by Everly Lucas
Okay, fine, I’m jealous. Who the fuck is this chick stealing the man I won’t let touch me and therefore can’t claim as mine?
Right. Not mine. We’re just friends, and Ben is free to be with any woman he wants. A heads-up would’ve been nice, but it’s not like he’s obligated to warn me when he’ll have a date joining him. Because we’re just friends. Did I mention that?
Time to retract my claws and force a smile. “Thanks,” I say with all the sweetness I can muster.
“Seriously, though. All those colors with your gorgeous red hair.” Her free hand reaches out and twirls a lock around her fingers.
Maybe I shouldn’t have been so hasty in stashing my claws away. I’m feeling the need to defend my personal space right about now. With violence, if necessary.
Ben wraps his hand around hers, extricating it from my hair. “Lee, behave.”
“Oh, right. Sorry,” she says, popping a mozzarella medallion in her mouth and speaking around it. “I’m Leah, Ben’s sister.” She starts to hold out her hand but reconsiders and pulls it back. She’s either as perceptive as her brother or she got a crash course in Claire from him. Either way, this is just silly.
Capturing her hand before she has a chance to drop it, I give it a solid shake—lots of skin-to-skin contact, thankyouverymuch.
So, this is his sister. Not his date. Okay, I can like her now.
“I’m Claire. It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard great things about you.” The whole Twilight thing, for instance, was freaking priceless.
“Oh my God, he’s actually mentioned me?” She looks well and truly shocked, for some reason. Why wouldn’t Ben mention his only sibling? “I’m convinced he’s denied my existence to every other woman he’s ever dated. He definitely doesn’t bring them around to meet me.” She turns to her brother. “You’re ashamed of me. That’s it, isn’t it?” Leah does her best to look hurt, but there’s a distinct twinkle of humor in her doe eyes.
Shrugging—and not contradicting the whole “dating” thing—he says, “Nah, you know me. I don’t like to brag.”
Somebody get me a pen. I need to add “awesome big brother” to my mental list of reasons Ben is amazing. If I don’t find an imperfection in this man soon, I’ll start questioning why he bothers with my super-flawed self, at all.
“Nice save, asshat.” Leah gives him an elbow-nudge to the gut. Never before has the word “asshat” been spoken with so much love.
Handing her plate to her brother, she steps forward, clasps both my hands in hers, and gives them a good squeeze. I guess she’s over the whole no-touching-Claire thing, but her disarming smile melts away all my automatic stiffness.
“Ben told me you were gorgeous, but holy shit.”
Oh, great, now I’m blushing. There’s no way I can look at Ben—my cheeks might actually catch fire if I do. Nope. I’ll keep my eyes glued to Leah’s dimples, instead.
“You’ll have to forgive my baby sister’s language,” he says, while I continue to not look at him.
Leah spins back to him with her hands firmly planted on her hips. This girl is a total pistol. “You can’t call me that anymore, mister. I’m married and fucking pregnant. I officially no longer qualify as a baby sister, got it?”
“Oh wow, you’re pregnant? Congratulations!” I say before Ben has a chance to respond.
“Yep. My very first.” She rests her hand on the little peanut’s hangout, and I see the barely-there baby bump she’s sporting. Her belly is that size where you might suspect she’s pregnant but wouldn’t dare say anything because it could just be from overdoing it on the carbs.
I level Ben with a glare, because, come on. “Why haven’t you told me you’re going to be an uncle? That’s a major life event. You didn’t think it warranted a mention?” He gives me a bland look and shrugs one shoulder like he gets nieces and nephews all the time. Just for that, I tack on, “Asshat,” and smack him right on the center of his chest.
My hand must’ve developed a mind of its own because it lingers there for a full second longer than necessary. Or maybe two. I don’t know. However long three beats of his heart takes, that’s how long my hand remains on his body. It’s not until his shocked eyes lock on mine that I realize what I’ve done. For the first time since we met, I’m the one who touched him.
Carrying me to his bedroom that first night. The goodbye hug the next morning. When he nudged me with his elbow at the museum, and when he threw his arms around me to save me from falling. I remember every single time we touched—well, the times I was conscious for, anyway—and they were all initiated by Ben.
This time, it was all me.
I feel the usual anxiety that washes over me whenever I come into contact with a guy, but there’s also yearning and hope. I latch onto that last emotion. This is the second time I’ve felt it with Ben, and I’m certain it won’t be the last. With that thought happily cemented in my brain, my shocked expression gives way to a smile—the big kind that makes your cheeks hurt.
I watch as Ben lights up, setting off a swarm of supercharged fireflies in my tummy. If I were normal, this would be the perfect moment to hold his hand or run my fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. Kissing him wouldn’t be uncalled for, either. But I’m not normal, so instead of following my heart, I remain frozen in fear.
Fuck you, fear. I fully plan on kicking your ass soon.
Next to us, Leah fidgets, looking down at her still-full plate. “Well, would you look at that? I’m running out of grub, so I think I’ll just…” She makes it half a step before a pair of thick arms wrap around her from behind and hoist her up in a big bear hug.
Once she’s done squealing, she warns Andy, “If you don’t want me painting your shirt with vomit, you should put me the fuck down.”
Instinctively, Ben and I take steps back while the overly affectionate Italian sets her back on the ground.
“What? I can’t give my best girl a hug?” he asks. I swear, Andy’s smile could knock a person out cold if they weren’t prepared for it. Not saying I’m used to it, yet, but I do manage to stay on my feet. “It’s about time you made it, sis.”
Sis?
Leah must see my confusion—okay, maybe she is just that perceptive—and clues me in. “These two are kind of a package deal, so that means I have an awesome brother, but I’ve also got this guy.” She jerks a thumb in Andy’s direction.
“Aw, come on, Lee. I spoiled the shit outta you, and you know it.”
“You scared away all my dates,” she fires back, and I can’t help but chuckle behind my wine glass. I can totally picture Andy guarding Leah like he was her personal security detail.
I’m mid-sip when I see a ghost. I mean, it can’t be a ghost, because Cameron isn’t dead, but I’ve killed him off in my mind countless times and never expected to see him again. My grip on my glass tightens so much, the top snaps off the stem, spilling the rest of my wine down the front of my dress. Thank freaking goodness I don’t drink red, because this dress is rented.
I try to play it off, laughing at my clumsiness, but Ben doesn’t buy my act.
“Are you okay, Claire?” he asks, taking the broken pieces of plastic from my hands while Andy fetches me some cocktail napkins.
The sound of my name catches Cameron’s attention. He spots me immediately, and his eyes nearly pop out of his head. My heart pounds so hard it hurts.
“Claire?” Ben asks, again. Before I can answer, Cameron heads our way.
Why are my hands empty? What am I supposed to do with empty hands? They feel so awkward hanging at my side, and I’m pretty sure blood’s stopped pumping to them. Why else would they feel so cold and numb?
When Cameron reaches me, he raises his arms as if to hug me. But the thought of being touched by the person who left me broken beyond repair—so broken, I can’t be with the most incredible man I’ve ever known—makes me want to hurl, so I flinch back. Of course, this doesn’t escape the notice of Ben and Andy, who move to stand on either si
de of me like big, scary sentinels.
The differences between my new friends and my ex-boyfriend are striking. My guys are tall, beautiful inside and out, mature, and self-assured. Compared to them, Cameron is more little boy than grown-ass man. Not because he’s physically smaller than they are, but because he lacks character and compassion and, well, basic humanity. Before meeting Ben and Andy, those were qualities I never expected to find in men, but they’ve got them in spades. Just having them near me in this moment fills me with a confidence I wouldn’t have felt otherwise.
Taken aback by my reaction to him, Cameron’s voice is shaky when he speaks. “Hi, Claire. It’s, uh, good to see you.”
Yeah, there’s no way I’m returning that sentiment.
“I didn’t expect to see you here.” It’s the truth, and also a total understatement.
“Stacy—you remember her, right?—she does fundraising for the mural project.” He has a slimy look on his face like he thinks he just stole the upper hand.
Stacy was one of the friends I lost when I left him, and I always suspected he had a thing for her. They may have even been screwing behind my back. Not that I could blame him—he wasn’t getting any from me. I just hope Stacy’s smart enough to ignore his bullshit.
“Good for her,” is all I can say to that. A derisive, under-the-breath laugh from Andy reminds me I have some introductions to make. “Cameron, these are my friends, Ben and Andy.” I point to my right and left. “Guys, this is Cameron, my”—Ugh. Do I really have to admit this?—"ex.”
Cameron extends his hand to Andy, who keeps his arms crossed over his broad, muscular chest. He then tries shaking the hand of the man to my right, but Ben tucks his hands into his pants pockets. It’s a real struggle to keep from laughing. I look around for Leah to introduce her, too, and spot her leaning against a cocktail table behind Cameron, stuffing her face with food and shaking with silent laughter.
Yep. Love her.
Cameron visibly shrinks back, which is the only possible response to the formidable creatures flanking me. “Nice to meet you,” he says out of politeness.
Andy, on the other hand, doesn’t find manners to be necessary in this situation. “I’m sure it is,” he says.
A laugh manages to make its way up my throat, and I do my best to choke it back down. Next to me, I can feel the contempt radiating off an eerily quiet Ben. I know what he’s thinking. He’s thinking he’s standing three feet from the main reason I’m the way I am. And he’d be right.
“Right, well, it was good seeing you, Claire,” Cameron says, already backing away. “I’ll see you around.”
With a limp wave, he heads to the makeshift bar, but before he’s out of earshot, Ben issues a low threat. “Over my dead body.”
Damn. Even I’ve got goosebumps after hearing that.
I’d like to believe I can avoid an inquisition, but that’s just wishful thinking. Before I know it, I’m faced down by two large, intimidating men. Not that the intimidation is intentional or directed at me, but they can’t help what they are.
“Seriously, Peach? You were with that?” I cannot stress enough how much I don’t want to discuss this. “I’ll bet his dick’s the size of my fuckin’ thumb.”
Providing a visual, Andy puts his thumb all up in my face. I’ve got to admit, his guesstimate isn’t far off.
And, gross. Now I’m thinking about Cameron’s dick, which makes me want to give my vagina a thorough scrubbing. For the first time, I understand why that hospital patient put a toothbrush up his ass. Makes perfect sense to me, now. Unless he did it purely for pleasure, in which case, nope, I still don’t get it.
“I need a drink,” I announce out of nowhere. Getting smashed sounds like a smashing idea.
Andy offers to fetch me a fresh glass, so I can avoid the risk of running into Thumbelina. While he’s at the bar, Ben looks at me with deep concern. “Are you alright? Be honest with me.”
When I refuse to meet his gaze for more than a millisecond, he takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilts my head back, forcing me to look at him. Before I can stop myself, I jerk out of his grasp. The hurt in his eyes—the hurt I put there—has me suffocating on guilt.
God. Could I be any shittier of a person? This all-around beautiful man is genuinely concerned for my well-being, and I can’t even let him express it with the smallest of touches.
I sometimes wish he would trap my face between his strong, determined hands and steal a kiss. Steal a thousand kisses. It would be like ripping off a Band-aid. Would I melt into him? Would he spark something inside me that’d make me want more—want all of him? Or would I recoil in fear and push him away? Would I ever have the courage to be near him again after that?
Seeing Cameron provided some perspective, helping me see my ex for the insignificant amoeba he truly is. But it also brought back every memory I wish could’ve stayed buried. Every time he shamed me. Every hurtful name he called me. Every time he made me feel small, unworthy, dirty.
I won’t cry. I won’t cry because part of me still believes Cameron was right, and that part of me wonders if Ben would agree with him. I wouldn’t blame him if he did. He doesn’t need to hear what’s running through my mind, though. This isn’t his problem. I’m not his problem, and I won’t burden him with my crap.
Instead, as Andy returns and hands me my wine, I plaster on a smile and lie to them both.
“I’m fine.”
Thirteen
Ben
Leah dropped her marriage-and-pregnancy bombshell on Mom and Seth, Lee’s father, the day after she told me. She ignored my request to be there, but it turned out to be for the best. According to Leah, Mom was stunned for all of three seconds before she lit up like fireworks on the Fourth of July. After years of disappointment, waiting for her eldest to give her grandbabies, her little girl is granting her wish. I can picture all the gushing and the hugs and the declarations of gratitude—in French, of course. When Karine Cohen Levitt gets emotional, it’s her native tongue and nothing else.
It would’ve been difficult for me, watching them and wishing I were the one making Mom happy, but I could’ve ignored the sting and shared in the joy. No, Seth’s scary, barely contained rage is what I’m grateful I missed.
When he realized Leah wasn’t playing some inappropriate joke—a justified assumption when it comes to my sister—he went into immediate emotional lockdown, freezing her out and retreating to his office. He hasn’t spoken more than ten words to her since.
He’ll come around. Seth’s not an unreasonable man. I have a feeling this is just a case of a father being forced to see his baby girl as a grown woman for the first time. If I’m ever lucky enough to have a daughter, that’s the moment I dread most.
Which is why he’s not with us for the best Sunday brunch in Philadelphia. The Moshulu is a century-old four-masted ship, permanently docked at Penn’s Landing. It also happens to be one of the finest restaurants in the city. Every Sunday they offer a brunch buffet so comprehensive, it would take an entire day to sample everything on offer. For years, my family has come here to celebrate every major milestone. Graduations, anniversaries, birthdays—really, any excuse to come together and eat good food.
Henry had a work emergency, so he gets a pass, but it would’ve been nice to have someone to talk to while Mom and Leah discuss babies and husbands and…I don’t know what else. I tuned them out after a while.
“That would be lovely, don’t you think, Benjamin?” Mom asks in her lilting accent.
Hearing my name grabs my attention. I could admit I checked out of the conversation twenty minutes ago, but then she’d feel the need to fill me in on what I missed. I’m good without the recap.
“Yeah, absolutely.”
There. That should do it.
The Belgian waffles are made fresh right in front of you, and, sure, I’ve already had two, but I could make room for a third. Grabbing my plate, I push my chair back to stand, when my mom claps her hands with glee
and says, “Oh, marvelous! Merci, mon petit chou!”
Leah catches my what-the-hell-did-I-just-agree-to look, but the little brat carries on like I have a clue.
“I know it’s short notice, but is next weekend okay? Maybe Saturday night?”
My stern, big brother glare lets her know she’ll pay for this later, but I can’t say that out loud. Not in front of Mom, at least. “Yeah, of course. Saturday. No problem.” She’s my baby sister, after all. I’ve always had trouble telling her no, especially when she whips out the Puss in Boots eyes.
Wait, no. My Saturdays are reserved for Claire. Could I go nearly two weeks without seeing her again? No way. My body would go through withdrawal—it needs her too much. I’ve known her less than a month, and already I’m hooked.
Who am I kidding? I was hooked the moment I saw her.
“You should invite Claire,” Leah suggests, throwing gasoline on the fire.
My first thought is that Lee just provided the perfect solution to my dilemma. I can do whatever it is I’ve been roped into and still get my Claire fix. But it sounds like that would mean introducing her to my family.
I wait for my brain to register this as a bad idea, but that doesn’t happen. Instead, it feels right. Meant to be. Claire should meet my family. Claire should be my family.
I am so freaking gone for that woman.
“Qui est Claire?” Mom asks with instant interest.
My last relationship ended years ago, and since then, I haven’t been on more than five dates with the same woman. It never takes me longer than that to determine if I could spend the rest of my life with someone. And if she doesn’t meet that high standard, what’s the point in wasting my time and hers?
