I hadn’t figured it out already, there it was, in black and white. I could never be with someone who not only wasn’t into football but wouldn’t support me in chasing after my dreams.

  “Bash doesn’t need a Plan B. He’ll swing for the fences, and somehow he’ll make it all work out for him in the end,” Ember said.

  And of all the times recently when I’d wanted to kiss her, it was then that I wanted to kiss her the most.

  I cleared my throat. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. But there are other leagues besides the NFL. Some of them are in other countries. I have options, and our coach has really good connections.”

  Simon arrived with our food then, and we took our plates as he passed them around. Bethany had ordered some kind of baked chicken breast with vegetables and was busy cutting it into tiny pieces while Ember dipped some of her fries into barbecue sauce.

  “Enjoy!” our waiter said, and that was part of the difference between the two women. I’d always loved the way that Ember enjoyed life and all it had to offer.

  If Woodby couldn’t see how special she was, then he was a flicking mortar-feathering moron who didn’t deserve her.

  As Bethany cut up her chicken breast she said, “So why are you called Bash?”

  My gaze flickered over to Ember, wondering if she was going to volunteer an answer, but she was busy attacking her french fries.

  “It’s a nickname from my last name, Sebastian. One of my coaches in fifth grade came up with it because of how much I love to tackle people.”

  “So what’s your actual name?”

  This was when Ember entered the conversation. “Ian. He doesn’t like using it.”

  Worried that Bethany might ask why, I added, “Only my dad and his wife use it.”

  “Wife? Wouldn’t that be your mom?”

  “No,” I said with a cough. “My dad remarried.” Ember and I exchanged loaded glances, and I decided that was all I was going to say about that.

  “Oh.” Apparently recognizing that I considered the topic closed, Bethany paid attention to her plate. There was a lull in the dining room that allowed me to hear her humming. It was a tune I didn’t recognize.

  “Is that from Hamilton?” Woodby asked.

  Her whole face lit up. “It is! I love musicals.”

  “My mom dragged me to see Hamilton last year and it surprised me how much Woodby liked it,” he said. While they started chatting about their favorite scenes and songs, the noise in the restaurant picked back up again. I turned to see Ember giving me another one of those what-have-we-gotten-ourselves-into looks. Woodby sure seemed to like Bethany and to be bonding with her. Did he not understand who was supposed to be with who here?

  Did he not realize he was guaranteeing Ember victory?

  “So superhero movies are completely unrealistic, but people spontaneously breaking into choreographed dances and perfectly harmonized show tunes, that’s real life?” Ember asked me.

  I shook my head, hiding my smile. “Don’t you think perhaps we should try and join in their conversation? Maybe you should get to know Woodby better.”

  “I don’t know. I think making snarky comments about the things he says is way more fun.”

  “He’s a good guy,” I protested. A little gung ho on the whole nutrition thing, but usually decent.

  “Probably. But he’s not the guy for me, and I knew that within two minutes of meeting him.” She bit into her ribs and let out a groan of appreciation that I felt deep in my gut. I was jealous that I hadn’t been the cause of it.

  While I was busy imagining what exactly I could do to her to recreate that sound, she continued talking. “What about Bethany? She’s cute.”

  “She’s not the girl for me, either.”

  The girl for me was the one I was currently talking to.

  “I can see that.” Ember nodded. “She probably thinks a Super Bowl party involves making really big pottery.”

  Amused and delighted, I again had to refrain from kissing her and focused instead on my food.

  The conversation between the four of us continued to be awkward, only flowing when Bethany and Woodby loudly discovered something else they had in common, such as their love of detoxing, or when Ember and I enjoyed some private joke.

  As soon as it seemed like everyone was done eating (I had to guess when it came to Bethany and Woodby because most of their food was still on their plates while Ember had literally just licked the barbecue sauce from her empty platter), I flagged down Simon and asked for the check.

  “Did anyone save any room for dessert?” he asked.

  I could only imagine how that conversation would go down. I guessed it would involve a lot of words like refined sugar and carbohydrates. “No dessert. Just the check, please.”

  He must have gotten that I was in a hurry for this evening to end as he came right back. Woodby reached for the check. “Woodby’s got this.”

  We all protested, me the loudest. “I ate twice as much food as everyone else. At least let me pay for half of it.”

  He took out a credit card and handed the little leather folder back to Simon. “No, Woodby insists.”

  Bethany smiled. “That is very gallant of you.”

  “Huh. She didn’t think it was so gallant when you wanted to pay for her ticket,” Ember commented. And maybe it should have bothered me, but it didn’t. Bethany’s opinion of me had become entirely irrelevant.

  Our waiter again returned quickly, and once Woodby had signed the check, everybody stood up at once. We all wanted to get out of there.

  We went outside and walked back toward the movie theater parking lot. On the way I asked where Bethany lived so that I could drive both her and Ember home.

  She named an apartment complex that was quite a bit south of campus.

  “I’m going right by there. I can give you a lift,” Woodby said. Which was totally untrue, since I knew he lived in the dorms.

  “And Bash is taking me home, so I guess we say goodbye here,” Ember declared. There were no hugs this time, just a bunch of nice-to-meet-yous and thanks-so-muches, and then, thankfully, it was over.

  I opened Ember’s door and looked over to see Woodby doing the same thing for Bethany. He waved to me, and despite still kind of wanting to punch him for making Ember unhappy, I waved back.

  It was okay. I could take my frustrations out on him at practice tomorrow.

  “Did we just both get dumped?” she asked when I got in the car.

  “Not possible. We’
re awesome.”

  “Despite our awesomeness, that was awful,” she responded. “I don’t know if we can declare a winner since both our dates were terrible.”

  I pulled out of the parking lot, suddenly worried that she might try to back out of our post-game recap. I’d been looking forward to spending time with her. Alone. “So we’re not picking a winner? Does this mean you’re bailing on tomorrow night? Thus making it so I win by default?”

  “Oh no. I think Ember has an open-and-shut case for why Bethany is better than Woodby.”

  That made me laugh, and it warmed my heart that she was laughing, too.

  “Speaking of awkward things from tonight,” I said, “what did you really think of the movie?”

  “I did like it. I wasn’t saying that just to spite the Unfun Police. Although that actor they had playing the villain? That’s what he does in every movie. He’s the bad guy who says sarcastic things. He’s always the same. He’s a one-trick pony.”

  “How many tricks would a pony have to know to impress you? One is pretty awesome.”

  That led us on a tangent about talented farm animals and actors who couldn’t act that carried us all the way to her apartment building. I found a parking spot and turned off the car. When I did that, the entire atmosphere changed. It was no longer just two friends saying good night. There was something more there. I could see it in Ember’s eyes, too.

  “Okay. Well, Bash, tonight was awkward and confusing as always, so thanks for that.” Before I could respond, she was already out of the car.

  She couldn’t just walk away after saying something like that. I needed to make things okay between us. I threw the door open and jogged a few steps to join her.

  “What are you doing? I don’t need your help to get back to my apartment.”

  “I always walk people to their door. And it’s not a sexist thing. I’m not saying you can’t handle yourself. It’s actually a very selfish act on my part, if you must know.”

  “Selfish?” she repeated.

  “Yeah. Because of how upset I’d be if somebody hurt you between here and there. I could never live with the guilt.”

  “Oh. Well, if I got attacked I wouldn’t want to have your guilt on my conscience.”

  We made it all the way to her door where I expected her to breeze through it while saying goodbye. Instead she hesitated, and my heart started to thunder inside me.

  My plan to make things better had not worked and instead was about to make everything more complicated.

  She put her hand on my chest and looked up at me through her lashes. My normally strong thighs suddenly felt weak, as if they weren’t capable of sustaining my body weight. She took a step closer, and all the air left my lungs.

  “There’s just one thing I wanted to say.”

  I held what little breath I had left as she stood on tiptoe, her sweet coconut scent invading my senses, the warmth of her body begging me to pull her closer.

  “Tomorrow night?”

  Her breath was hot on my ear, sending shudders down my spine.

  I could almost feel her smile before she whispered, “Tomorrow, you owe me a dessert.”

  Ember stepped back, and I had to struggle not to reach for her, not to finish what she’d teasingly started.

  She went inside sporting a gigantic smile and closed the door behind her.

  I stayed out there for a minute or two, not able to feel the cold air or the snow but instead reliving the personal torture of having Ember so close but still totally untouchable.

  Even if our date had been a bust, I’d still had the most amazing time. With her.

  Which was a problem.

  We shouldn’t go out tomorrow, regardless of whether she thought I owed her dessert.

  But even as I thought it, I knew I’d go through with it. With a smile and a whistle, I turned around and headed back down the stairs.

  If I were a smart man, I’d stay away.

  Unfortunately, nobody had ever accused me of being smart.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  EMBER

  Bash sent me a text saying we were going to meet and debate who had set who up with the best date on hallowed ground. That meant one of two places. And I was guessing that, given the coldness outside, he didn’t want to meet on a football field.

  Which meant going to the Silver Trough, Bash’s favorite buffet restaurant. He said the loser could treat the winner. I told him I was looking forward to my free meal.

  We arranged to meet there at five thirty, before it got too crowded. I planned on going and enjoying my victory dinner. And pretending like nothing had happened between me and Bash last night.

  Because nothing had happened. Even though I’d wanted it to. While Woodby had turned out to be a bust, I’d had a fantastic time with Bash.

  Admittedly I spent a lot of my time around him imagining what it would be like to kiss him again, but those feelings had actually escalated. I blamed it on the talk I’d had with Jess. Reliving that story made me remember how badly I’d ached for his touch.

  So much so that when he walked me to my front door, it felt so much like a date that I couldn’t help but put my hand on him and realize that I did remember how to flirt. I didn’t know if the flirting had gone well, given his lack of response, but I’d walked inside my apartment feeling pleased with myself that I hadn’t peed on him.

  Bash was waiting for me at the entrance to the restaurant, and my heart stumbled at the sight of him. He hadn’t shaved today, and the stubble along his chin gave him this masculine, slightly dangerous yet sexy look that thrilled me.

  It’s not a date, I told my hormones. Just a free dinner.

  They did not care and instead zoomed around inside me with excitement. He was so very handsome.

  “Hi!” I said brightly, hoping to mask how pathetically I wanted him.

  He smiled at me, and it seriously made everything worse. Then he had to up the ante by saying, “Hey,” in this low, growly voice that made my pulse pound loud enough to block out all other sound.

  So instead of behaving like a normal human being, I grabbed the door and went inside to the cashier to pay for my dinner. Bash stood right behind me, so close that if I moved slightly I could press my back to his front. And then he could have nuzzled the base of my neck in that way that drove me crazy. My hormones were now doing spinning cartwheels at that prospect.

  I cleared my throat, hoping it would also clear my head, and handed the cashier my debit card.

  “I’ll get a table,” I said while Bash paid for his meal. I needed to put some distance between us.

  I found a booth and sat down, trying to catch my breath. I could do this. I could sit here with him and laugh and joke, and we could be friends.

  Right?

  Of course, Bash had to go and disprove that whole theory by sauntering over with that particular and well-deserved swagger of his, taking up all the space in the room so that he was the only thing I could pay attention to.

  He sat across from me, taking off his coat while I hungrily watched the way the muscles under his shirt flexed and moved.

  “Shall we?” he offered, and it took me a second to realize what he was offering.

  “Yuh-huh.” It was the best I could manage.

  I still had my coat on, so I shrugged it off quickly, leaving it on my seat in the booth. He walked confidently over to the buffet line, knowing exactly what he wanted.

  “In case you forgot, I have some tips,” Bash said in a confidential tone, leaning in so that I could smell that fresh, clean scent of his that I loved so much. “Bypass the starches. They want you to fill up on those and not get down there to the end, where they keep the good stuff.” He handed me a plate. “And remember that they use heavier plates, and the serving utensils are heavy so that your brain will think you have enough food already. Don’t fall for it.”

  “Mr. Buffet Expert, I know how this works. I’ve been here with you before. We got thrown out, remember?”

  Bash wa
s still doing his recon, checking out what area he wanted to attack first. “If they say all you can eat, then they shouldn’t be upset when I accept and defeat their challenge.”

  “You’re just lucky they don’t have your picture up on a wall of shame.”

  “Since it’s been a few years, I figured there has probably been enough turnover of the management and staff so that I won’t have to worry. Okay. Let’s divide and conquer, and I’ll meet you back at the table.”

  I nodded. I’d done enough perusing and decided to get myself some lobster and top sirloin. They were in small containers, probably to discourage people from taking too much. Even though Bash had moved to the opposite end of the bar, I could almost hear his voice reminding me they had plenty more in the back and I didn’t need to accept tiny portions.

  I grabbed some mashed potatoes and corn on the cob, throwing a couple of rolls on the top. They had some lo mein and orange chicken that I planned on coming back for after I finished this first round. I headed over to our table, and Bash was right behind me, carrying two plates with mountains of food on each. I was impressed at his balancing skills.

  “I’m not sure Woodby would approve,” I said, pointing to his food. “I overheard him saying something last night about moderation in all things.” I mean, logically the things Woodby and Bethany had said were true. Most people would probably have agreed with their statements. Only Bash and I had never been moderation-type people.

  It was one of the things that had made kissing him so very much fun.

  “Bah,” he muttered. “Moderation is for wusses. Speaking of Woodby, he sent me this lovely text today.”

  He pulled his phone out of his pocket, swiped a couple of times, and handed it to me. I tried carefully to avoid any contact with his hand as I didn’t want to drop his phone into my pile of mashed potatoes.

  There was a picture of Woodby with Bethany sitting on his lap. They were both smiling at the camera. The writing at the bottom said, “Thanks for the introduction!”

  “I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to go on a blind double date and end up with the other girl. Who was not your date.” I mean, I’d never been very good at math, especially the relationship kind, but this did not add up.