Three Little Words

by Jenny Holiday

  Which was exactly why she forced herself.

  She couldn’t just stay there after they’d had sex. After she’d let him take her picture. No way. So she made it a point to get out of there before the photo developed.

  Anyway, regardless of what was—or wasn’t—happening between her and Bennett, this trip was about Wendy. Catching up with the girls. So she went in search of them.

  And did not find them. Wendy texted that she was “busy,” which was code for getting it on with her fiancé. Elise was “playing Scrabble with Jay,” which, in the weird board game foreplay those two did, was also code for getting it on. Jane and Cameron were still at Busch Gardens, and the way those two operated, when they got back, the sexual tension would be running so high that they’d disappear into their room and not emerge until morning.

  So, yeah, everyone else was getting it on.

  She should have just stayed with Bennett.

  But no. No. Bennett might be a lot nicer than most guys she encountered. He might be trying to save her with amazing food and amazing sex, but he was still trying to save her. And save was a verb not that different from control.

  So after idly flipping through TV channels in her room for a while, she wandered down to the hotel’s spa. A couple hours later she emerged with a new platinum blond hairdo. Wendy had confirmed that she didn’t care about the blue hair, but this would look better in the pictures. There was nothing like new hair to put a spring in her step, to remind her that she was in control of her destiny. She headed for the pool bar, book in hand.

  She ordered an iced tea.

  He’d worn off on her. It was unsweetened, though.

  She was only on page twelve when a voice spoke low in her ear. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  Damn.

  Damn him for showing up like this, all handsome and cocky and every inch the Reese Witherspoon rom-com hero.

  And damn her and her stupid body for jumping to attention. She sighed; she couldn’t not. He was just so…delicious.

  When she didn’t answer, he said, “Come on. I won’t even make you hold my hand.” When she didn’t answer—on account of the ever-present internal struggle she waged when it came to him—he added, “Everyone’s doing their own thing this evening.”

  Oh, that drawl. What had she called it, nonsensically, before? Scratchy honey? “I think everyone’s doing each other this evening.”

  His hint of a smile exploded into the real thing. “Well, there is always that. Twist my arm.” He hitched his head toward the hotel. “Let’s go. Your room or mine?”

  “Shhh!” She looked around with paranoia even though she hadn’t seen any of their friends for hours.

  “Come on. Let’s walk. It’s a gorgeous evening. Only a few days left, and it’s back to the snow.” His brow furrowed, just a little, but she was examining him closely enough to notice it.

  “I can’t,” she said automatically. Having sex with him was one thing—and continuing to do even that was a pretty severe violation of her rules. Sunset walks on the beach were a whole other thing.

  She couldn’t just dismiss him, though, because…he hadn’t said anything about her hair.

  And, yes, she was apparently no more mature than the nineteen-year-old in Ibiza, hoping her crush would approve of her new, blond hair.

  She ran her fingers through the strands, made coarser by today’s processing. She wanted him to notice it. Which was total hypocritical bullshit because she couldn’t want him to notice her hair at the same time she was proclaiming walks on the beach too relationship-y.

  But that was Bennett—he had her totally mixed up, riding a roller coaster of contradictory impulses.

  “You can’t?” The corner of his mouth quirked upward as he twisted his neck to check out the cover of her book, which was a pulpy murder mystery thing she’d bought in the hotel gift shop. “Too busy?”

  Was he going to make her say it? Well, why not? A day ago she’d been sternly coaching herself to say this very thing but not quite able to make herself, and here was the perfect opportunity. Time to woman up and stop fucking around—literally but also metaphorically.

  “Bennett, we can’t just—”

  The brow furrow deepened. Something had drawn his attention over her shoulder. She took a peek. It was Tobias. Incoming.

  Well, she might not be the most academically gifted person on the planet, but she could recognize the lesser of two evils here.

  She hopped off the stool. “Forget it. A walk sounds great. Let’s go.”

  The smile he gave her in response was so stupidly, toothpaste-commercial big—though still endearingly lopsided—it almost blinded her.

  He pressed his hand to the small of her back as they exited the bar, which was fine because it wouldn’t hurt Tobias to see that. They were on the same page regarding the urgency of their escape, because they walked at quite the clip, weaving between lounge chairs and charting a path around the pool.

  When they got onto the beach and really got going, she tried to speed up enough to shake off that hand. He did remove it, but, undaunted, he did so in favor of grabbing her hand. She was about to object—he had just said he wasn’t going to hold her hand—when he stopped them and turned, pointing them back toward the hotel.

  “This place is ridiculous.”

  It really was. The sun was on its way to setting over the ocean, but warm light reflected back on the pink art deco building, making it glow with an almost otherworldly beauty.

  They stood silently for a minute, taking it all in. When they started up again, he didn’t drop her hand.

  And she didn’t make him.

  This was her fault. She should have said something this afternoon, when he’d held her hand on the way upstairs, after they’d gotten back from the restaurant. There was a precedent now.

  It was just that his hand felt so good. Warm and comforting and protective.

  “Do you like my hair?” she blurted and immediately wanted to slap herself. It didn’t matter whether he liked her hair. She didn’t need his approval, and more importantly, she didn’t want it.

  So why was she asking?

  “It’s nice.”

  Nice? It wasn’t nice. It was amazing—the colorist had done a bang-up job. Bleach, especially on hair as processed as hers, was tricky.

  “Anyway, I’m going to have to change it back to my usual browny blond soon. This is too stark for whatever my next job is going to be.”

  “Why does it matter? Isn’t modeling about selling clothes? What does your hair color have to do with it?”

  He was testy, all of a sudden. She thought back to his recent suggestion that she quit modeling. “Modeling is about selling clothes—or watches, or makeup, or whatever—but unless you’re doing a runway show where they want an extreme look, the point is to disappear into the clothes, not to distract from them. You become what you’re selling. I’m a cipher.”

  “No you’re not. You’re slippery as fuck, but you’re not a cipher.”

  Huh? What did that mean? She’d agreed to this stupid walk, but she didn’t need career advice from someone who knew nothing about the industry she worked in. She tried to tug her hand out of his grip—better late than never—but he held fast.

  “I’m all for the crazy hair changes if they make you happy,” he went on. “But if they’re supposed to be covering up the real you—if the point of them is disguise, which part of me thinks it is—then I fucking hate them. I’d rather take a razor to your head and shave you bald myself. It wouldn’t make you any less beautiful. Or any less amazing.”

  She gasped.

  So did someone else.

  She whirled. And there, about ten feet off, were Cameron and Jane. Not in their room for some post–Busch Gardens boning, but walking on the beach. Hand in hand.

  Just like Bennett and her.

  She yanked her hand out of Bennett’s, with enough force this time that she was actually successful.

  But it was too late. Jane had seen
. She’d heard, too, judging by that initial gasp, and the fact that Bennett had essentially been yelling when he’d delivered his speech about her hair. About her.

  Goddammit. She was backed into a corner. There was no way to explain this away. There was no way Jane wouldn’t make this into a big freaking thing.

  So, screw it, if that was the case, she was just going to say what she needed to say to Bennett. What she should have said to him yesterday. And today. “I’m not your girlfriend.”

  “Okay.” But he shrugged in a way that suggested his agreement wasn’t genuine.

  “What?” she said. “I told you how I roll.”

  He nodded, infuriating in his mild-mannered agreement that wasn’t really agreement. She wanted to punch him, suddenly.

  “You told me you have sex with the same person once,” he said. “Twice in extreme cases. We’ve had sex a whole bunch of times now. You’ve had six orgasms in my presence.”

  She reared back like he’d struck her. How could he be saying this in front of an audience? “So, what? You’re keeping a tally? And we’ve passed some objective threshold that makes me your girlfriend?”

  He held his hands up defensively. Good. At least he was finally reacting with something other than that maddening calmness of his. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “Then what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying you can deny it as much as you want, but it doesn’t change the reality of the situation, which is that we are engaged in some kind of relationship.”

  She thought back to that night in North Carolina. They’d explicitly agreed that they were just having sex. She’d told him: I’m not going to be your girlfriend. She had used those very words, and he had agreed. Yes, maybe she should have reminded him of that caveat more often, but that didn’t change the fact that he’d known the rules from the outset. She was starting to panic. Had this all been part of some twisted plan? Had he been manipulating her all along?

  Of course he was. He was trying to control her. Because that’s what Bennett did—the girlfriends he broke up with preemptively “for their own good,” his refusal to accept help with the community restaurant, his long estrangement from his parents. It was all about control, about setting things up to achieve the outcome he wanted.

  Gia was not going to be controlled. It was just as bad as being collected. It was a variation on the same thing, actually. And, in a sinister twist, she was on a beach. Again.

  “You lied to me,” she said, her voice shaking. “You’ve been lying to me all along.”

  “Gia, sweetie.” It was Jane, who had disengaged herself from her husband and was walking toward her with her hands held up. Why was everyone treating her like an armed criminal? Like a flight risk?

  “I didn’t lie,” Bennett said. “We’re just interpreting the same situation, the same set of facts, differently. An evolving set of facts, I might add.”

  “The same set of facts? This isn’t a potayto-potahto thing, Bennett! This is an ‘are you my boyfriend or are you my fuck buddy’ thing!”

  “You can call me whatever you like. It doesn’t change anything. That’s all I’m saying. I don’t care what you call it.”

  “Gia,” Jane started again. She’d reached her side and had attempted to lay a hand on her forearm. Gia bucked her off like she was a venomous snake.

  “I’m not your doll,” she shouted at Bennett. “You can’t just unilaterally decide we’re in a relationship.”

  “I’m not! I’m just trying to call a spade a spade.”

  All right. That was it. If they were treating her like a flight risk, why not be one?

  She was out of here.

  She turned and ran.

  * * *

  Of course, she’d been naive to think she could outrun Jane. Gia could, and had, physically outrun Jane, but there was no way she was going to be able to genuinely evade her friends in any real way. It was the dark side of their sisterhood, of them being there for her.

  They were there all the damned time, whether you wanted them or not. You couldn’t be selective with the sisterhood.

  She’d been in her room for all of ten minutes before they started knocking on the door.

  “Gia! Open up! You don’t honestly think I could witness that and not demand an audience, do you?”

  “I need some time to myself, Jane!” she called.

  “Sweetie…”

  Aww, shit. It was Elise. Using her RA voice. It was hard to ignore the potent combination of best friend and resident assistant.

  “You guys, just give me a—”

  The door clicked open all of a sudden, and Wendy walked in, holding a key card over her head in triumph, like it was a trophy.

  Right. She and Wendy were sharing a room until the wedding night. She’d forgotten about that little detail.

  “What happened to everyone doing their own thing this evening?” Gia asked weakly as the girls tromped inside.

  “I was just thinking that this wedding was a little low on drama,” said Wendy, who was holding a box of wine in her other hand.

  “Classy,” Elise said as Wendy set the box down on the table.

  “Oh shut up,” Wendy said. “We’re doing boxed wine for the picnic Saturday. Easier, lighter, more environmentally friendly. And…” She swiveled to face Gia. “Bennett suggested this as a perfectly respectable vintage.”

  Jane had gone to the bathroom to procure the drinking glasses there and set about filling them along with a mug from the main room. She filled the other mug with water for Elise and passed them out. The girls quickly made themselves comfortable—Elise on one of the beds with Gia and Wendy and Jane at the table.

  No one said anything. Gia took a big gulp of her wine. It was actually really delicious. Damn Bennett. He didn’t even drink, but somehow he could select the best wine.

  She looked around at her friends, who regarded her with airs of tried patience. And because she knew them, she knew they would wait forever for her to talk. She took another gulp, then handed her cup to Wendy for refilling. Bring on the buzz. Hell, bring on total and utter inebriation.

  “The nice thing about today being unscheduled is we can sit here all night,” said Elise with artificial sweetness.

  “Yup.” Wendy handed Gia back her cup filled to the brim.

  Gia threw back half of her second glass and sighed. “I slept with him a bunch of times.”

  Jane barked a laugh. “We kind of gathered that much.”

  Gia’s phone buzzed. Normally she would ignore it, but hey, she was not above postponing the inevitable. It was on the desk near the door, so she hopped off the bed, and whooo boy, the wine had taken effect quickly. She stumbled a bit and rammed into the desk. “Whoa!” Steadying herself, she picked up the phone.

  Elise, who was closest to her, popped off the bed. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” But she lurched some more as she headed back to the bed, which was embarrassing. “I’m an easy drunk tonight because I didn’t eat dinner.”

  “As opposed to all the other regular, healthy meals you eat,” Wendy said.

  Her voice had been devoid of inflection, but she might as well have screamed those words at Gia while wielding a weapon.

  “What does that mean?” Elise whirled to face Wendy, sounding equal parts concerned and annoyed.

  All right. So it was time for Wendy, Wendy Who Noticed Everything, to call in her chips. Gia tried to brace herself. At least they wouldn’t have to talk about Bennett.

  “It means she doesn’t eat. She pushes the food around on her plate, and takes a bite only if she catches you looking.”

  Gia lost her breath. She couldn’t speak. She’d known Wendy knew, she just hadn’t expected her to be so…direct about it.

  Wendy walked over to the white bakery box on the desk that contained the butter tarts Elise had brought her. She hadn’t eaten them, of course.

  Wendy opened the box and showed its contents to the others like it was a courtroom exhib
it she was unveiling for a jury.

  “I was going to confront her about it, but I was going to wait until after the wedding.”

  “She’s right here.” Jane gestured at Gia. “We shouldn’t be talking about her like she can’t hear us.”

  Wendy’s face was blank as she turned to Gia, her voice even as she repeated herself. “I was going to confront you about it, but I was going to wait until after the wedding.”

  “Sweetie, is this true?” Elise asked, concern etched across her face.

  A million excuses rose up inside Gia. Deflections. I was getting ready for a job. I eat a big breakfast and less toward the end of the day. Yes, I watch what I eat when I’m working, but I pig out when I have a day off.

  But then she thought about how after she told Bennett, the world didn’t end. He hadn’t been disgusted with her. He hadn’t tried to “reason” with her. In fact, after she told him, she’d felt better. Telling him had created a space in which he could help her—in which she could, having shared her secret, help herself.

  Was it possible it could work that way with her girls, too?

  She took a deep breath. Held it for a long moment. Then, on the exhalation: “Yes. It’s true.”

  The room exploded.

  Okay, it wasn’t going to work like that with the girls.

  Jane was exclaiming in disbelief. Elise clearly felt betrayed, judging by the way her face crumpled. Then she started talking over Jane.

  After a few seconds, Wendy, who had remained silent, staring at Gia, clapped her hands and said, “Let her talk.”

  Which was the last thing she wanted to do, but realistically, she couldn’t drop a bomb like that and expect to just end it there.

  “I eat when he cooks for me, though.”

  Judging by the confusion on their faces, that piece of information hadn’t been what they were looking for. She had only meant it as a consolation prize of sorts to cushion the blow she’d dealt them. Look! Here is a circumstance in which I do eat!

  “Which I know is dumb. It’s not like he’s my magical savior. He came along during this monthlong break from work, and he’s such a good cook. He’s more like…a life raft that seems to be working right now.”