Blurred Lines

by Lauren Layne

“Don’t call it a prowl, weirdo.”

  I continue as though she hasn’t spoken. “And then you’re going to get laid by this Brandon guy. I’m going to find myself a cute blonde.”

  I shut the menu after verifying that they have my favorite and look back at Parker. “Sound good?”

  “Definitely,” she says with a little smile. “Because we wouldn’t want you to get in a sex rut.”

  “Exactly,” I say, smiling. “That, and I don’t want to ruin your sex life forever. Too much of me, and the poor other guys will never measure up.”

  She points at me with her wineglass. “I don’t know how you got it in your head that sort of cockiness is a turn-on, but I’m here to tell you it’s not.”

  I lean forward. “You sure about that?”

  My voice is huskier than I mean it to be, and Parker’s eyes respond by going a little smoky.

  She licks her lips. “So this whole sex-with-other-people thing…that starts…tomorrow?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I say, my gaze studying her mouth.

  “And that will mean the end of…us. This sleeping-together thing.”

  I ignore the stab of disappointment that shoots through me at these words. This is the right call. Better to end it before it gets…messy.

  “So that means tonight,” she says, “you and me…last time—?”

  She breaks off and lifts her eyebrows in question.

  I grin. “Definitely.”

  Chapter 17

  Parker

  Ben’s idea was really, really good in theory.

  The whole Let’s sleep with other people so we don’t let things get too intense idea, I mean.

  And I’m relieved that he came up with it, truly.

  Because he’s so right.

  Even though we’re not, like, falling for each other, the fact that we’ve been completely monogamous for two weeks is so not what our arrangement was supposed to be about.

  It was supposed to be casual sex with the other person whenever we felt like it.

  Only, we aren’t supposed to feel like it all the damn time.

  So, like I said. Ben’s plan of changing up our sex partners? It’s a good plan. A great plan.

  In theory.

  The reality…

  Ugh.

  Okay, here’s the thing. The entire reason I pitched my friends-with-benefits plan to Ben was because of my inability to think sexy thoughts about a stranger.

  As my mom pointed out, I clearly have to have some sort of connection with someone before I sleep with them.

  Which is why…as nice as Brandon Mallory is, and as good-looking…I can’t go home with him. I just can’t.

  To his credit, Brandon doesn’t push me.

  After a perfectly lovely meal at a casual little Italian place he’d suggested, he doesn’t even blink when I say that I’ll hail a cab.

  “Can I call you again?” he asks, as we do the awkward linger-in-front-of-the-taxi thing.

  “Sure, I’d like that,” I reply, meaning it.

  I don’t know that Brandon’s the love of my life or anything, but dinner was nice. I may not be feeling the sexy vibes tonight, but a second date can’t hurt.

  “Good,” he says with a slow smile. Brandon has a nice smile.

  Then he puts his hands on my cheeks and kisses me, and that, too, is nice.

  It’s only after I’m in the cab on my way back home that I realize how often I’m applying the word nice to Brandon.

  Nice is fine.

  But nice is not…

  Nice is not what I’m after.

  I want more.

  I just don’t know what.

  I pay the cabbie, pulling my keys out of my purse as I head toward my front door.

  All hopes of a quiet evening with a good book and a glass of red wine are dashed the second I walk in the front door.

  Music is blaring, struggling to compete with the TV (also blaring), as well as with the high-pitched din of a bunch of drunken voices.

  I sigh as I set my purse on the console table by the front door. Looks like Ben’s big plans of a wild night out on the town have transitioned into a wild night in.

  I can’t really blame him, as I’m sure he thought he’d have the house to himself.

  I’d definitely given the impression that I’d be going home with Brandon, as was our agreement.

  Maybe I can sneak upstairs and he’ll never know….

  “Parks!”

  Damn. I’ve been spotted.

  It’s Ben’s friend John Harris. I haven’t seen him since the night he came over after Lance dumped me, and the details of that evening are fuzzy at best.

  “Hey!” I say, pasting a smile on my face. I’ve always liked John. Way better than douchebag Jason as far as Ben’s friends go.

  He gives me a hug, and I mentally give him points for not getting handsy despite the fact that my black dress is very, um, tiny.

  “Ben said you weren’t coming home tonight,” he said.

  Bless him. John’s voice is apologetic, probably because he knows my house sounds like a freaking rave right now.

  “Change of plans,” I say with a smile. “Sounds like you guys are having a good time, though.”

  “For sure,” he says. “You should grab a drink and join us.”

  I hesitate, wanting to go directly to my room.

  But John will for sure tell Ben that I’m here, which will then have Ben wondering what the heck is going on, and, even worse, Ben will know that I’m avoiding him.

  I take a deep breath. “Sure!”

  I pour myself a weak vodka tonic from the boozy selection sitting out on my kitchen counter and venture into the living room.

  The scene looks pretty much exactly like it sounded.

  A bunch of half-drunk people are plopped around the room alternating among watching TV, talking over one another, and singing the wrong lyrics to the music.

  I recognize a few of the guys as Ben’s football buddies; they’re an okay bunch. A little noisy whenever they come to our place to watch a game, but polite. And they’ve always been pretty cool about using coasters without my having to remind them.

  But coasters are clearly not on the agenda tonight. Red keg cups cover virtually every surface, and I feel a little surge of annoyance because it all feels so…college-y.

  An overly muscled guy in the corner notices me first—Roy? Ray?—I forget his name.

  “Hey, it’s Roomie!” he says, in a too-loud voice.

  Eight heads swivel around to see me standing awkwardly in the doorway.

  Roomie is what Ben’s friends call me. Probably because they don’t remember my name, but I don’t take offense since I didn’t remember Roy/Ray’s name just now.

  I lift a hand in a dorky hi gesture, and I tell myself that I’m not going to let my eyes seek out Ben, but of course they do.

  Hard to miss him with the big-boobed blonde sitting in his lap.

  Ben’s eyes go wide. “Parks?”

  I smile faintly.

  “What happened to—” Ben starts to get up, but clearly isn’t sure how to maneuver Blondie off his lap, and I hold up my hand quickly, telling him to stay.

  I debate my next move, wondering if it’s too late to retreat upstairs.

  A couple of the guys give me a what’s up before turning back to the TV, but most of the girls are still staring at me curiously.

  I’m used to this.

  Not because I think I’m something to look at, but because it’s a boozy Friday night. Sex is likely on everyone’s brain, which means everybody’s trying to figure out who will pair with whom, and none of the girls like that there’s another female in the mix.

  John comes up behind me with his refilled drink, his hand finding rest on my back. “What are you doing in the doorway? Come sit. Joe, move your ass, man. Make room for Parker.”

  There’s really no choice but to move forward, and I let John maneuver me next to a zoned-out-looking girl with pink tips in her blond hair. John settles
on the other side of me. He sits close, but not too close, and I have a feeling he’s protecting me from Joe, who, honest to God, seems to be staring at my crotch.

  I shift, wondering why I feel so awkward. It’s certainly not the first time Ben’s had people over whom I don’t know all that well.

  Nor is it the first time I’ve watched him make moves on a girl right in front of my face.

  It didn’t used to bother me.

  It doesn’t bother me now.

  So why do I feel like I’m going to be sick to my stomach?

  I take a sip of my drink, letting my eyes sneak back over to my left, where Ben and Blondie are sitting on the L part of our sectional couch.

  I’m struck by the irrational thought that it’s my couch. My Ben.

  Snap out of it, I tell myself.

  Still, my eyes can’t help but take in the fact that his hand is settled on her skinny hip while she leans back to whisper something in his ear.

  He laughs, and I want to know if it’s a real laugh.

  I apparently have a tell—yesterday he told me I tip my head back when my laugh is real, and he’s probably right—but I don’t know what his tell is.

  I’d never really noticed, because when he and I are laughing together I know it’s real, and when he’s laughing with other people…

  Well, I’ve never cared much.

  Until now. I want to know badly if his laugh is real. If his smile is genuine.

  But why do I care?

  This is the arrangement. I’d get laid. He’d get laid. And not by each other.

  It was the best way of shaking things up before he and I ended up somewhere dangerous.

  Ben’s hand slides up a few inches to the blonde’s waist and my stomach does that clenching thing again, and I’m faced with a horrible realization:

  What if we’re too late?

  What if I already ended up somewhere dangerous?

  It’s not that I want Ben for myself.

  I don’t want him at all, really. He’s still…Ben. My best friend.

  He’s not boyfriend material for anyone, least of all me. But the thought of his hands on another girl and actually having to watch it—

  My stomach rolls, and I shove my cup at a surprised John as I stand up.

  “I’m headed up to my room,” I say.

  “You okay?” John asks.

  “Yeah, just exhausted. Long week.”

  I don’t look at Ben as I awkwardly climb over John’s legs, then over pervy Joe. He “accidentally” touches my thigh and I slap at his hand, not caring that I’m acting like a prude on an otherwise sexy Friday night.

  What is wrong with me?

  I kick my heels off at the bottom of the stairs, scooping them into my hand before I sprint up, wanting to leave the scene behind me as quickly as possible. Wanting to bleach it from my mind as quickly as possible, too.

  Inside the safety of my room, I shut the door and lean back against it. For a second I consider calling Brandon and asking if he wants to come over.

  Let’s just see how Ben likes watching me with another—

  I squeeze my eyes shut.

  Even if calling Brandon were a good plan—and it’s not—it wouldn’t work.

  Ben doesn’t care who feels me up. He doesn’t care who I sleep with.

  He’s the one who told me to call Brandon. The one who complained about the fact that he’d slept only with little old boring me for the past two weeks.

  Two weeks. As if that were soooo long or something.

  I peel my dress off, tossing it onto the bench at the foot of my bed, and then climb under the sheets, not bothering to change out of my sexy lingerie or take off my makeup or do anything but wallow.

  It will be better tomorrow, I tell myself.

  Tomorrow I’ll be back to normal and I won’t care that Ben’s about to take that blond girl up to his bedroom and touch her the way he touches me….

  I let out a scream through gritted teeth and dig the heels of my palms into my eyes, wishing I could scrape away the painful mental images.

  Ben and my no-strings-attached relationship?

  Yeah. Turns out that there are suddenly strings after all.

  And I’m completely tangled in them.

  Chapter 18

  Ben

  Something is wrong.

  No, everything is wrong.

  Not just with the scene, although, if I’m honest, the scene definitely isn’t doing it for me.

  Which makes no sense. The girl in my lap is hot, and even if she wasn’t, the four others in the room are good-looking. She’s not even totally annoying, although for the life of me I can’t remember one damn thing we talked about.

  The beer’s free-flowing, the music’s good…

  And I can’t get into it. Any of it.

  But I’m less worried about me and the fact that I’m suddenly indifferent to something that used to work like a charm, and more worried about my best friend.

  I feel eyes on me and look over to see John giving me a weird look. He holds up the drink Parker shoved at him and lifts his eyebrows in question.

  I shake my head. Dunno.

  Then his gaze shifts to Cora—the girl in my lap—and his brows lift again. I realize way too late that Cora’s kissing my neck, and not only am I not getting into it—

  Hell, I didn’t even notice it.

  This is not a good sign.

  There’s no good way to do this, so I grit my teeth and put both hands on Cora’s waist, shifting her to the right as I ease to the left.

  She gives me a startled look, but an apologetic smile is all I can manage. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say I’ll be right back, except…

  I don’t know that I will.

  I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, only that I need to find Parker. Figure out why she’s home instead of getting laid by Brendon or Brandon or whatever.

  I pause by Jason on my way toward the stairs. “Get rid of them. But nicely. Send the booze with them to ease the blow.”

  “You got it,” he says, pushing to his feet.

  I feel kind of crappy about the fact that I’m going to throw, like, ten people’s Friday night off its game, but hell…they’re all mostly drunk anyway. They can always relocate to Joe’s house; he’s a three-minute walk away.

  I take the stairs two at a time, not surprised to see that Parker’s door is shut.

  I am surprised to find it locked.

  I didn’t even know she had a lock.

  My chest feels tight.

  “Parks?”

  I knock with one knuckle.

  Nothing.

  I pound the door louder, this time with my palm, telling myself that maybe she can’t hear over the still-thumping music.

  Still nothing.

  Well…fine.

  I’m not a younger brother for nothing. I know just how to handle a locked door.

  I head toward my own room, yank a shirt off a wire hanger, and then unbend the hanger into proper lock-picking position as I head back to her room.

  Only to find that the door’s open by the time I get there.

  Parker’s standing there, dressed only in lingerie—wow lingerie—as she stares down at the hanger in my hand.

  “Really?” she asks, when her eyes come back to mine.

  But all I can think is…thank God.

  I don’t know thank God for what, whether it’s the fact that she’s not crying like I thought she might be, or that she’s looking really fucking amazing, or if it’s just pure gratitude that she opened the door to me.

  I don’t ever want her to shut the door to me.

  “You locked me out,” I say.

  “I didn’t lock you out,” she says. But her eyes shift away and I’m not entirely sure I believe her. “Your friend Joe was giving me weird looks.”

  “So you dressed in your laciest, skimpiest bra and panties?” I ask, unable to tear my eyes away from her perfect figure.

  “That wasn’t for Joe.
Or you,” she’s quick to add. “I thought—”

  “Brandon,” I say, crossing my arms.

  Parker bites her lip, then looks over my shoulder toward the stairs. “What are you doing up here? Did you need something?”

  I’m a little stung by what seems to be a dismissal. “You seemed upset. I came to check on you.”

  “Seems to me like you were looking to invade my privacy,” she says, with a chin nod at the hanger still in my hand.

  Her voice is even, but her words are a little snippy, and it dawns on me that I should leave her to her bad mood and go back downstairs, where at least one girl will actually be happy to see me.

  She starts to shut the door again, and I hold up a single finger. “Parker Blanton, do not close that door in my face.”

  “But—”

  I run back into my room, dig through my dresser until I find a T-shirt, do a quick sniff test to make sure it’s clean, then run back to where she’s still standing in the doorway.

  “What are you—”

  Her words are muffled as I unceremoniously yank the T-shirt over her head, not bothering with the armholes, but tugging it downward until she’s covered to upper thigh.

  She blinks up at me and I push her back into her bedroom and close the door.

  “I can’t think when you’re half-naked,” I say.

  She slowly pushes her arms through the armholes. “You’ve shoved a T-shirt over my head before,” she says. “That night when Lance dumped me and I was hurling my clothes around, you put a T-shirt on me then, too. I just now remembered.”

  “Yeah, and I did it then for the same reason. I don’t feel right looking at pretty lingerie that isn’t meant for me.”

  Except back then, the fact that her lacy undergarments had been for Lance hadn’t bothered me in the least.

  But tonight? Knowing that she got all dolled up for a guy she doesn’t even know?

  That bothers me.

  Even though I told her to do it.

  I run a hand over my face.

  “What happened?” I ask. “With the Brandon guy? Did he say something or was he—”

  “No,” she says, holding up a hand and sounding so weary my chest squeezes. “He was perfectly nice. I may even see him again. I just wasn’t feeling it tonight.”

  She looks down at the floor and crosses one foot over the other. “Sorry.” Her voice is quieter now. “I know that was part of our deal. Me hooking up with him, and you with…”