by Everly Lucas
And making me jealous.
“Ben? Did you hear me?”
“Yeah, I guess I did. So, care to explain how this happened?” I ask, despite it being obvious and none of my business.
“Really, Ben? I’m sure you, of all people, know how babies are made,” she says, and I wince. “Shit. I’m so sorry! I wasn’t thinking.”
“Don’t worry about it. Really.” I try to reassure her, but my heart isn’t in it.
Babies are not only a sore subject for me but also the root cause of the downfall of my last relationship. I wanted them—lots of them—and even though my ex was against the idea of marriage, she wanted them, too. At least, she’d said she did.
After a year of trying to conceive naturally with no success, I suggested we see fertility specialists. That’s when she cracked under the weight of her lies and confessed she’d never stopped taking birth control. Her apology included something about being too young and not ready to be a mom, but that she was afraid of losing me. That was all well and good, but it didn’t excuse lying to me for an entire year.
Here, I’d been scared to death there was something wrong with me. Something that would prevent me from having children. It was a relief to learn that wasn’t the case, but I’d never felt so betrayed in my life.
We ended up reconciling. I don’t think either of us knew how to be single, at that point, but it was impossible to truly forgive her. In the end, constant arguments and years of resentment slowly killed whatever it was we were clinging to. By that point, it was easy to let go.
Given my overall success rate with relationships, I wonder every day if children will ever be in the cards for me. But one is definitely in the cards for my sister.
I tug at one of her ringlets and give her my best supportive-big-brother look. “Are you okay?” If she says no, I’m the least of this Henry guy’s worries. He’ll have Andy to reckon with. “Is this something you want? You know I’m here for you, no matter what.”
She nods with a big, goofy smile on her face like I just asked five-year-old Leah if she wants a pony. “Yeah, it really is. I was in shock at first, of course, but once that wore off, I’ve just been excited as fuck.” She rests her hands on her stomach. “And Henry’s on board with it, which is so crazy, since he’s not even—" Wetness shines in her wide eyes, and she clears her throat. Must be those infamous pregnancy hormones. “He’s going to be an awesome father.”
“So when do I get to meet this ‘awesome’ boyfriend of yours?”
“Um. Husband,” she says, flashing an understated diamond ring on her left hand and shocking the hell out of me for the second time tonight. Not sure I can take much more. If she so much as tells me she’s dying her hair, I’ll have a fucking stroke.
The fact that Henry is taking his responsibilities as a partner and new father seriously makes me inclined to approve of the guy. On the other hand, I’m hurt he and my sister didn’t include me in the wedding. But there is a way she can make it up to me…
“Can I be there when you tell Mom?”
My morning run did nothing to clear my head. There’s still too much fighting for space in there. On Saturdays, I usually hit the Kelly Drive Loop with Andy, but I took a different route today, changing it up on the fly at every corner. I was hoping some new scenery would distract me from my weighty thoughts, but I should’ve known it wouldn’t work. And now I’m back at the house, my biceps on fire as I try a new tactic—chin-ups—which also isn’t working.
Okay, thoughts. Have at it.
Leah’s having a kid. I’m going to be an uncle, and fuck if I’m not thrilled about that. Thrilled for her, because she’s happier than I’ve ever seen her. I’m jealous of her, too, but I’ll never let her see that. I need to keep reminding myself I’m only thirty-five, and there’s still plenty of time for me to have the family I want.
When I close my eyes, I can picture them—my wife, an infant in her arms, and two toddlers by her side. She might even be carrying our next child. The familiar fantasy creates a warmth in my chest that quickly turns into a stabbing pain that feels a lot like grief.
Ten reps on the bar hooked over the doorway wipes that from my mind.
Then there’s my best friend. Andy and I have known each other almost half our lives, and in all those years, I’ve never heard him talk about a girl as much as he’s talked about Claire this past week. In a non-objectifying way, that is. Hell, he talks about her more than I do. Part of that, I think—I hope—is that he’s trying to do for me now what he did in the park last week. Push me to pursue her. Push me to go after what I want. But a little voice in the back of my mind tells me it’s safer for our friendship if I don’t.
Another set of ten.
Claire. Was my sister right? Could Claire be under the misconception I’ve written her off because she wouldn’t let me touch her? If that’s true, I need to set her straight. There’s nothing I want more than to be near her again. But what if she’s okay with being written off? Does she regret spending all that time with me? Has she thought about me half as much as I’ve thought about her? If there’s even a remote possibility—
“Yo, Benny!” Andy’s booming voice startles me, and I lose my grip, slipping off the bar mid chin-up. I stick a decent enough landing, but the asshole still doubles over with laughter. “Oh man, that was fuckin’ priceless!”
Grabbing my towel and water off the kitchen counter, I down half the glass before mopping up the sweat that’s streaming down my face and chest. My muscles shake from being worked harder than they’ve ever been worked.
“You up here for a reason or just to laugh at my expense?”
“Both, now. But originally it was just to light a fire under your ass,” he half-explains, holding my phone out to me. “Do it, man. Just do it, already.”
I eye him speculatively. “Why do you keep pushing me on this? Is it just that you want to see your friend happy, or is it something else?”
Time for him to come out with it. I need to hear the truth, even if I might not want it.
“I like her,” he says with a shrug, hitting me with a candidness I wasn’t expecting.
“You like her…”
“What? She’s feisty and hot. What’s not to like?” I smile and shake my head at the typical Andy answer, until his face falls, turning serious. “But she’s damaged, Benny. You and I both saw that. Of the two of us, who do you think is the better man for her? We both know it’s not me.”
I take a second to study the man I’ve come to think of as a brother. It’s impossible to know someone as long as I’ve known Andy and not be able to read all his expressions, all his tells. This, right here, is as sincere as I’ve ever seen him. Because I love him, I want to fight him on the last point he made. That, on the other hand, would not be sincere, and we’d both know it. Instead, I take what he’s offering.
“Okay, man.” I take my phone from him, and Andy’s smile is one of relief.
People surprise you, sometimes. If you’re lucky, the surprises are good.
My finger hovers over Claire’s name, ready to give her a call. She can easily ignore a call, though. Calls are too much pressure, what with having to think of words on the spot and the lack of a delete button. Delete buttons are integral tools in a situation like this.
I shoot her a text, instead.
What are you doing today, friend?
I turn to Andy as soon as I press send. “There. That’s it. If she doesn’t text back, we’re going to forget about her, right?”
“Right,” he says, grabbing the bar and showing off for no one with a one-handed pull-up.
Just as I’m about to toss it on the couch and out of reach, my phone beeps. Her quick reply has me grinning from ear to ear. Andy smiles, too, his irresistible-to-all-women dimples making an appearance.
nada. why?
I’ll bet it’s getting hot over there.
Fuck, that sounded way too much like a come on. Fantastic work, Ben. Way to make use of that delete b
utton.
She doesn’t respond, because what could she say that wouldn’t sound like she’s flirting back? After a couple minutes of nothing, I try to salvage the situation.
How about some AC?
what’ve you got in mind?
Okay, good. The cause isn’t lost. But now I have to think of something for us to do. Something different, memorable, fun, and air conditioned. “Hey, Andy, name some cold places.”
“Um…Antarctica? A meat locker? Your ex-girlfriend’s heart?”
I probably should’ve been more specific. “No, dipshit. What are some cold places I could take Claire?”
“Oh, I gotcha. How ‘bout the movies, a restaurant, a museum—"
“Yes! A museum. That sounds less like a date than the other two.”
Ever been to the Mütter Museum?
once for a class trip in 6th grade. thinking back, that was a messed up place to take a bunch of 11 yr olds.
No kidding. Want to go today?
Another long pause. She’s thinking about it, and that’s better than an immediate no. The three dots appear, so I know she’s typing. Then they disappear. And appear again. Finally, she sends her response. Her one-word response.
sure
And just like that, “sure” becomes my favorite word in the English language.
Eight
Ben
Standing a few feet behind her, I watch Claire as she examines photos in the glass cases along the balcony. Her long hair hangs in waves down her back and spills over her shoulder each time she leans forward to get a closer look at something. Her white denim shorts completely cover her ass, but their length does nothing to hide the delicious shape of it. Her right foot slips in and out of its sandal, hypnotizing me with the way her calf muscles dance under her creamy skin.
Alright, enough leching.
Calling upon every ounce of willpower I possess, I tear my gaze from her legs and join her at the display case. Instead of pressing my chest to her back and my cock to her ass—which is what my body wants to do—I stand at her side, keeping a respectable distance.
Beneath the glass are nineteenth-century pictures of conjoined twins, sideshow acts, and a naked man with testicles the size of Andy’s ego. My eyes widen when I recall what she texted earlier.
“You came here on a class trip? How exactly did your teacher get approval for that?”
A wicked smirk forms on her angelic face. “It was a special class for…precocious children,” she says. “‘Ravenous young minds must be fed at all times’ was our teacher’s motto.”
“Why do I get the feeling you were more precocious than any of them?” Even with her anxieties, Claire has more spunk than any woman I’ve ever met. There’s a subtle, unintentional mischief about her.
A pleasurable tremor runs through me, thinking of what her intentional mischief would look like.
“Me? No. I was just a little too clever for my own good, I guess.”
“Logomachist,” I say with a nod.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Logomachist. Someone who argues over words. Like you.” Smiling at her offended reaction, I move over to the wall of skulls, with Claire following close behind. A museum was the perfect choice for today’s impromptu outing, particularly this one. There’s absolutely nothing romantic about a place dedicated to medical oddities. “There you go—your two-bit word for the day.”
“Considering it came in the form of an insult, I hope you aren’t planning to charge me.” Her arms cross over her chest in indignation, the pose pushing her breasts further up the neckline of her shirt. I look away before she can catch me, but that brief glimpse is all it takes to fuel my filthy imagination.
It’s like I’ve been transported back to the days when an exposed wrist was as indecent as an exposed nipple is today. Gorgeous women who’ve been naked and spread-eagle on my bed didn’t turn me on as much as an inch of Claire’s cleavage did just now. I already know I’ll be coming hard tonight with my dick in my hand and that image in my mind.
When I turn back to the menagerie of skeleton heads, I could swear each empty eye socket is staring at me and each mouth is turned up in a shit-eating grin, like the creepy fuckers know exactly what’s in my perverted brain. Talk about an effective hard-on softener.
Getting back to the decidedly chaste here and now… “Nope. You’re eligible for the friends and family discount, which makes it one-hundred-percent off.”
“Good, because I don’t have any cash on me, which means I’d have to—" Her mouth slams shut before she can finish that thought, so I finish it in my head.
She’d have to kiss me. That’s what she’d have to do. She’d have to slant her mouth on mine and give me the first taste of those lush lips of hers. There’s a chance she’d part them and touch the tip of her tongue to mine. Maybe she’d press her body against me as her anxieties and inhibitions melt away, giving in to lust.
Fuck.
Creepy skulls, creepy skulls, creepy skulls…
Wow. That really is boner kryptonite.
We continue making our way around the upper level, pausing to comment on every disturbing exhibit while trading life stories. She tells me what she does for work, where she grew up, where she went to college. I learn a lot about her, but nothing personal—just facts, like she’s carefully guarding everything about who she really is. Guarding anything that would help me know the real Claire.
When we reach the Mega Colon—one of those things that, once seen, cannot be unseen—she shares an anecdote about the first medical practice she worked for and the doctor who collected emergency room X-rays whenever he was on rounds at the hospital. As a gastroenterologist, he had the extreme pleasure of extracting various objects people misplaced in their rectums for, you know, reasons. At least once a week, he’d bring in another pretty picture for show and tell. Votive candles, pretzel rods, tampons…
“My favorite was the toothbrush—“ Claire pauses for dramatic effect “—bristle side up.”
When she catches my reaction—a shudder, a wince, and a barely suppressed gag reflex—she beams with a giddy pride.
I shouldn’t find her enthusiasm for the Tales from the Ass-Play ER so adorable, but, hell, she could smile like that over the slaughter of puppies, and I’d find her adorable…and gorgeous and irresistible.
“Maybe that guy was confused,” I say. “He probably tried using an enema to clean his teeth.”
Her full laugh echoes through the room, and I soak up the sound until it fades and her smile falters. I risk touching her to nudge her with my elbow. “What are you thinking?”
Her pale cheeks flush to match the crimson carpet beneath our feet. Avoiding my eyes, she continues walking around the balcony, while I keep step beside her. She glances at each exhibit we pass but doesn’t stop to check them out. After a few minutes of silence, she leans back against the brass railing, and I do the same. Her long fingers work at the frayed edges of her shorts as she finally looks up at me.
“How long have you and Andy been friends?”
Ah. Well, that explains her hesitance. She’s curious about him but doesn’t want to admit it. I’m pretty sure I could go without her admitting it, too. She tugs more intently at the denim threads, and I have to hold myself back from stopping her fidgeting with my hand.
“Since freshman year of college,” I say, tucking my hands in my pockets. “We shared a table in first-semester Design.”
She bites her bottom lip, considering her next words. “I don’t want you to take this any kind of way since it’s not like I know you very well, and I’ve only talked to Andy once, but…I don’t know. You guys just seem so unlikely.”
I bark out a laugh because she’s not wrong. She even used the perfect word for our friendship—unlikely. I grew up on the Main Line, attended a private school whose tuition was as high as my college’s, and was captain of the water polo team my senior year. Andy grew up living in Section 8 housing, bought groceries with food stamps, and was
told every damn day that he wouldn’t amount to anything in life.
That’s his history to tell, though, so I go with the other obvious reason Claire’s right about us.
“Are you kidding? I hated him, at first. He was a conceited, inappropriate show-off—"
“Was?”
“Oh, he’s still all those things.” And more, now that he’s grown and successful. “But we bonded that semester. I was a kid from the ‘burbs, and he became my guide to the city. He pushed me out of my comfort zone, and I think I served as an anchor for him. He didn’t have the most stable home life and was on his own as soon as he graduated high school, so my mom and step-dad pretty much adopted him. He’s family, more than anything else.”
A soft smile graces her lips, but a hint of sadness dims her bright eyes. I want to ask her what that’s about, but I also don’t.
“When it came to design, we approached it from opposite perspectives. Mine was more technical, practical, while his was far more artistic. I learned a lot from him that first year. I know for a fact I wouldn’t be where I am today if it weren’t for him.”
“So, he’s an architect, too?”
“Andy? No. He never did get a handle on the technical aspects, so he switched to art. He actually teaches there now. And he’s part of the city mural project.”
I find myself bragging about my best friend like a proud papa. The man has accomplished so much, all on his own. He approaches everything in life with the same untamed tenacity, tearing down any barriers that stand between him and what he wants. I admire the shit out him for it.
“Huh. I guess it just goes to show you…”
I give her a questioning look when she doesn’t finish her thought.
“Oh, you know—books and covers and all that.”
Oh, great. She’s clearly impressed with his blurb, and I could tell she enjoyed looking at his cover last weekend. What if she wants to leaf through his every page? Also, he would hate being compared to a book. A graphic novel would be more his style. A really graphic graphic novel.
