Always Been You

by Beverley Kendall

  Maybe. Probably. Hell yeah. “Absolutely not.”

  “That’s a bunch of BS and you know it,” she charges back.

  “I see it this way. If she wants to have sex with the guy and they’re living together, she wouldn’t be with me.” I give a careless shrug. “Face it, Rosie, us living together makes sense. You’re not going to find anyone better.”

  April falls silent, her gaze searching mine. “But you don’t like any of the guys I date.”

  “For good reason.”

  She wrinkles her nose at me. “Quit smirking. And don’t be such a smartass. My taste in guys is a lot better than your taste in girls. Let’s not forget your latest psycho queen Melissa.”

  “I can’t get it right one hundred percent of the time,” I say easily.

  The ball is now in her court.

  Groaning softly, she tips her head back and slumps back in the couch. “God, I don’t know, Troy.”

  She looks at me and I can tell she wants to say more. She wants to tell me all the reasons this won’t work, and why it’s a bad idea. I don’t want to hear it. “How about you think it over. Talk it over with Emily. Our leases aren’t up until the end of the month.”

  April stares at me hard, as if she’s dying to know what’s going on inside my head. Believe me, she doesn’t want to know.

  “Fine. I’ll think about it. Just don’t push,” she warns.

  I suppress a smile. “I have the patience of a saint.”

  She harrumphs. “Yeah, Angel Gabriel.”

  A fallen angel? I’d agree with that.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I awake with a start, unsure of what woke me. But I’m positive something did. Then I hear it, the distinct buzz of my phone. I look to where it sits on my desk and see the lit screen. A message not a call.

  My heart slows to resume its normal pace.

  Then last night events come flooding back. I broke up with Colin, or he broke up with me. Regardless of who dumped whom, we’re over. Another one of my relationships has crashed and burned before it ever really took off.

  And to cap off the night, Troy had asked to move in, be the lone testosterone-producer in an apartment teeming with estrogen.

  Live with Troy? That would be—

  Awesome. Thrilling. Overwhelming.

  —insane. I can’t live with Troy. He’d be too close. And too much a temptation.

  Covering my face with my hands, I emit a growl of despair. I need to get over him already. It’s been too long and I want some semblance of my old life back. The one where I’m not comparing every guy to him. The way they kiss. How their skin feels under my fingers. How they smell.

  God my life sucks.

  The phone buzzes again, and it’ll keep doing that until I take care of it. Now fully awake, I drag my body out of my warm bed, grab my iPhone off the desk, and return to sit on the edge to view the text.

  Troy: I’m taking you out to eat. B ready in 20.

  It’s terrible how seeing his message causes a bubble of pleasure to form in my chest and flow through me like a drug taking effect.

  Me: I just woke up. Actually, YOU woke me up. 

  Troy: It’s after 11:00. Ur lucky I let u sleep this late.

  I snort a laugh.

  Me: Yeah, well whatever happened to asking???

  Troy: It’s called cheering u up. 20 minutes. Or I’ll come up there & dress u myself.

  I feel his words right between my legs. My nipples register them by beading tightly against my thin cotton tank top. This I don’t need, my girly parts telling me it’s been a long time since they’ve seen any real action. The kind of action Troy is really good at.

  Me: Make it 40. You don’t think I wake up looking this gorgeous ;).

  I can say stuff like that to him when things are normal between us. And things are normal. No sexual tension or frustration to be seen anywhere. Plus, I need to wash my hair, which means I’ll be rocking curls today, because flat ironing alone it is a thirty-minute ordeal.

  Troy: I know you do.

  The tingling sensation between my legs intensifies. He’s trying to kill me. Death by seductive texts is what will be engraved on my head stone.

  No you dolt, he’s merely engaging in some harmless flirting. Calm down!

  Troy: Ok. But next time, I’m not gonna let u sleep this late.

  Me: Do u intend to be this overbearing IF I let u move in? Now why the hell did I say that? Am I seriously considering it?

  Troy: Worse. c u soon. ;)

  My stomach is fluttering like crazy when I set my phone on the nightstand. “Flutter away,” I murmur to myself. I have exactly forty minutes to make myself presentable. I have a date for brunch today.

  Ten minutes later, I’m back in my bedroom. A new text message came in while I was in the shower.

  Liv: Zach kicked Troy out of the apartment. He needs a place to live. I told him you hav a room available.

  I laugh out loud.

  Me: Did he put u up to this? Or did she get it from Rebecca? Probably a bit of both.

  Liv: Um. Maybe.

  Me: Tell him I’m taking another 10 minutes because of that.

  Liv: Seriously though, I think it’s a good idea. We’ll talk about it later.

  She means she’ll try to twist my other arm. Well she’ll have to do a whole lot of twisting.

  ***

  “God, this place is packed.” I survey Lucky’s, a popular local restaurant located in the older part of town known for its mouthwatering desserts. I’m in love with their apple turnovers. The restaurant itself is brightly lit with recessed lights in the ceiling, wooden tables scattered throughout, and two walls of floor-to-ceiling windows. It’s a large room that still manages to feel cozy.

  “Because the food is good,” Troy says, placing his hand on the small of my back as we follow the hostess to a table next to one of the windows that overlook the main street.

  Once we’re seated, the silver-haired hostess hands us our menus. She gives us the spiel about our waitress being with us soon, and we nod thanking her politely. It’s at this point I expect her to leave. She doesn’t. Instead, she just stands there, staring at me.

  With my discomfort growing by the second, I flash her a hesitant smile.

  She sighs. “You’re a very beautiful girl. I’m sure you hear it all the time. Your eyes are stunning. Really beautiful.”

  My face burns with embarrassment. “Thank you.” It’s not that I’m not used to compliments, but they’re easier to take coming from guys who you know just want into your pants. From women old enough to be your grandmother, it’s sweet beyond words.

  She shifts her attention to Troy. “You make a striking couple.”

  “We’re not together like that. I mean, we’re just friends,” I hasten to tell her.

  Troy chooses to remains mute on the conclusion the woman has drawn.

  The woman’s eyebrows rise high on her forehead. “No? Don’t tell me you’re related?”

  I nearly choke with laughter.

  “No, no relation,” Troy replies, trying hard to suppress a smile.

  “Right. Just friends,” I firmly attest.

  The woman smiles. “And here I was thinking of all the pretty babies you’d make.” At the stricken expression on my face, she chuckles. “I’m an old woman, pay me no mind. Nancy should be here shortly. Enjoy your meal.” Turning, she skirts the tables to return to her station at the front entrance.

  I look at Troy. He’s smirking. I cover my burning face with my hands. “Oh dear God. Is part of her job description to embarrass the customers?”

  “She was being nice.”

  “Yeah, but she doesn’t have a filter. You can’t say everything you think. God, could you imagine what would happen if everybody did that?”

  “What? You mean you’ve never thought about all the pretty babies we’d make?” he asks, his expression guileless innocence.

  I snort a laugh and tell my ovaries and uterus to relax. He’s joking. “
Yeah, every night when I go to sleep.” Sarcasm is the only defense mechanism I have against that kind of provocation.

  “There you go. Then you can’t blame her for thinking it,” he replies smoothly.

  We quickly turn our attention to our menus. Suddenly, the air between us is charged with…something. I can feel it. I wonder if Troy does too.

  “What would happen?” he asks continuing to study his menu.

  I look up. “What?”

  He finally raises his gaze to mine. “What would happen if we said everything we think?”

  I huff a laugh. “I’m sure nothing good.”

  He places his menu on the table. “Do you filter the stuff you say to me?”

  I’m instantly on guard, trapped and more than a little nervous. This has to be one of those trick questions where there’s no right answer. “No. Well yeah. Wait, what are we talking here? Secrets I promised my friends I wouldn’t tell anyone else?”

  He shakes his head. “No, not that kind of stuff. I’m talking stuff about me. Bad habits. Things that drive you nuts. That kind of stuff.”

  Oh no. No, no and no. We are not going there. I’m not touching this conversation with a ten-foot pole. I pretend to give the question consideration before shaking my head. But not too emphatically because that in itself can be a giveaway. “No, not really. You can be a pain in the ass, but you know that already.”

  In the next moment, our waitress, a bubbly Asian girl, sashays up to the table to take our order. We bypass appetizers and go straight for the two entrees; British-styled fish and chips for me, and a ribeye-melt and baked potatoes for Troy.

  The second she leaves, Troy issues the demand, “Ask me.” His gray eyes hold mine captive with the intensity of his gaze.

  I sputter. “Ask you what?”

  “If I filter what I say to you.”

  What is he doing? If I didn’t know better… But I do know better.

  “What if I don’t want to know?”

  When his smile turns sly, holding a hint of danger, I see a side of Troy I’ve only glimpsed over the years. A part of him usually reserved for other girls. Predatory. Seductive.

  “I’m almost positive you’ll want to know.” He sounds supremely confident, and that does something to me. I squeeze my thighs together to prevent the blood rush from making its way to its intended destination. Unfortunately, that doesn’t work.

  “Okay then tell me,” I say bravely.

  “You’re scared to live with me.”

  My eyes flash open wide. “No I’m not.” My reply is automatic. Without thought. And a big fat lie.

  “Yes you are.”

  Did I insinuate his confidence is a turn on? Well there’s confidence and then there’s arrogance. Arrogance is not.

  “Scared? Really?” I put on a show, laughing and rolling my eyes, my fingers flicking in dismissal. “Scared of what?” My tone dares him to say what I think he’s thinking.

  Leaning across the table, he whispers, “That we’ll end up having sex again.”

  I can’t believe he went there. It’s like opening the Pandora’s box of one-night stands. Skirted it, referred to it in oblique terms, but since it happened, we’ve never talked about it. Certainly not like this.

  “I know exactly what you’re doing, and it’s not going to work.” My tone may be firm but my insides are in a state of gelatinous flux.

  “I’m just calling it like I see it. Unfiltered.” He smirks.

  “No, you’re trying that reverse psychology on me.”

  “I thought I was your best friend.”

  I blink. What just happened? Did he change the subject or did I miss something?

  “You are.”

  “A better one than Emily?”

  Ah, I see where he’s going with this. I sigh. “Yes. But that’s—”

  “Then you shouldn’t have a problem with me moving in.”

  God, he’s too good at this. Wearing me down. He likes to pepper too much reason and logic into his arguments and I don’t have a good defense for them. Not if I don’t want to admit to the unvarnished truth, which will in turn give him the upper hand.

  “Your best friend should have first dibs on one of those rooms, or else what are the perks of being your best friend, right?”

  I stubbornly refuse to answer but he persists, lowering his voice and asking, “Do you want me to promise I won’t have sex with you?”

  I jerk my head back so it isn’t occupying the same plane as his. “Excuse me?” He’s really got some nerve!

  “Well that’s what you’re afraid of, isn’t it?”

  Why does he sound so calm when I’m about ready to blow a gasket?

  I take a second to form a levelheaded response. “You make it sound as if us having sex would be solely up to you.” Pompous ass. “And it’s not. In case you’ve forgotten, it takes two to tango and you’ll be relieved” —I want to swipe my hand over my brow but manage to quash the drama queen in me from surfacing— “to know that I don’t want to have sex with you and wouldn’t allow it to happen, so that point is moot.”

  His expression is irritatingly passive, his voice deep and low when he says, “I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I just wanted you to know that you don’t have to worry that I’ll try anything.”

  Ugh. And he calls himself a friend? I can’t even take offense without him being all apologetic and adult about it. Another reason I can’t live with him.

  He must know I’m vacillating like a politician after the primaries because he gives me another nudge. Actually, it’s more a push off the shrinking ledge I’m clinging to. “C’mon, Rosie, it’ll be our last year in college together.”

  That hits me dead in my too-soft, nostalgic heart. A flurry of memories dating back from when we first met at the park up until today play like scenes from a movie in my mind. The sleepovers, the vacations our families took to San Francisco, the Grand Canyon and Barbados; when Troy got his braces, and when I got my first bra; the one and only time we had sex; my stomach clenches at all the bittersweet memories. I feel myself falling, caving. But I’m not happy about it.

  “Fine. Fine,” I mutter, irritated at myself. And him. “You can move in under one condition.”

  He doesn’t hide his smile of triumph. “Hit me.”

  Wouldn’t I love to. “Emily has to agree.”

  He quickly pulls his cell phone from his jean pocket and presents me with a series of texts I note are time-stamped early this morning.

  Troy: Would you have a problem with me living with you and April?

  Emily: I think that would be great! As long as April doesn’t have a problem with it.

  Troy: Great. I’ll square it with April.

  Emily: Great. 

  After I finish reading, I glare at him as he shoves the phone back in his pocket.

  “You’re sneaky.”

  “Not sneaky, resourceful.” His dimples are distractingly prominent against the backdrop of his wide grin. “I’ll have my stuff moved up next weekend.”

  I make a face. I never stood a chance. The odds were stacked against me from the beginning. And did Emily really have to include the exclamation mark and the smiley face. I’m going to have to talk to her.

  “Oh don’t look so smug. Everything is going to be split evenly—including the chores.”

  “What? I don’t mind doing my share.”

  I stare into his eyes. I’m going to be living with Troy. He’ll be sleeping across a small hall from me every night. Suddenly, it’s too much to take in and I need a few minutes to try to figure out if we’re about to make one of the biggest mistakes of our friendship. A mistake big enough to doom it.

  Placing the napkin on the table, I grab my purse. “I’m going to the restroom. I’ll be right back.”

  I—and half the guys in the restaurant—watch April until she disappears around the corner. It’s a good thing I’m not insecure or else being her boyfriend would be an exercise in restraint. I’ve seen guys lose their
ever lovin’ minds over her, something I personally know is too easy to do.

  A jovial, “Troy-man,” draws my attention in the other direction.

  I turn to see three of my teammates, Norris, Thompson and Moose on their way out. When I acknowledge them with a short wave and a smile, they double back to the table and plant themselves in the three empty chairs around me.

  “Almost didn’t see you there,” Thompson says. We exchange fist bumps over the table. Thompson is our first-string linebacker.

  “You here until camp?” Moose asks.

  “Most of it. I’m heading home for a week,” I reply.

  Moose nods. “Same here.” He jerks his chin at the two settings on the table. “New girl?” Yes, everyone knows I’m not seeing Melissa anymore. She’s blabbing to everyone who’ll listen that I’m a cheating rat. I don’t care so much about that, I just don’t like that she brought April into it.

  I glance at Norris, who is watching me closely. “Nah, I’m here with a friend.”

  They all look around and scour the restaurant as I pray April stays gone until they leave.

  “Hey, I saw the video of Runway last night,” Moose says with a suggestive lift of his eyebrows.

  That gets my attention. “What video?”

  Grinning, they exchange slyly amused glances. Cell phone already in hand, Norris clicks a bunch of keys before mine vibrates in my pocket.

  “I sent you the link. Watch it. Your girl’s trending.”

  “Excuse me, guys,” our waitress chirps, a basket of complimentary breadsticks and two glasses of water on a tray balanced in her hand. My teammates immediately remove their elbows from the table. “Are your friends joining you?”

  Norris stands. “Nope. We were just leaving.” He flashes her a flirtatious smile. Our waitress Nancy is pretty and curvy, her long, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail so naturally he can’t help himself.

  “See you around, Ridgefield. When you see Runway, tell her I said hi.” Moose and Thompson chorus Norris’ statement before they head out.