Just Friends

by Monica Murphy

  “Happy birthday to me,” he murmurs with a chuckle, his lips warm against my skin.

  I shiver and wrap my arms around him, holding him close, trying not to let the disappointment wash over me. He feels good surrounding me, his skin damp with sweat, his mouth still on my neck, one big hand sprawled across my breast. Like he owns it. Owns me.

  “Shouldn’t you, uh, get rid of the condom?” This is awkward, but…

  “Yeah.” He pulls away from me and drops a kiss on the tip of my nose. “I just wanted to hold you first.”

  I melt at his words. They make up for the disappointment I’m feeling over my first experience with actual sex. It wasn’t bad, not at all. I actually let him go down on me and that was pretty freaking amazing. I felt like a wild animal for those first frantic moments and I can admit, that was hot, letting go, not caring, just being a person with basic needs.

  But it happened so fast. He finished so fast. I thought he’d have more stamina than that.

  He drops another kiss on my lips before he crawls out of bed and saunters into the connecting bathroom. I hear the toilet flush, the faucet run. Then he’s back, scratching his chest and watching me as I tug the sheets and comforter up until they’re covering me just under my chin.

  “You’re cute when you’re modest,” he teases as he rejoins me in bed, hauling me into his arms.

  I nestle close, my cheek pressed against his chest. “Is the party still going on?”

  “There are a few people downstairs, but mostly just guys from the team. Eli is supervising,” he explains.

  “You’re trusting your brother to supervise your friends?” I’m shocked.

  “He can handle it.” Ryan tilts his chin down to smile at me. “Anyway, I’d rather be with you.”

  “Aw.” I lean up and kiss him, losing myself all over again in the taste of his lips, his persuasive tongue. “Did you like your birthday present?”

  “It was the best present I’ve ever had.” Another kiss, this one soft. Sweet. “Thank you, Livvy.”

  Before I can manage to answer, he kisses me long and deep. And just like that, we start all over again.

  Thank goodness Ryan has an entire pack of condoms in that bedside table.

  I’m in the kitchen just after seven in the morning when a door opens from down the hall. I go stiff, unsure of who else could be in the house except for Ryan and me and Eli. Eli’s bedroom is upstairs, right next to Ryan’s. I know he’s in there because I heard him snoring as I crept by his door earlier.

  My body is sore from last night’s extracurricular activities and I’m sipping on a glass of orange juice, wearing one of Ryan’s old T-shirts and nothing else. My hair is a mess and my makeup is smeared all over my face, but I don’t care. I lost my virginity last night. I don’t necessarily feel different yet…somehow, I do. I can’t explain it, but it’s like I’m more mature.

  Crazy, I know.

  I nearly drop my glass of orange juice when I see who shuffles into the kitchen.

  “Oh my God, this is so embarrassing.” Amanda covers her face when she spots me.

  My mouth drops open. “What are you doing here?”

  She shakes her head, her hands still over her face. Her hair is a dark, riotous mess and she’s wearing a boy’s white T-shirt and nothing else too. I shuffle closer, sniffing the air, and I’d know that expensive cologne still lingering on the fabric anywhere.

  “You were with Tuttle last night, weren’t you?” I whisper-hiss at her.

  Amanda drops her hands, her expression pleading. “Please don’t say anything. I don’t think I can handle your judgment this early in the morning.”

  “Like I’m going to judge you. Look at me.” I wave a hand at myself. “Where did you guys sleep? Or was there any sleeping involved?”

  “In the downstairs guest room. It’s right next to the bathroom.” She stares at my orange juice glass. “Got any more of that?”

  “Yeah. I’ll get some for you.” I go about the kitchen and grab her a glass from the cabinet while she settles herself on the barstool at the counter. She runs a hand over her hair again and again, trying to tame the beast, and whispers “thank you” when I hand her the juice.

  “I want deets,” I say.

  She shakes her head, sipping on her juice. “I’m not giving them.”

  “Come on.”

  “No way. Unless you want to give me details.”

  I make a face. “Not yet.”

  “Okay, right back at ya then.”

  We sit in companionable silence, sipping on our juices, checking our phones. There are Instagram photos from Ryan’s party last night and I appear in a few of them. I told Mom I was going to Ryan’s party and then spending the night at Amanda’s. She’ll never check up on me. She worked yesterday and was going out with Fitch last night.

  I’m covered.

  There are a bunch of Snapchat stories about the party too. Lots of them. Em posted all over both sites, even Twitter, and that irritates me. She makes it look like she’s the life of the party when I barely saw her last night. She was too busy getting busy with Cannon.

  Eventually I spot a photo of us. We’re not posing together, but she took a selfie and captured me in the background, her index finger pointing right at me with a sly expression on her face.

  I frown, staring at the photo. There’s hidden meaning here, but I can’t figure it out. What’s she trying to pull?

  Tuttle joins us in the kitchen minutes later, wearing jeans and nothing else, running a hand through his messy dark hair and making his abs ripple with the movement. I glance over at Amanda and she practically has to shove her tongue back in her mouth, her cheeks going up in flames.

  By the looks of it, she’s got it bad for him.

  “Aren’t you two adorable first thing in the morning?” Tuttle says with a sexy smile.

  I stick my tongue out at him and Amanda ducks her head. Poor girl. She seems embarrassed, not that I can blame her. She just spent the night with Jordan Tuttle and he’s strutting around the kitchen looking like a god.

  Life is weird sometimes.

  “Are we back to not talking?” Tuttle asks, stopping by Amanda’s side.

  She can barely look at him. “No, of course not.”

  “You act like you can’t look at me.”

  “Tuttle…”

  “Jordan,” he corrects.

  “Stop.” She shoves at his chest, but he grabs her wrist, keeping her hand there. The expression on his face is serious. Intense, as usual, and I slide off my stool, ready to get the hell out of the kitchen, when there’s a knock on the door.

  “Who can this be?” I mumble under my breath as I escape the rife with sexual tension kitchen and go to the door. Rising up on tiptoe, I check the peephole, icy cold shock coursing through me when I see who’s standing on the doorstep.

  “I know you’re in there, Olivia! Open the damn door!”

  Oh. God.

  It’s Mom.

  I unlock the door and throw it open. “Uh, hey. What are you doing here?” I sound casual, but inside I’m a trembling wreck. Why is she here? How did she figure out that I was at Ryan’s house?

  “I should be asking you the same question.” She looks furious. Her hair is a mess, her face pale with dark circles under her eyes. I’m fairly certain she’s wearing the same clothes from yesterday.

  Meaning she’s stayed up all night…worried about me?

  “It’s not what it looks like,” I start but she doesn’t give me a chance to finish.

  “Go collect your things. We’re leaving.” Her voice is low. Firm. “Now.”

  Turning away from her, I don’t protest. I just do as she says, running into the kitchen to see Amanda and Tuttle still sitting at the counter, their barstools pulled close together. He’s tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and she’s looking up at him as if he just created the moon, the stars and the entire sky.

  “I have to go. My mom is here,” I tell them, my voice surprisingly nor
mal despite how shaky I am.

  Amanda jerks away from Tuttle, her wide gaze meeting mine. “What?”

  I nod, glancing around, looking for a trace of my stuff before I remember it’s upstairs in Ryan’s room. God, Mom saw me in his T-shirt and nothing else. I’m sure she can figure out exactly what I was doing. It’s pretty obvious.

  “Does she know I’m here?” Amanda asks.

  “I told her I was with you, so…yeah. I assume so.”

  “Oh God. What if she called my parents?” She slaps her hands on her face, covering her eyes and yeah, I feel bad, but I’ve got more pressing things to take care of.

  “Hurry up before I come in there!” Mom yells, reminding me I need to get it together.

  I race up the stairs and barge into Ryan’s room. He sits up straight in bed, the sheet falling to pool into his lap. Pausing, I watch as he rubs his face, his hair a mess, his bare chest on tempting display.

  “What’s going on?” he mumbles, sounding sleepy.

  Damn it, I can’t be swayed by his morning adorableness. Tearing my gaze from him, I spot my clothes on the floor, the tiny backpack I brought right next to the pile. I hurriedly put on a pair of black leggings I was smart enough to pack before I search through the bag, finally spotting my phone.

  Whatever else I might leave here is no big deal. I need to look presentable and have my phone. That’s all that matters.

  “I have to leave.” I go to him and kiss his cheek. “My mom is here.”

  Ryan jerks away from me. “Are you serious right now?”

  “Yeah.” I look around the room one more time before I give him another quick kiss. “Don’t come downstairs. I’m fine. I’ll text you later.”

  “Bye baby,” he says softly, his words making me want to melt.

  But I don’t have time to melt. Mom is waiting on the Bennett doorstep quietly seething.

  I hurry downstairs and go to the front door, which is still cracked open, Mom waiting on the front porch. I shut the door behind me, barely able to meet her gaze.

  “Ready?” she asks.

  Nodding, I fall into place beside her as we walk toward her car where it’s parked in the driveway.

  “I’m not going to talk to you about this right now,” she says, her voice deadly quiet. “I’m too angry. I’m afraid I might say something I don’t mean.”

  I remain silent too. No way am I going to protest.

  “You’re in a lot of trouble, Olivia. I can’t believe you would do this.”

  Again, I say nothing. My mind is racing. The same thing keeps repeating in my brain again and again.

  Who told my mom I was here? Who ratted me out?

  The moment we walk through the front door of my house, Mom is on me like a fly on shit, in all her hovering, finger-wagging glory. I step away from her and do as she tells me, sitting in an old recliner that we keep in the living room since Mom doesn’t like to throw things away.

  The first thing she says is, “I saw the photos.”

  I frown. “What photos?”

  “From Ryan’s party. I saw them. You were hanging all over him and he had his hands all over you.”

  People take photos all the time. I’m so used to it half the time I don’t even notice. “How did you see these photos?”

  Her lips go thin. “Emily showed them to me.”

  What? That bitch. Why? How? I part my lips, ready to ask all of those questions but Mom beats me to the punch.

  “Why didn’t you tell me what was really going on?” she asks, standing above me like a giant, though really we’re the same height. “I called Amanda’s mom and she said Amanda was supposed to be spending the night at our house. Tell me why you were lying, young lady, right now!”

  I tilt my head back and lean against the chair, hoping for calm. I’m furious about the photos but I can’t focus on that right now. “I can explain everything.” So she talked to Amanda’s mom too? Great. Amanda is most likely getting in trouble as well. Wish we could’ve talked first and got our stories straight.

  “You better start explaining now. Though I don’t think anything you say is going to sway my punishment plans,” she says menacingly.

  My heart sinks, but I forge on. “Ryan had his party last night, right? So one of the guys on his team gave him beer kegs as a birthday present.”

  “Who?” Mom asks, interrupting me.

  “I don’t know,” I lie. “Anyway, I—we drank. Amanda and I drank, okay? I’m sorry. But we were at a party in the neighborhood and I didn’t think you’d be too upset. We got a little drunk, though, and Amanda didn’t feel capable enough to drive. So we decided to stay there for a while and sober up.”

  “Okay.” Mom draws the word out, sounding skeptical, but not completely pissed off.

  Progress.

  “Right, so we hung out, drank a lot of water, ate some snacks. But eventually we fell asleep together and didn’t wake up until this morning! I don’t know how that happened, but we freaked out! And my phone was in my purse upstairs and I couldn’t find it at first, and Amanda couldn’t find hers and shit, Mom. It was a total mess and I’m so sorry we worried you. We never meant to worry anyone, I swear.” I start crying, semi-fake tears because I really will cry if she grounds me forever.

  She crosses her arms in front of her, that narrowed gaze still focused on me. “What’s the deal with you supposedly spending the night at her house and Amanda spending the night at ours?”

  I sniff, wipe at my eyes like I really have tears. “I honestly don’t know. Some sort of mix-up? The plan was always to come to here. Since we live in the same neighborhood as Ryan and all.”

  “Okay, so why didn’t you just walk home? Our neighborhood is perfectly safe.”

  “In the middle of the night? By myself, or with Amanda? Isn’t that too risky? You always tell me it’s better to be safe than sorry.” I chew on my lower lip, hoping I didn’t blow it.

  She’s quiet for a moment. So quiet I can hear the ticking on the clock hanging on the wall, the hum of the fridge in the kitchen. Otherwise, it’s silent in this house and I’m going to freak out if she doesn’t say something soon.

  This is not how I planned for this weekend to end.

  “I guess you do have a point,” she says reluctantly, and it takes everything I’ve got not to gloat.

  I sit on my hands instead and tell myself to remain calm.

  “While I don’t approve of you not having your phone on you at all times—” I open my mouth to protest, but she shuts me down with a look. “And I’m definitely not thrilled with the idea of you drinking when you’re only seventeen, which is illegal, I might add.”

  I say nothing, just duck my head and act sad. I’m sadder that I got caught, which is the last thing Mom wants to hear. I wisely keep my mouth shut.

  “But I guess I can look at your and Amanda’s choice to stay at Ryan’s house versus driving as—the right decision,” Mom admits.

  Relief courses through me, leaving me weak.

  “But that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. You’re grounded.”

  “Mom—”

  “Hush. For a week, you can’t go out, can’t use your phone, nothing. You go to school and you come straight home. No football games, no hanging out with Amanda or Em or Dustin, no going on dates with Ryan.”

  “It’s Ryan’s actual birthday on Tuesday.” Okay, now I really am on the verge of tears. “His family is taking him out to dinner and he wanted me to go with them and I promised I would, Mom. Come on, please.”

  “I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to make it,” she says softly, holding out her hand. “Give me the phone, Olivia.”

  Pulling the phone out of my bag, I rise to my feet and hand it over to her, knowing full well I can read all of my text messages on my dad’s old Mac Air laptop he gave me to use for school.

  But Mom doesn’t know that.

  The smile on her face is smug as she closes her fingers around my iPhone. “Next time something happens, maybe y
ou’ll use your phone to text me, okay?”

  I want to yell at her that she’s ruining my life, but I’m scared if I say it, she’ll ground me for longer. Instead I go to my room, slamming the door behind me, wincing when I shut it harder than I meant. I hear her yell my name and I call out “sorry” before I drop my bag on the bed, looking around.

  Again I have that sense someone’s been in here recently—someone that’s not me. I search through my closet, run my hands along the top shelf, digging into the secret spot I have in the back against the wall and behind my shoes, where I smuggled a couple of Coronas a few weeks ago. They’re still there, untouched and nestled in an old tote bag. I go to my dresser, searching each drawer, pulling open my underwear drawer last.

  Wrinkling my nose, I push past my panties to the very back of the drawer where I keep an envelope of joints. Well, there’s only two. Dustin gave them to me when I first came home from Dad’s. I haven’t smoked them yet, hadn’t needed to, but I might need them to get through my week of imprisonment.

  But the joints aren’t there. The envelope is empty, save for a folded note.

  That’s weird.

  With shaky hands I open it, staring at the unfamiliar handwriting scrawled across the paper.

  Thanks for the pick-me-up. I owe you two joints, cupcake.

  xo,

  Fitch

  “Cupcake”? Seriously? That he had the nerve to paw through my underwear—ew.

  “That asshole,” I mutter under my breath, disbelief and shock making me burst out laughing. I crumple the note in my hands and toss it into the nearby wastebasket, pleased when the balled up note lands inside.

  Seriously. My life couldn’t get any more surreal than this.

  Mom is leaving me alone at the house to go out to dinner with Fitch. “I shouldn’t go,” she tells me as she paces the living room. I’m sitting on the couch watching a stupid Lifetime movie on TV, praying she won’t realize I still have my laptop and access to pretty much all social media, with the exception of Snapchat.

  “Not like I can make my escape,” I remind her, never taking my eyes off the TV. It’s a crazy story about a senior who impregnates two girls at the same time—his girlfriend and some random hookup from the summer. Talk about a nightmare. “I don’t have my phone so I can’t contact anyone. We don’t even have a house phone.”