by Amanda Cowen
“And I saw the look on his face when Liam kissed you,” she adds.
I roll my eyes. “He did not have any ‘look’ on his face.”
“He did so,” she insists.
Just as I’m about to respond, Liam appears with a smile and the drink I ordered for Kale. “Everything okay here?” Liam asks, shifting his gaze between me and Maisie. He slides Kale’s drink across the bar, and I slip him a few bills.
“Everything is perfect,” Maisie smiles. “I was just telling Ella how cute you are.”
Liam blushes. “Aw, Maisie. I think she already knows that. Don’t you, Ella?”
Another patron waves him down to order a drink before I can answer, and he apologizes and excuses himself. I use this as my opportunity to stand up and leave, except Maisie grabs my arm.
“Ella Jones, do not lie to me.” I refuse to meet her eyes, but slowly sit back down on my bar stool nonetheless. She has me cornered. “I am one of your best friends, and I know when something is up,” she pauses. Then she gasps as realization dawns on her. “Ohmygod. Did you sleep with Ryan?”
She’s still ogling at me, waiting for me to tell her she’s crazy and that I did not sleep with Ryan. Except I can’t lie to her. I swear, Maisie could crack the Da Vinci Code if she wanted to.
“Ella, answer me. I know you slept with someone. I found a pair of men’s Nike socks on your bedroom floor. And Liam practically lives in flipflops…” her voice trails off.
Holy Sherlock Holmes.
“What the hell were you doing in my bedroom?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I needed to borrow something.”
“Like what?”
“That’s beside the point,” she hisses. “Were those Ryan’s socks?”
I hope my irritation with her shows plainly on my face and she’ll stop prodding me. But I also know Maisie is relentless, and she won’t let up until she hears the truth.
“Okay, yes,” I whisper. “I had sex with Ryan.”
Maisie gasps and covers her mouth with her hands. “I fucking knew it!”
“Shhhhh,” I scold her, even though the music is blaring so loudly, no one would ever be able to hear anything we were saying unless they were sandwiched between us.
“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!” she says, wide-eyed and triumphant. “When?"
“After my art show,” I tell her. "It meant nothing, though. It was a drunken mistake."
“Ohmygod, Ella,” she squeals. “Are you two secretly dating?”
“What?” I laugh, but I am completely miffed. “Did you not hear me? It was stupid and irresponsible. Lines were crossed and I feel horrible about it – because of Liam. Not Ryan,” I clarify.
Maisie rolls her eyes, unimpressed. “You always do this.”
“What?”
“Ignore how you and Ryan are perfect together. You’ve been hiding behind this ‘we’re best friends’ act way too long.”
An uncomfortable throb burns in me, and travels its way up to my throat. I am so mad at Maisie right now for even suggesting such a thing. We aren’t hiding behind anything!
“Look, I know you think guys and a girls can’t be just friends. And I know sleeping with Ryan doesn’t make my argument strong right now, but neither one of us are interested romantically. It was just sex. Nothing to ruin a friendship over.”
“Is that what he said?”
“It’s what we both said,” I quip, not liking Maisie’s tone. “And this is exactly why I wish it never happened. Sex makes everything complicated. Relationships are complicated. I need Ryan in my life, always. He’s like the greatest person I know. He makes me laugh like no one else can. And I can’t risk ruining what we have because of a drunken night of amazing sex.
“And I know I'm supposed to want to be in a relationship with a guy in my twenties. But I also know relationships don’t last forever. I could never risk not having a forever with Ryan. It’s no mistake I haven’t had a real relationship since freshman year, because they aren’t worth it.”
“Or it’s because you’re in love with Ryan,” she says.
“Stop being ridiculous.” My chest heaves with irritation. “I am not in love with Ryan!”
I don’t expect her to smile when I tell her this. And I most definitely don’t expect the insincerity in her voice when she says, “I'm so sorry. That was –”
“Stupid of you to say?” I finish her sentence. “Because I am casually seeing Liam, who is a very attractive, sweet and charismatic man who happens to really like me, too.” .
“Yet you slept with Ryan,” she says, almost too slowly.
My face feels hot, and my arms and legs prickle to the point that I almost feel numb. I know I shouldn’t be angry at Maisie when she’s just stating the truth. She’s not the one who stupidly slept with her male best friend. I am.
“For what it’s worth, I think you and Ryan would be great together,” she innocently adds.
“You can’t say anything about this to anyone,” I narrow my eyes at her. “Including Jayce.”
“Okay.” She sips on her drink, a slight but smug smile gracing her lips. “Don’t worry. Your dirty little secret is safe with me.”
Feeling completely rattled, I turn away from her on less than steady legs. “Where are you going?” she shouts at me.
I turn back around. “I'm going to give Kale this drink, then dance with Ryan.”
She smiles again. “Of course you are.”
“Because nothing has changed between us,” I tell her.
She’s still smiling. Seriously, Maisie?
I march over to our booth, pass Kale his drink, take two shots from the tray in front of Jayce, and hand one to Ryan. “Drink up,” I tell him.
He lifts his chin to me, a lingering smile on his face as we down the shots in unison. The second he places his glass back down on the tabletop, I grab his hand and pull him toward the dance floor. I need to dance with Ryan to prove to Maisie – and mostly myself – that nothing has changed between us. We always dance together if there is music and a dance floor, and I need to know if we are still the same two best friends we’ve always been.
In a twist of fate, one of our favorite rock songs comes on: Black Betty by Ram Jam. This song played on the jukebox the first time we came to Hennessey during our freshman year. Ryan and I had looked at each other at the same time and gushed in unison, “I love this song!” It was pretty much the exact moment I knew we were destined to be friends. I pulled him up on the dance floor – even though he resisted – which also commemorated the first time I ever danced with him. He was just as goofy back then with his dance moves and two left feet as he is now.
“Aw, here we go!” Ryan shouts over the music and does a little two-step. “I’m going to light up the dance floor, Jonesy. You better watch out.”
I laugh and raise my hands in the air, bouncing to the beat and closing my eyes. I love this song too, love the pulsing beat and the classic rock lyrics. This feels normal. This feels like us. For the first time tonight, I feel like our night of drunken sex won’t ruin our friendship.
Ryan dances with me, rolling his hips, and weaving his arms. I am hyper-aware of his body’s close proximity to mine. I’m attentive to his familiar and intoxicating scent of sandalwood shampoo, and an oak-scented cologne fills my nostrils. I’m also very responsive to his strong and warm hands as they slide down from my shoulders– and slip around my waist while we bounce to the beat of the music.
Ryan may not be the best dancer, but he makes it fun and moves like someone who couldn’t give a damn who's watching. I feel uninhibited, and move with Ryan like we are this perfect pair putting on a show for every patron at the bar. I’m so happy to feel our familiar rhythm; it reminds me nothing has changed. And when Black Betty ends and a slower rock ballad blares through the speakers, I know Maisie is the crazy one for thinking I’m in love with Ryan.
How ridiculous. Me, in love with Ryan. Ha!
His hands slide around my hips and my stomach, th
en pull me back against his broad, solid body. “Jesus, Jonesy,” Ryan growls quietly.
Feeling him so close to me brings a fiery heat to my face. He presses into me, barely swaying to the music. I turn in his arms to dance against him and let him hold on to me. I feel something strange when I look up at him: the most intense need to kiss him. It catches me off-guard.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re hoping third time's a charm.” He bends, lightly brushing his lips across my ear. “Think your boyfriend’s jealous?”
I stop moving, fighting the urge to say something to him. I’m worried my voice will come out strangled with emotion if I try to speak.
He moves forward again and scrutinizes me. “But then again, I guess he has no reason to be jealous because he has no idea I fucked you. But lying to your boyfriend’s on you, Jonesy.”
My throat tightens and I push him away. I swear I can still feel his body heat from only a few feet away. He’s watching me, gauging my reaction. The way he’s looking at me… it’s intense. I can’t look away.
“What is your problem?” I ask, not meaning to sound so flippant. "I'm trying to have fun with you. Let loose. Dance a little bit."
He moves back, scowls, and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not the one with the problem,” he says, with several seconds of silence stretching between us. Then he adds, “Time to find yourself another dance partner, Jonesy. I’m done.”
Chapter 12
Every stroke of my paintbrush melts away the memories from last night: confessing everything to Maisie, only to have Ryan crossly leave me on the dance floor. I sigh heavily, dipping my paintbrush onto my palette and mixing blue with a little black. The dark colors on my canvas are reflective of my current mood.
I tossed and turned all night long, hot and bothered, riddled with uneasiness. My duvet felt like it was smothering me. I can’t remember how many times I kicked that feathered weight away from me. Nothing could make me comfortable.
My mind raced with Ryan’s last words to me: I’m done. Was he done with our friendship? Or was he simply done with dancing with me?
I look through patio doors and onto the balcony overlooking downtown. I roughly mimic the shimmering skyscrapers and rolling hills on canvas, hoping my random brush strokes will turn into something interesting.
Maisie is spending the day golfing with Jayce, and I am relieved to have the quiet apartment to myself. I even powered down my phone to avoid the outside world. Having some time to think, away from everyone and everything, in the seclusion of our kitchen with my painting supplies, can sometimes be the only way to calm my racing thoughts. And the memory of Ryan’s abrupt and cold departure hasn’t made my thoughts any less chaotic. If anything, he’s front and center, owning every single thought I have left.
My body tenses at the sound of my front door clicking open, followed by heavy footsteps trampling into the apartment.
“Jonesy, you home?” Ryan’s familiar voice shouts from the entryway.
What the hell is he doing here? He better be ready to apologize for being such an epic asshole, because I don’t think I can even look at him right now.
I take a deep and steadying breath, silently telling myself to play it cool and not show him any emotion. The last thing I need is Ryan thinking his parting words from last night had any effect on me.
“Yeah. Hey, in the kitchen,” I shout over my shoulder.
I hear his footsteps as he makes his way through living room and around the corner. I turn to see him leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed over his broad chest.
He gives me a charming but rehearsed smile. “It looks like a rainbow threw up on your smock,” he says, surveying my grubby painting attire.
I brush a few more strokes on the canvas, unaffected. “It’s called paint, wiseass.”
He moves closer until he’s just inches away from me. “Perfect timing, then,” he says, clearly amused by my distaste for him. “You can finally get started on my portrait. Clothes on, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Only stipulation,” he says, flopping down on the chair beside me. “I get a seventy-five percent cut from every print sold.”
“Considering no one in their right mind will ever purchase one,” I quip. “I guess you got yourself a deal.”
“Haha,” he says dryly. He drops his head slightly, then lifts his eyes to mine. “Shall I lay across the kitchen table, or dramatically lean against the patio doors to give you Zoolander eyes?”
I can’t help but laugh, tapping the end of my paintbrush on the easel. After being so angry with him, and not being able to sleep because of it, he still manages to bring a smile to my face. Besides, I guess there is no point in holding a grudge. Ryan was completely drunk. Which of course is no excuse, but damn me when I see that playful light in his eyes and feel the warmth of his smile. It’s so easy to forget he ever angered me.
“What are you painting?” he asks.
“I’m not sure yet,” I say, suppressing my own smile. “I’m using the view from the balcony as inspiration. After last night, I felt like I needed to paint something. To decompress. To stop thinking so much.”
His eyes search my face and stall at my lips. “Got a lot on your mind?”
“You know how it goes.” I leaning away to put a little distance between us. “Family shit. Life decisions. And of course, other stuff…” My voice trails off.
“Did you not have a good time at Kale’s birthday?” he asks.
We exchange an odd glance. It’s as if he’s waiting for me to confirm what he said on the dance floor. His mind is probably still clouded by the copious amounts of booze he drank, and he probably can’t remember if he actually said something or if he’s imagining he did. He’s giving me the opportunity to call him out on what he said and how he said it, and to ask him what he meant by it. B
But I’m a little too stunned to say much of anything. So I shrug instead. “Umm, yeah, it was okay.”
“I had way too much to drink,” he confesses. “Hardly remember much… except for when Thor handed you that fucking fruity cocktail.” His eyes meet mine, and I swallow under the pressure of his unwavering attention. “Why don’t you just tell him you don’t like that shit?”
“Because maybe I do like that shit.” I say bluntly.
“You never liked that shit before.”
“I can change my mind about what shit I like and what shit I don’t like.”
He smirks in response. “Or you’ve turned into a serious poser.”
I stare back at him, feeling the strange warmth of familiarity spreading through me. This teasing, this challenging banter between us is what chemistry feels like, what my friendship with Ryan has always felt like. It’s that connection - that spark between us that makes me feel alive. It somehow manages to calm me, yet it can also cause panic to rise in my throat when I think of how quickly we could lose it all if we were to ever blur the lines of our friendship again.
“What are you doing here, anyway? Did you run out of food in your fridge?”
“I didn’t realize my pop-ins required a purpose.” He unleashes his most charming smile. Then he moves toward the refrigerator, digs around, cracks open a bottled water and leans his body on the door, that dimpled smile still on full display. “Take a break from painting. Come chill with me on the balcony. We can play rock toss.”
I take another deep breath, pretty sure I’m unable to say no at this point. “Okay,” I surrender. “Grab me a bottled water, too.”
Ryan gladly hands me one, closes the fridge door, and steps onto the balcony.
The sun is exceptionally bright today, but the air is cool from the breeze blowing off the coast. A three-piece patio set is tucked in the right corner. I sit down while Ryan grabs a container of rocks and an empty bucket that we have for a game we call ‘rock toss’. Basically, you sit back and toss rocks into an empty bucket for mild entertainment.
For the next fifteen minutes, the only so
und we can hear is a thunk every time a rock lands in the bucket. Ryan drinks his water and glances over at me. “Have you been practicing?”
Normally, I have terrible accuracy and Ryan beats me every time. But today, I’ve successfully sank almost every rock I’ve tossed.
I can’t help but mess with him. “Yeah. I sit out here every night for at least an hour and toss rocks.”
He glares at me, detecting my bullshit. “You normally miss the bucket by a mile, is all I’m saying.”
“Bet you I can sink ten in a row.” I challenge him, feeling a competitive confidence kick in.
“Are you trying to hustle me?” he laughs. “Because on a good day, you can hardly sink one, never mind ten.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Scared you’ll lose?”
“How much dough are we talking?”
“Fifty bucks. And you have to stop calling Liam Thor.”
He finishes drinking his water and nods. “Fine. But if you miss even one of your ten shots, you owe me fifty bucks.”
“Deal.”
“Oh, I’m not done yet,” he laughs. “You’re also my roomie in Newport Beach for spring break, not Thor’s... oops, I mean Liam.”
I study him and his cocky grin. “No way,” I shake my head. “I am not rooming with you.”
He sips his water again. “That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”
I consider backing out. The thought of losing and having to owe him anything makes my skin itch with irritation, not to mention how incredibly dangerous it would be to room with him on spring break.
But my competitiveness prevails. I’ll just have to dominate this game of rock toss. There is virtually no other option.
“Do we have a bet?” he asks.
“Damn straight,” I say, tugging the bucket of rocks across the table. “And when I sink all ten, you’ll be sorry.”
Any doubts I had about my rock-tossing abilities slowly disappear one by one. I successfully sink eight consecutive rocks into the bucket. Ryan’s eyes are wide with anticipation, and he hasn’t squeaked one word. I take a deep breath, close one eye for better aim, and tell myself I can do this. I can sink this ninth shot, and once I do I only have one more to sink to win this bet.
