Bad Boy Benefits: A Standalone Little Sister's Best Friend Romance

by JD Hawkins

  “I prefer not making stupid mistakes to excusing them,” she says, as she slips into the coat.

  She steps past me to the door but I take her arm and stop her. She glares daggers at my hand, then at me.

  “If you’re so into the ‘agreement,’” I say, “what was all that with the lemon, huh? Don’t act like you didn’t know what you were doing. You’re playing games.”

  “Games?” she replies, slipping into her typical semi-dismissive, mildly amused tone. “If you want to talk about games, let’s talk about you telling everyone you can ‘help’ me with the jewelry line. You know Mia is going to be asking about that now, and expecting us to work together.”

  “I can help you,” I say. “It makes sense.”

  “Oh, I’ll bet it does, honey. I’ll bet it makes sense to you. I’ll bet you love the idea of getting me alone in your shop. Laying out a half-million dollars’ worth of jewels and fucking me on them.”

  The way she says it is a little too emotive. If I wasn’t so intoxicated from the kiss, I’d have detected how she likes that little fantasy as much as she presumes I do. As if to misdirect my attention from it, she clasps my hand and removes it from her arm like a dirty tissue.

  “You know, Maeve, you keep acting like I’m the only one who wants this, but I know you too well to fall for the ‘ice bitch’ routine. You want it just as much as I do, and the only difference between us is that I’ve got the balls to go for what I want rather than pretend I don’t.”

  “Balls, but no brain,” she replies, tightening her coat and tying up the belt. “No capacity to think ahead into the future, or about anything beyond your own, rather simple desires. This is already messy. Taking it any further would make a mess big enough to involve your sister—my best friend.”

  As if that’s the final word she steps to the door, but just as she puts her hand on the knob I say, “So, what then? You’re just going to go home with Asher tonight, and fuck him instead, huh?”

  She turns to look back at me over her shoulder, flashing that above-it-all smile.

  “Aren’t you walking little Hazel home? Am I supposed to believe you’ll settle for a peck on the cheek?”

  She doesn’t move after she says it, as if it’s a real question, and not a point-scoring retort. For a moment there’s something between our gazes that is more than confrontational. A moment of vulnerability, a hesitation that could only reveal a mutual weakness.

  I clear my throat and look down sheepishly, running a rough palm over my stubble noisily.

  “No, I… I’m not gonna do anything with Hazel,” I say, trying to make the admission sound as nonchalant as possible. “She’s had a few drinks… Seems like a lightweight anyway… Wouldn’t be right.”

  I glance back up at her and she nods, her smile gone, a pretense at civility.

  “Well…” she begins, in the same forcibly casual tone I attempted. “F.Y.I. Asher’s place is a mile closer than mine, so I’ll be taking the Uber farther… I have an early, busy morning at work tomorrow anyway… Not that it’s any of your business.”

  I glance up at her and nod, both of us struggling to meet each other’s gaze now. The two of us looking guilty though there’s nobody else around. I look away, rub the back of my neck, look over at the bed, and Maeve opens the door to rejoin the others.

  Twenty seconds later I straighten my shirt and hair, grab my jacket, and go outside as well.

  “Hey, Toby—there you are. I thought you were in the bathroom,” Colin calls. He’s standing with Asher, the baby now in Mia’s arms being sung to by Hazel and Maeve.

  “Uh…no,” I say. “I was…just admiring the uh…your uh…” I laugh at myself as if embarrassed about admitting something. “I was looking at your shirts. You’ve got some good taste, man.”

  Colin laughs and shares a quick look with Mia before turning back to me.

  “Listen, Mia told me you played soccer in high school. She said you were pretty good.”

  “He was brilliant,” Mia calls out. “As unpredictable as he is in real life. Unfortunately, about as unreliable, too.”

  I step toward Colin and Asher, grateful for the change of topic.

  “Yeah. I used to love playing. Why?”

  Colin thumbs toward Asher and says, “We play every weekend, and we’re getting a little short.”

  “Not ‘short,’ exactly,” Asher adds. “We got a couple of guys… They’re getting pretty out of shape. Their hearts aren’t really in it anymore.”

  “They only join us for the drinks afterwards,” Colin clarifies.

  “Hence being ‘out of shape.’”

  “We could really do with another player.”

  Asher nods. “Anyone who can kick a ball, really.”

  “Are you up for it?”

  I hesitate before answering, but only because I catch a glimpse of Maeve on the other side of the room and my mind immediately returns to an entirely different subject.

  “Sure, absolutely,” I say, instinctively.

  I’m always up for anything new. It’s part of the reason I keep getting into trouble. And even tonight, with all that’s happened setting a strange mood in me, I can’t think of a single reason to say no.

  “Fantastic,” Asher says, looking pleased. He slaps my arm. “Look forward to seeing what you can do.”

  I smile back at him, starting to wonder if he’s going to become a problem.

  10

  Maeve

  There are benefits to always being so busy that you barely have any time to think—such as not having any time to think.

  So when Saturday rolls around and I wake up with no man to kick out of bed and no hangover to nurse, the day ahead seems vast, empty, and irritating.

  During a long shower—water too hot to relax, scrubbing too thoroughly to think—I conduct an imaginary interview with myself about my jewelry line, already cultivating some interesting but briefly witty answers to questions. Everything in my line of work is preparation, and everything in my life I think of as work in some way.

  After the shower, in my bathrobe and carrying my coffee, I wander around the house a little, checking plants, turning on the TV and then turning it off again, looking for something to eat and then realizing I’m not hungry. I put some music on but find it more of an annoying distraction than enjoyable. The right song not existing. Everything from classical to Katy Perry jarring against my own mood. There’s a profound restlessness in me, a tetchy desire to do something, and an inability to focus on anything. Still, it feels like if I actually stop and ask myself why I feel this way, I might find something even tougher to deal with.

  I open my laptop and try to get down to some work, but my mind feels like a wild animal. I need something physical, something to occupy my body. I check my planner for something to occupy me. An event or a meet-up perhaps. There’s a book launch across town, an art exhibition at LACMA. The third day of a student fashion show at a local design college. But as soon as the opportunities present themselves, I realize that I’m not in the mood to be around other people, either.

  Though I feel like I simply don’t have the energy for it, I get dressed in my cycling shorts and sports bra, make sure my phone’s charged, and head out for a run.

  It’s a hot day, and it isn’t long before I break into a sweat—sooner than usual. I make my way through the neighborhood, eventually taking an uphill trail that’s too much for me to handle right now. Calves aching, shoulders burning in the sun, face drenched in sweat. For a while it feels beautifully tiring, and I can almost believe I might rid my body of that restless tension I woke up with, but soon the tiredness only seems to make my mind as active. The restlessness leaves my body, and it turns out it was the only thing saving me from my thoughts.

  Toby’s kiss…

  Despite the burning sun and the gravel I’m kicking up, I’m back there in the bedroom, cool and calm, until he arrives to mess up my perfectly composed outfit with his roving hands… I almost had him out of my system unt
il he stirred it up again… Stirred it up and didn’t settle it, letting it linger inside of me… That’s why I’m restless… That’s why I can’t focus… That’s why pounding my way up this hill while my muscles beg me to stop and my lungs feel like they’re in overdrive isn’t enough still… I’m fucking horny for him…

  I stop running, almost collapsing to the dirt. Bent over double, hands on knees, I gasp and pant until my breath starts to slow. When I manage to stand up again, a guy with the body of an eighties action hero is jogging up toward me, smiling and getting ready to say something.

  “Hot day for it. You look like the kind of girl who—”

  “Not now, honey,” I interrupt, in a tone that kills any thought of a second attempt. He looks at me for a second longer and then carries on running past. I watch him go a while and then start walking, needing to catch a little more breath before I can run again.

  That mini-revelation I had at Mia’s dinner table last night comes back to my mind, and I’m too tired to fight it this time. I’m too aware of it now. Toby turns me on because he’s the only man I know who isn’t afraid of me. The only man who’d dare to grab my ass like that when our friends were just a door away. The only man who’d make a fool of himself eating a lemon in front of me and not worry about my opinion of him. The only man who gave as good as he got…

  Sure, a lot of men put on a good show of strength. I’ve had models who could go for three nights straight, Europeans who could talk you to multiple orgasms without even touching you, businessmen who could crush other guys with a look. But you scratch any of them under the chin and you discover that they’re lapdogs underneath.

  Whereas with Toby… He might dress like a drug dealer from Miami, and live with the spontaneity of a hedonistic teenager, but he’s the only guy who doesn’t flinch, who doesn’t roll over. The only one who makes me feel like a woman somehow. With him, the softness is the pretense, and the toughness is what he’s hiding.

  Another difficult thought comes to mind, and instinctively I start running, as if to leave it behind. Is that why I told Annika not to call him?

  No. I’d tell any woman I care about the same. Toby’s not dating material—especially not for a bookish, inexperienced girl. He wouldn’t hurt her, but she’d get hurt for sure.

  I tell myself that, and I know it’s true. But the day is turning weird, and the sun is becoming a torturer, and soon I find myself admitting that it’s not the whole truth. When I saw his name on the card she handed me there was a pang of jealousy. A hint of defensiveness. Small, irrelevant…but there. But jealous of what? That Annika might get to enjoy him while I’m constrained by our agreement? By our complex relationship around Mia? Probably.

  Probably.

  It’s not like I have actual feelings for him. Not even remotely. I just want to fuck him. I want him to fuck me. It’s that simple.

  I want to drain every last drop of pleasure from our bodies. I want to drink him up until there’s nothing left, and I want to see how many ways he can slam me up against the wall and draw sounds from me I’ve never made before. But feelings…no. I’m Maeve. The fashion icon with her own line of jewelry. The first name on VIP guest lists to parties I don’t even attend. The woman with a trail of broken hearts and fixated men behind her.

  I don’t do feelings.

  As I reach the halfway point of the trail, a cliffside peak with a glorious view of the ocean, my phone rings. Mia. I answer it.

  “Hey, sweetie,” I say, slowing down to a walking pace.

  “Maeve? You sound out of breath…”

  “Yeah,” I say, still panting a little. “I am.”

  Mia pauses before speaking again, and as she does I can hear her smile.

  “Are you with Asher?” she says in a whisper, as if anyone else would hear her over the phone. “Oh my God, did you two—”

  “Sorry to burst your bubble, but no. I’m just out on a run. Working off that food you gave me and resenting you for making it so irresistible.”

  “It was a fun evening, wasn’t it?”

  “It was great.”

  “We’ll do it again next week.”

  I hesitate to answer. The brief flash of hope at the prospect of seeing Toby again startling me more than anything.

  “Sure,” I say. “Any chance to see Alison.”

  “Yeah. So…” she says, shifting tones. “What did you think?”

  I’m too hot and bothered to pretend I don’t know what she’s talking about.

  “I think he’s a sexy, smart guy, and the five dates we go on will be fabulous.”

  “Oh Maeve, come on! He’s perfect for you!”

  “He is. That’s why it’ll probably be five dates—the longest relationship I’ve had in years.”

  “Maeve…” Mia’s voice sounds almost like she’s pleading with me. “Give him a chance. A real chance. I promise you won’t regret it.”

  “What’s the big idea, anyway? Setting me up like that… I should punish you for it. Springing it like a surprise on me.”

  “I…well…it…” Mia stumbles over her words a little and I can tell she wants to lie, but won’t be able to. “Honestly? I sort of noticed you’d been a bit…well…different lately.”

  “Different?” I ask, stepping off the trail to rest in the shade of a eucalyptus tree. A light breeze running across my sweat-drenched body, tingling and refreshing.

  “Yeah… I don’t know. Maybe it’s just me. And having the baby and looking for a house…”

  “Different how?”

  I hear Mia sigh on the line as she searches for the right words.

  “Like…as if…as if you’re getting tired of…”

  She trails off and I say, “Tired of what?” in a gentle tone to show her I won’t be offended.

  “Tired of being you,” she says, then quickly follows up, “I mean, I’ve always wondered how you managed to be you, because you’re so incredible. You know… It’s silly… Playing all these guys and doing such a great job at work and just generally always being so cool and composed and dressing so well and…well…just being ‘Maeve,’ you know? I don’t know. It’s silly. Forget it.”

  “No…no…I think I understand,” I say, trying to keep how shaken I am out of my voice. It feels like somebody’s plucked a guitar string in the center of my gut and it’s vibrating through me, and I’m not even sure why it feels like that.

  “You do?” Maeve asks innocently. “I mean, I know you’ve always been confident in the idea of never settling with a guy and enjoying your life and focusing on your work and… You know, it’s not like I’m one of those people who thinks all women have to have a guy to be happy—I mean, God knows I loved my career enough to forget about guys for most of my life. And it’s what makes you you. I always loved that about you. It’s just…

  “The past couple of weeks…it seemed to me like you were sort of…perhaps…wanting something a little more permanent? Meaningful? Bah! Forget me, I’m talking a lot of nonsense. You know what it is? I’m just so in love and happy that I feel compelled to try to share it with everyone. To have them feel as good as I’m feeling. Even when they’re completely different types of people. Like you.”

  I start walking again, smiling at Mia’s flustered explanations, her endearing kindness shaking that strange vibe I had moments ago.

  “Oh honey, I’m going to get diabetes if you act any sweeter.”

  Mia laughs, then says, “Well anyway, it’s up to you. But he’s a great guy. Even if you love him and leave him, I’m sure he won’t have any complaints.”

  “The only problem I have these days is time. This jewelry line is like a second job. As if the creation, the packaging, and the distribution weren’t enough, being the face of it will really pile on the workload. They’ll probably send me to every event from here to New York in order to promote it.”

  “As if you don’t attend everything anyway,” Mia quips.

  “Of course, but I like the luxury of pretending I don’t have to,
” I reply.

  “Well…I shouldn’t say this, but Asher would probably make a nice companion to hit the red carpets with, you know? He actually dated a few pretty famous actresses—and even became a bit of a mini-celebrity in the gossip mags—I mean he’s so hot, they picked up on him. But he’s used to that life, and might even be able to help in your new career as an ‘icon.’ Not that I’m trying to convince you or anything.”

  “Are you suggesting I use his notoriety and power to help make my jewelry line a success?”

  “Gosh, no!”

  “Shame. It’s a good idea. I thought I was rubbing off on you after all these years.”

  Mia laughs again and I hear Alison cry in the background.

  “I’d better go.”

  “Sure. Give that little one a kiss from me.”

  “I will. Speak to you later, Maeve.”

  “Bye, sweetie.”

  We hang up and I stop walking to gaze out at the Pacific a while through the bushes lining the cliffside. The sea air seems to clear something out of me, finally a little of the restlessness gone, finally a little sense of peace. Maybe it’s not the air, but simply having a good friend.

  Mia might be a loved-up, obsessively generous, perpetually optimistic new mother—but she’s right. I have been feeling a little different these days. She just admitted it before I did. Maybe it has nothing to do with Toby, or Asher, or jewelry, or even the warm happiness I feel when cradling Alison. Maybe I am just getting tired of being me.

  But then…who else can I become?

  11

  Toby

  On Sunday morning, I wake up to a phone that’s nearly vibrated off the table. Dozens of messages about errands I haven’t yet run, about deals I haven’t yet finalized, about places and parties I didn’t go to. Stranger still, I slept late. A full ten hours. I haven’t done that since I stayed up for three nights straight a couple of summers ago in Vegas.