The Fourth Time Charm: A Friends to Lovers Romance

by Maya Hughes

  Her yawns got closer together.

  “We can stop.”

  She shook her head and opened her eyes horror-movie wide. “No, I’m good. It’s a great movie.” Another yawn.

  Not wanting to move either, I propped my feet up on the coffee table.

  Her head drooped throughout the movie, until it rested on my shoulder.

  I may or may not have wiped away a tear as Arnold lowered himself into the vat of molten metal. At least no one else was around to witness it.

  “Risa.” I lifted my shoulder, nudging her head.

  She made a sound between a growl and a grumble and burrowed deeper against me.

  “Marisa, we need to go upstairs.”

  “Don’t want to. Carry me.” She kept her eyes closed, her voice soaked in a sleepy half-yawn. Her fingers brushed across my stomach and I sucked in a sharp breath.

  She wouldn’t remember a thing in the morning. I’d had more than a few full conversations with her sleep talking so convincingly, I’d thought she was faking it. Mostly, they’d been about needing to buy sprinkles in the morning or finding a badger in the washing machine. Tomorrow, whatever was said between us would be met with a blank stare.

  I would take a moment, just one, to admire her. I brushed her wavy black strands away from her face. The curve of her nose had long ago been committed to my memory. It was so burnt into my brain that, from halfway across campus, I could pick out the slight upturn at the end and small dent in the side from when she was eight and fell out of a tree in my backyard.

  Standing, I draped her arm over my shoulder and shifted mine behind her back and under her legs. I lifted her off the couch and took care of her head, while walking up the stairs.

  “I’m going to miss you when I go to Michigan. I wish you could come with me, but it’s going to be cold as balls. The time is slipping away so quickly, and I don’t know what I’ll do if you go to Venice for two years. I’ll miss you even more.”

  I set her down on her bed and dragged the blankets down, tucking her under.

  She grumbled and hugged her pillow to her chest.

  “Night, Marisa.” I flicked off the light and walked to my room next door. Dragging my fingers through my hair, I sat on the edge of my bed.

  If she got accepted for her Venice fellowship, I’d hate myself for losing this time with her. Her dad would probably murder me if we started dating. She’d probably scream it from the rooftops just to piss him off.

  I punched my pillow and slammed my head back onto it. The path to my future was diverging and I was holding onto both possibilities, trying to stop the passing of time through sheer will alone.

  12

  Marisa

  The intern office in the museum was an alcove of a space off the larger curation offices. Temperature controlled, the air carried the perfect blend of humidity, hundred-year-old canvases, and paper, right along with the French press coffee blend everyone nursed throughout the day.

  Everyone else had gone to lunch, almost like they’d sensed the incoming storm and had run without giving me a heads-up.

  Usually within these walls I felt part of something bigger. I felt a part of history. Now I felt like I’d rather gnaw my own arm off than stay on the phone a minute longer.

  “This is the third time you’ve asked me to come to dinner this week. Why?” I set down the palm-sized framed painting and tapped a few keys to add it to the donation inventory.

  “I can’t want to see my daughter?” Anyone else would’ve thought she was sad her daughter was graduating from college and would be moving away. Anyone else would’ve thought I was an asshole for blowing off my dear mom. Anyone else didn’t know there wasn’t a loving bone in her body.

  “Mom.”

  She huffed and I could feel her eye roll.

  Yes, difficult Marisa wanting to know exactly why she should walk straight into the lion’s den and serve herself up on a silver platter.

  Her voice was muffled and a door closed on her end of the line.

  “I’m dating someone new.”

  “I don’t—“

  “He’s nice. A nice, boring guy who treats me well. And he has daughters your age. A little older, and we’ve had dinner with them twice, and he keeps asking to meet you.”

  Once again, this had nothing to do with me. “So you’re trying to pretend you’re a doting, loving mother, and you want me to help.”

  “I was a damn good mother. I never expected your dad to split on us like that. Sorry, I still wanted to enjoy my life after having a kid.”

  “There’s having a life and there’s leaving me to fend for myself.” What other kid developed a taste for tuna fish and frosted flake sandwiches? It wasn’t half bad, if salty-sweet fish was your thing.

  “Looks to me like you’ve ended up all right. Even landed yourself a football player too. I’m sure LJ’ll last longer in the pros than your father did.”

  “LJ has nothing to do with this.” They were nothing alike. Her talking about them as if her relationship with my dad was anything like my friendship with LJ pissed me off even more. LJ could never do what Ron had done.

  He’d never have a kid, cut and run, then extort them into weekly dinners to prove a point. What that point was, I’d never know—and I wasn’t digging deeper to find out.

  “Of course he does. You should’ve locked him down in high school. You did save his dad’s life.”

  “There’s no locking down. We’re friends—for the thousandth time.”

  “But he’s going to get drafted, right?”

  If there was any fairness in the universe. “Yes, he should.”

  “You’d better jump on him now then, if he’s not already in the crosshairs of the football groupies.”

  I squeezed the bridge of my nose. “I’m not jumping on anything. And he’s not like that.”

  Her scoff grated my nerves like a cheese grater against a ball of steel wool. “They’re all like that.”

  “Why are we having this conversation?”

  “All I’m saying is even if you don’t want to be with him long term—God knows fidelity isn’t a trait of pro athletes—you could always slip in before graduation and get a parting gift to remember him by. And keep those checks coming once he leaves you behind.”

  A mental slap reverberated in my head. There wasn’t a hint of a joke or irony to her words. She was one hundred percent serious. When I thought she couldn’t keep proving to me that redemption was a mile-long road of broken glass, she added another dump truck of shattered vodka bottles to the mess.

  “Did you just try to friendly-advise me into trying to get pregnant by my best friend to weasel child support money out of him?”

  “Stop being so dramatic, Marisa. It’s not like you both wouldn’t get what you want out of the deal. It’s the least he could do for you.” Bottles clinked in the background. “So dinner? Next week?”

  Rage waged a battle in my chest against the fear that I might have even the smallest part of her manipulation and deception flowing through my veins.

  I ended the call, throwing down my phone like my hands had been scalded.

  Once again, I’d fallen into the trap, walked straight into it like a cartoon character who never learned. For a nanosecond I’d thought she’d been trying to make amends. Maybe she’d realized I was an adult now and she’d missed out on so much.

  Nope! She wanted to parade me in front of a new boyfriend as a testament to how shitty of a parent she was. I’d rather have a herd of hermit crabs shoved into my bathing suit.

  I finished up my shift and hopped on the bus back to campus. My mother’s words sat under my skin like a bad case of poison ivy. It scared me to know I might have even a trace of her in me—a piece I couldn’t recognize, infecting me and turning me into what I never wanted to be.

  How the hell did I even know how to have a real relationship when my models were an absentee father and a narcissistic mother who only cared about herself?

  Back at The
Brothel, I jogged halfway up the stairs before the movement from the living room stopped me.

  “Keyton.”

  Sitting on the couch, his muscles unlocked like he’d thought if he didn’t move I wouldn’t see him.

  “Hey, Marisa.” He gathered up his notebook and textbook from the couch, holding them both in one hand.

  I walked back downstairs and faced him trying to get him to meet my eyes. “Have you been avoiding me?”

  The tendons in his neck tightened. “Possibly.”

  Who could blame him for not wanting to get caught up in any more problems? “Listen, I’m sorry about the other night.” I cringed and ran my fingers over the collar to my shirt. The regret and guilt over him needing to jump in to save me sandbagged in my chest.

  His head snapped back like I’d flung a barbed-wire-wrapped salmon in his direction. “What the hell do you have to be sorry about?”

  I bit my chapped bottom lip. “Just sorry you had to come to my rescue like that. I know fighting can get you guys in a lot of trouble.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry about. When I saw what happened, I just blanked. Lost control.”

  Understatement of the year. I’d have been less shocked if Liv turned out to be a badass blackbelt blasting her way down the hall to come to my rescue.

  “Sure as shit surprised me and LJ. But you know what they say? It’s always the quiet ones.” I peered over at him wondering what other secrets he was hiding.

  The corner of his mouth twitched.

  Resting my hand on his arm, I gently squeezed. “But I do want to say thank you for the other night. Really.” I stopped short of a hug because he was giving off all kinds of super uncomfortable vibes right now and I didn’t want to make any of this worse for him.

  “Don’t worry about it.” He ducked his head. “I’m glad LJ was there.”

  He was probably the only thing that had kept me upright and not freaking out. Just like after the fire. He’d been the first number on my speed dial. He was my rock. The one I could always count on. And his life was about to get a lot more complicated with a lot more demands on his time. More worthy demands.

  “Me too.” He’d been there for me, and in his arms, the scary what-ifs stayed away.

  He shoved his hands into his pockets. “LJ said you didn’t want to go to campus security. You should make a report.” His head tilted and he peered at me out of the corner of his eyes.

  I’d wrestled with this one a lot, running over it in my head trying to figure out the best way to move past it. Campus security, honor council, the campus rumor mill—getting everyone caught up in that wasn’t what any of us wanted or needed. Not in the middle of their season. Not when LJ needed to focus on the field, not on coming to my rescue. There was no doubt he’d stand up for me no matter what—even if it wasn’t in his best interest. He was an annoyingly good best friend that way.

  “You protected me. And I know what he did was fucked up, but I don’t want you to get in trouble for fighting. I know they’re strict about that. The bruises on my arms are almost gone. It’s the middle of the season.” I shrugged. “I don’t want to jeopardize your chances this season.”

  “But—“

  “I can only hope the ass kicking you laid on him--”

  He flinched like I was making him relive it by bringing it up again. A bad memory he didn’t want. It reaffirmed why I’d steer clear of Chris and keep Keyton and LJ out of the campus council.

  The joking tone dried up from my voice. “I think now he knows he’s not untouchable and he’d better not do anything like that ever again.”

  His frown deepened and the muscles in his neck strained, but he didn’t say anything else. Time to direct this conversation elsewhere or I’d have him avoiding me for the rest of the year.

  “You guys leave tonight, right?” How are you feeling about the season so far?”

  “It’s been down to the wire more than a few times.”

  “They’ve been hard to watch sometimes. But I know you’ll kick some Michigan Wolverine ass.”

  He slipped on a sly grin. “You know we will. Hopefully LJ will get some time on the field.”

  “Yeah, what’s up with that? He’s not getting anywhere near the time he should be getting. He played—what? —two plays last game.” It didn’t make sense. Ron was all about the win. It’s why he’d left to go on the road from college to college until he built the powerhouse program at Fulton U. It’s why he made me come to Monday dinners. There had to be an on the field strategy where it made sense to save LJ up until he was most needed.

  The door opened and LJ walked in with his backpack slung over his shoulder after this afternoon’s classes.

  “Hey, LJ. Marisa was just asking why the hell you’re not playing much this season.”

  LJ’s face fell like he was looking over a hundred-foot ledge. “Slacking on workouts and stuff. Just not putting in my all.”

  “You were always the first one in the gym and the last one to leave.” I folded my arms and stalked across the living room. Slacking wasn’t a word in his vocabulary.

  “I’ve been distracted with graduation right around the corner.” His voice trailed off and he wouldn’t meet my eye.

  Diversion. Evasion. Deflection. We might as well have been in the Philly Zoo for how cagey he was being.

  “I have cookies!” He held up the massive plastic container. “Jules stopped me on the way in with these new ones. They’re supposed to be for Berk, but he won’t mind.” He shot a look over my shoulder toward Keyton.

  What was he up to? And why was he dragging Keyton into it like that night at the bar?

  He rattled the container and popped off the lid. “Let’s break these bad boys open. Marisa, you can make a pitcher of drinks to go with these.”

  “Yeah, but about what Keyt—” My words were cut off by a cookie shoved into my mouth.

  The soft-baked cookie was a peanut butter and chocolate explosion of ecstasy. I moaned and took another bite. Something was up with LJ. But I didn’t want to subject Keyton to even more uncomfortable conversations, and these cookies were first-in-line-at-a-new-exhibit phenomenal.

  “Holy shit.” I stared at LJ and grabbed another one from the box. “Keyton, you have to try these. They’re insane.” Devouring mine, I handed one to him.

  “It would have to be…” He took a bite and his eyes widened. “Damn.”

  “Right?”

  “So, Marisa, what drink do you think would go with this?” LJ herded me into the kitchen.

  “Do you really want to drink tonight? You’re on a plane early tomorrow.”

  “A couple won’t hurt. We need to celebrate these cookies.” He handed me another. “What would you make?”

  I racked my volumes of alcohol knowledge. Liv tended to show off her boarding-school bartending skills most often, but I was a solid fallback when it came to getting creative. “Maybe a hazelnut liqueur with hot chocolate.”

  Keyton poked his head into the kitchen. “Did someone say hot chocolate?”

  “Yeah, we could try that, it would be sweet enough to go with these cookies, but not too hard-hitting. Plus it’ll be a nice fall drink.” I grabbed another one from the box. “Berk better hurry up or these are going to be gone.”

  “Perfect. I’ll go to the store and Keyton can come with me.” LJ didn’t wait for anyone to agree with anything. He took another cookie from the container and shoved it into Keyton’s mouth and marched them both out the front door.

  If he thought dessert, drinks and distractions would keep me from finding out why he was fumbling his last season, he’d clearly taken one too many hits in practice.

  We couldn’t have a dinner of cookies alone, although leaving them here with me by myself was a liability. The smell of them wafted to me like they were cartoon curls curving through the air and straight up my nose.

  I slammed the lid down on the box and turned to the fridge.

  Pizza boxes, leftover meal platters Nix had dropp
ed by, old wings and beer.

  I checked inside the freezer. There were a few packs of frozen chicken. I grabbed two and banged them against the counter. Frozen solid.

  Eyeing the blocks of meat and the microwave, I formulated a plan. Both packs went into the microwave. I chucked them inside, hit defrost, put in the weight and hit start.

  The timer flashed 25 minutes.

  I went back upstairs and sat down at my computer to finalize my Venice Fellowship presentation. I’d made it to the final three applicants across twenty schools. When the email from Professor Morgan had landed in my inbox, I’d been afraid to open it, but I had.

  She’d sent over the requirements to move forward with my application. It included designing a social media plan for a collection they currently had in-house and a one-day course for visitors to the museum.

  LJ hadn’t brought it up since the night we’d last talked about it. It felt like an undetonated landmine in our friendship. Easier to pretend it wasn’t there—just like my attraction to him.

  My nose itched and I grabbed some tissues. Next, my eyes watered. I looked at the window, which was closed. What the hell?

  The front door banged open. “Holy shit!” Berk’s voice boomed from below.

  I flew from my desk down the stairs. Coughing, I was caught in the all-too-familiar feeling of dread.

  Berk rushed from the back door he’d flung open and popped open the microwave. Grabbing a pair of oven mitts, he pulled his shirt up over his nose and shoved his hands into the opening. Out came a melted mess of plastic and Styrofoam.

  He shot me a look split between ‘what the fuck’ and sympathy.

  Something inside my stomach curdled like month old expired milk. I’d done it again. “Sorry.”

  I ran to the other windows and opened them, to help get rid of the smell of burning plastic.

  He flung the melted mess into the backyard, came back in and dumped the oven mitts into the trash.

  “I’m sorry. I got distracted. I thought it was on low. Sorry.” I jammed the heels of my hands into the window over the sink, shoving at it. The freaking thing wouldn’t budge.