Always Been You

by Beverley Kendall

  Vaguely insulted, I frown at him. “Colin, we haven’t been broken up for a week.”

  He gestures at me. “You’re single,” he says as if that explains everything.

  “No, this is about Troy. You think something was—is going on between us. And you think that he and I hooked up the second we broke up.”

  “He’s the reason we broke up,” Colin bites out, his voice gravelly as if he’s gritting his teeth.

  “He is not the reason we broke up,” I hotly deny while keeping my voice low. “We broke up because I couldn’t give you a date, and you didn’t want to wait.” Yes, it was more than that, but my reluctance to have sex with him was the tipping point.

  “If Ridgefield wasn’t in the picture, we’d still be together,” he states adamantly.

  I sigh heavily. Wearily. “He’s my best—”

  “Yeah, I know,” he cuts in bitterly. “He’s your best friend. I got the memo a thousand times.”

  “Apparently, you didn’t or you still wouldn’t be harping on it.” When someone gets testy with me, I have a tendency to snap back.

  His gaze narrows and he replies crossly, “I hate to break this to you but guys don’t want to be just friends with girls who look like you. I don’t care what the guy says or how convincing he sounds, if he’s telling you that, he’s feeding you a crock of shit.”

  “Yeah, well not every guy is only looking to get into my pants.”

  He concedes with a nod. “Not all, but most.”

  My hip juts to the left as I stare at him hard. “Is that all you were interested in?”

  He lets out a humorless laugh. “If that were the case, I’d have broken it off after the first month.”

  And I believe him. He hadn’t just been after a booty call. “Even if that’s what the guy is after, it doesn’t mean he’s going to get it from me. Remember, it takes two to tango.”

  “So you’re not interested in Ridgefield at all?”

  Without any hesitancy, I shake my head. “I am not interested in Troy.” Lie, lie, lie. But a very necessary one. “We’re just friends.” That part is true. If I admit to having an interest in Troy, Colin will think I lied during the entire time we were going out. Worse than that, he’ll probably think I cheated on him, which is so far from the truth, it’s not even funny. Short of sleeping with him, I did everything I could think to make our relationship work.

  “Nothing is going on between us now and nothing was going on between us when you and I were together. I hope you believe that.” And that is the last time I’m going to repeat that. If my ex doesn’t believe me now, I’m shouting into the wind during a hurricane.

  It takes him a few seconds to respond and when he does, it comes in the form of a thin smile. “Okay.”

  Okay is good. It’s better than, You’re a fucking liar. I see the way you look at him.

  “Good. I guess I better get going. My exam is in less than an hour.”

  “Cool. Hopefully I’ll see you around.”

  “Yeah. Bye,” I say with a friendly smile. Not only do I think he believes me about me and Troy, but I’m so glad we’re able to part on good terms. That Troy is moving in with us? That’s something he doesn’t have to know any time soon.

  ***

  I text Troy as soon as I turn in my final. He texts me back right away to let me know he’s on his way and that he’ll pick me up in front of the arts and communication building.

  When I step outside, the sun is struggling to see its way through the clouds. The ground is wet and puddles scatter the parking lot but at least it finally stopped raining.

  “April.”

  I start violently at the sound of Colin’s voice. My head jerks to where he’s standing several feet to my left.

  “Colin.” I try not to sound as disconcerted as I am. When he said he hoped to see me later, I hadn’t thought it would be less than three hours later. “Long time no see,” I joke, laughing nervously. This can’t be a coincidence and his timing couldn’t be worse. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Troy’s car pull up.

  Crap crap crap.

  He tips his chin at the communications building behind us. “I was meeting with my Media Ethics professor about the project that’s due tomorrow.”

  I don’t remember him having any classes in the communications quad. But I could be wrong and this could be a huge coincidence. I mean what are the chances?

  The light beep of a car horn directs our attention to where Troy is waiting for me by the curb. The purr of his car engine sounds as impatient as I know he probably already is.

  Even if Colin didn’t know Troy’s car, we’re standing close enough to it for him to recognize the driver.

  I force a smile when he directs his attention back to me. “My car’s in the shop so Troy’s my ride home.”

  Why why why? After everything I told him earlier, this doesn’t look good. Wait, I don’t have anything to feel guilty about. First, we’re not together anymore. Second, as I’ve told Colin countless times, Troy is my friend. This is the kind of thing a friend would do for the other.

  Colin doesn’t say anything, he simply stares at me and that’s enough to raise my defenses high.

  “He’s my friend and he’s doing me a favor by giving me a ride home. It’s nothing more than that.” Not that I owe him any explanations. But I can’t ignore the pinpricks of guilt. The knowledge that regardless of how hard I tried, I’d shortchanged him by going out with him when I was still hung up on Troy.

  But what’s my other option? Don’t date? Don’t try to move on? It’ll happen. It’s just a matter of time.

  “I get it, April. Ridgefield is part of the package,” he says grimly.

  “The same way Liv, Rebecca and Emily are,” I add to put things into prospective.

  My cell beeps with an incoming message at the same time Troy taps the horn again.

  I glance down at my phone. Troy’s text fairly bristles at me.

  Any time this year.

  The fact that he doesn’t mention my ex says more than if he had. I look up at Colin. “I’ve gotta go. Bye.”

  “Right. See ya,” he says, his mouth flashing a brief smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

  In the car, I buckle up before turning to Troy. “Thanks. This is better than Uber.” I’ve never used Uber but I’m determined to set the mood, and said mood is going to be the antithesis of the dark, gray clouds of his eyes and the tight clench of his jaw.

  Troy doesn’t smile “What did he want?” he asks tersely.

  “Nothing. We just ran into each other.”

  After a pause, Troy pulls away from the curb and heads out of the parking lot. “He wants you back,” he states stiffly without looking at me.

  I laugh thinking about what Colin just said to me. “He knows we’re a package deal.”

  Troy shoots me a glance, eyebrow raised.

  “That’s what he said. He knows we’re a package deal. The same way I’d never give up any of my other friends just because he doesn’t like or get along with them.”

  A scowl settles on his face. And here I thought that would make him feel better. I guess not.

  I sigh. “And you’re going to have to stop thinking every guy I go out with isn’t good enough for me. I need you to get along with them or…”

  “Or else…what?” Troy asks in a way that sounds faintly challenging. As if he’s daring me to say what I couldn’t bring myself to say.

  It’s not easy, but I finally put it out there. The truth. “Or I’m afraid it’ll be hard for us to maintain a friendship. And that’s the last thing I want.”

  At first I don’t think he’ll respond. That’s how he gets sometimes, silent when he doesn’t like the way the conversation is going. Then the corner of his mouth lifts in a lopsided smile. “One day I will.”

  “One day you will what?”

  “Get along with one of your boyfriends. The guy you end up with,” he goes so far as to say.

  I narrow my eyes at him. “H
ow could you possibly know that?”

  “Because I know you. You’ll want my stamp of approval.”

  Amusingly dumbfounded, I slap him lightly on his arm. “You have some ego on you.”

  He lets out a short laugh. “It’s the same way I won’t get serious with a girl unless she has your stamp of approval. It works both ways, so no ego involved.”

  My stamp of approval? I’m not sure such a stamp exists. At least not for any future girlfriends of his. I’ll just do what I’ve always done, temper the green beast inside me and be the well-mannered person my mother taught her children to be. My mom was born with that Southern gentility gene. Appearances are everything.

  But it pleases me that my opinion means that much to him. If I can’t have him, at least I can make sure he doesn’t marry a bitch. And since I know he’s destined for great things, that means a gold-digging bitch.

  “When you put it that way, we may never get married.”

  He shoots me a skeptical glance.

  “I’m serious. Your girlfriends are becoming more psychotic by the day.”

  He smiles but doesn’t deny it. “We should make a pact. If neither of us are married when we’re—”

  This is not a marriage proposal by any stretch of the imagination but my traitorous heart still leaps at the implication. I do my best to ignore it and cut him off before he can complete the sentence. “Oh God. That’s so clichéd.”

  “What’s clichéd?” He really looks puzzled that I had seen the large-as-life train coming at me with his remark.

  “You know, the whole if we’re both single at a certain age, we’ll marry each other.”

  He glances over at me, his brow raised in what looks like genuine surprise. “I wasn’t going to say that.”

  “Oh.” Okay, so this isn’t embarrassing. But the rush of heat flooding my face says the exact opposite.

  “I was going to say that we should set each other up.”

  “You mean play matchmaker to—” I wave a hand between us “—each other?” Incredulity edges my voice. The hurt and disappointment I keep a much tighter check on.

  Yep, that sounds like a stellar idea.

  Not.

  So not.

  He shrugs. “Makes sense don’t you think? That way we’d be getting someone we both approve of.”

  The thought is laughable, me trying to help him find his true love. “How about we just accept whoever the other is in a relationship with if it comes to that?”

  “What about my psychotic girlfriends? Who’s going to save me from them?” he asks, his tone faux aggrieved.

  “If those are the kind of women you’re still dating, then you deserve each other.”

  He chuckles as he pulls into the parking space of our apartment building. “Like I said, I’ll end up with someone you get along with. You’ll probably have a lot in common with her.”

  Suspicious, I eye him narrowly, looking for what? I don’t know. But again, he’s the picture of guilelessness. No subterfuge, no artifice in his passive expression. Since it’s safer not to respond, I don’t.

  “So you’re not going to tell me what Johnson wanted?” he asks, making no move to get out of the car after turning off the engine.

  I think of not answering but Troy is so persistent, sometimes it’s better for me to just cave and tell him something.

  “He asked me if I was seeing anyone.”

  His expression hardens in irritation. “Why is that any of his business?”

  “This from the same guy who’s asking about my personal conversation with him, huh?”

  “I’m your best friend, he’s your ex,” he states it as if that should explain why he’s entitled to probe into my personal conversation with another guy.

  My hand goes to the door handle and pulls. It’s locked.

  Oblivious to the fact that the central lock must be on, Troy says, “You should have told him you were.”

  “A week after we broke up? Yeah, that’ll look good on me.”

  “What?” He looks at me as if he can’t understand my reaction. “Is there a timeframe you have to abide by? No one died and you’re not in mourning. You broke up with a guy you went out with for three months.” Big fuckin’ deal. Those words go unspoken but I can tell he’s thinking them.

  “So I should be dating?”

  He shrugs. “Why not?”

  I let that marinate for a few moments. “Have you gone out with anyone since you and psycho broke up?”

  Chuckling softly, he shakes his head. “No. But if I wanted to, some society-approved waiting period wouldn’t stop me.”

  “Yeah, you never let grass grow under your feet that’s for sure.” The lightness of my tone belies how that still grates on my nerves.

  Two weeks after we’d slept together, he’d been going out with Katie Beldon. Probably screwing her not long after their first date. It had taken me over a year to have sex with someone else. Obviously my getting back on the horse skills are in dire need of help.

  He looks at me curiously. “Are you talking about anyone in particular?”

  “Katie. Allie.” I don’t mean for it to come out quite as curt as it does.

  “Don’t you think how quickly some people move on from a relationship has a lot to do with the relationship itself? When I broke it off with them, the relationship had already been over for a while. I just made it official.”

  I’m not sure why he’s telling me this, and I don’t want him to elaborate. This conversation is drifting into dangerous territory. Territory where I’m not prepared to go. I just know he came to me after he broke up with both, and used me as his sexual crutch. I’m his best friend and of the two, I’m only emotionally equipped for the role of the latter.

  I pull on the door handle again. “Come on, let me out.”

  Troy immediately hits the button on his left.

  “You know what, you might be right. I shouldn’t restrict myself like that,” I say as I open the car door and get out.

  Troy pauses and looks at me over the roof of the car. “Seems like you already have someone in mind.” He’s not particularly subtle about his fishing expedition.

  I flash him a smile. “Maybe.” I refuse to give him more than that. No matter how hard he pushes.

  He circles the car and we head to the entrance of the apartment. “Anyone I know?” His voice is casual. Uncharacteristically so.

  I shoot him a sideway glance as we approach the double glass doors. “I didn’t say there was a guy. And even if there were, you wouldn’t like him anyway.”

  For a second, he looks like he’s about to say something. But because he knows it’s the truth, Troy does the smart thing and keeps his mouth shut.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Three days after the last day of finals, I’m all moved in.

  Despite the fact that not much has been changed—same living room furniture, same kitchen—when I look around at it now, things look different. I guess I’m seeing it through new eyes.

  For the next year, I’ll be sleeping across the hall from the girl I’ve been in love with on and off most of my life. If there’s one thing I can guarantee, things between us are going to change.

  Fuck taking the safe and easy route.

  Fuck not wanting to rock the boat.

  Fuck fearing rejection.

  I’m going to give it my all, and may the chips fall where they may. If our friendship is as strong as I think it is, it’ll be able to weather this if things don’t work out like I hope. All I know is that I’ll regret it if I don’t at least try.

  “About your chair…” April gives the olive armchair in the hall a sympathetic look and shakes her head. “It doesn’t fit in with—” she clears her throat “—the décor.”

  “Sure it does.” I’m petitioning to get my favorite chair moved into the living room. Save everything in my bedroom, it’s the only other piece of furniture I owned in my old apartment.

  The look she shoots me says, Be serious.


  “I don’t have enough room in my room for it.” My king-sized bed takes up a good chunk of the square footage in there.

  She drums her fingers lightly on her cheek and appears to ponder it. “Why don’t you just leave it with Zach then?”

  That’s her solution? “Because it’s mine and I want it.”

  April scrunches up her nose. “The color’s all wrong. Plus there’s not enough room,” she insists, her voice bordering on a whine.

  I’m all about finding solutions so I ignore the slight. “What about over there?” I point to the area near the sliding glass doors that leads to the balcony. “All we need to do is move the table to the left and we’ll have plenty of room.” In truth, the living room is the largest room in the apartment.

  April crosses her arms, pushing her breasts up. My concentration takes a hit and I do my best not to let my gaze drop but that’s impossible. The t-shirt she’s wearing is red, snug and thin, her shorts bare long, gorgeous legs. To say I like what I see is an understatement to end all understatements. My dick’s been twitching all day and it’s only by sheer will and self-control that I’m not sporting a hard-on.

  “It’ll make things too tight,” she says.

  I bite the inside of my cheek to hold back the response that leaps to the tip of my tongue.

  Tight is good.

  Be good, I warn myself. There’s still enough time for her to call the whole thing off.

  “C’mon, April…”

  She heaves a sigh, studying the chair as if the sight of it pains her. “I guess I could make a slipcover that would help it to blend in more.”

  A slipcover? What the fuck? I glance at her sideways.

  “It’s either that or it’ll have to go in your room,” she says, a stubborn tilt to her chin.

  I could fight her on this—and probably win the battle—but in the scheme of things, this isn’t worth a skirmish.

  “Fine.” It’s a grudging acquiescence, and then I waste no time claiming the spot as April hovers over me, making sure the chair is angled correctly. Who knew a couple degrees matter so much but apparently it’s critical. Must have missed that furniture placement course.