by Haley Jenner
Denial. Nice.
“Oh, I know what I saw. What I see. A very fucking convincing actress. Most cheaters are though.”
Picking up the first thing she sees, a hardcover discarded on the kitchen counter, she throws it at me without hesitation. “Fuck you.”
“Fuck me?” I duck, listening to the loud thud as it rebounds off the wall and onto the ground. “No thanks. Been there. Done that. Should’ve heeded my own warning. You’re fucking crazy.”
She grabs a cushion next, but she doesn’t throw it, she moves forward with intent, hitting me with the oversized pillow. “Fuck. You.” Whack. I push the soft fabric away, but she swings again. “Fuck you for thinking so little of me.” Whack. “Fuck you for being an asshole.” Whack, whack, whack. “Just… fuck you,” she screams, the cushion hitting me in the face as she finally throws it.
“I didn’t let him fuck me, he didn’t come within five feet of me the entire time, you piece of shit…” She stutters around her words, tears and fury blurring into a tornado of emotion. “Fu-ck you for thinking I would do that.”
I swallow, breathing heavily through my nose as she yells.
“I didn’t want to cause a scene. I didn’t want to involve everyone else in my petty shit. I took him away to tell him to leave,” she implores.
Shame and guilt crawl across my skin, cooling the fire of my accusations in ice. “You didn’t fuck him?”
She turns away from me, kicking the sofa in frustration. “Of course I didn’t fuck him, Luca. What kind of asshole do you take me for? I threatened him. Told him if he didn’t leave me alone I’d tell his wife, his kids. But thank you for thinking so highly of me.”
My eyes close over in regret, hand massaging my jaw roughly. I can’t lie. As shitty as I feel right in this moment, sweet fucking relief courses through me like a rapid.
I step forward. She steps back. I take two steps. She backs up three. My legs are longer though, and while she scurries back with every stride of mine, it takes her to the door. Back flush with the wood, front crushed against mine.
“Don’t,” she warns.
My kiss is bruising. The rough apology seeping out in desperation. She pushes me away, but I claw closer, needing her to feel my apology.
Her lips concede for a split second, a needy whimper echoing the slow slide of her tongue against mine.
But as quickly as her submission comes, it’s gone, replaced with the bleeding betrayal I put between us.
“Stop,” she cries, pushing at my chest.
Stepping back reluctantly, I plead with my eyes for her to see reason, to read how fucking sorry I am. She refuses to see it though, head bent down.
“I’m gonna stay at my parents’ place tonight, would appreciate if you weren’t here in the morning when I come to get my things.”
“Frankie,” I whisper. “Please. Look at me. I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. You make me lose all sense of rational thought.”
Steeling her spine, she lifts her head, eyes shaded with detachment. “It’s cool, Luca. This was always temporary. It’s for the best.”
She’s out the door before I can stop her and my foot connects with the solid frame she only seconds ago disappeared through on repeat, only my self-contempt for company.
Even Griff burrows his face away from me on the couch, his disgust in my behavior as strong as Frankie’s.
What a fucking clusterfuck.
I check my watch again, a minute later than when I checked last time. Fuck it’s past eleven, where is she? She knows I go to work near nine, she should’ve been back by now.
I consider calling her sister, but disregard it as soon as the thought pops into my head. I don’t wanna worry Darci. I know Frankie wouldn’t want me worrying Darci.
My knee bounces with agitation. I get up. Sit back down. I check my cell for any missed calls or texts. I turn the TV on. Then off again.
The door sounds like a gunshot when the handle twists and I jump off the couch like I’ve been burned.
Head ducked as she walks through the door, she startles when she sees me.
“Luca.” She glances around awkwardly. “I… umm…. You’re supposed to be at work.”
“Hear me out.” I trip over the coffee table in my haste to get closer, hissing out a train of expletives in my wake.
“I…” She begins to argue.
“I know I don’t deserve it,” I insist, hands pushed together in silent prayer. “But… I… please,” I beg.
Her gaze moves over the mess of our kitchen, and I move with her eyes. “I made you breakfast. Waffles, pancakes, bacon, eggs… I was just gonna make your cereal, even though it’s just mainly milk, just didn’t seem like enough of an effort.”
My words fall out in a jumble, and she watches my humiliation in silence, sliding onto the first stool as the breakfast bar.
I sigh in relief. “Coffee,” I offer, pouring her a mug and sliding it toward her.
She takes it, certain not to let her hand touch mine and I hate that. Despise that she feels the need to protect herself against me.
“Three things,” I start and her dark brows pull together in confusion. “Three things,” I continue. “That are good about my life right now.”
Her hands fall into her lap, focus trained on me.
“Griff. He’s my bud.” I nod at my own words. “I like that he’s always around. It’s the first time I can remember in my life where I haven’t ever had to come home to an empty house. It’s nice. I don’t feel alone. I like that.”
She blinks away her animosity, face softening as she takes in my words.
“The sex. Fuck, Frankie, that makes me sound like an asshole right now bringing that up. But it’s true. It’s better than I’ve ever had it. I want more of it.”
Her reaction to that declaration is indecipherable, her face a mask of cool indifference and I hate that I can’t read whether I’ve pissed her off.
“More than any of that though,” I pause, waiting for her midnight eyes to hit mine. “I like you. A lot. Sex aside, you’ve become important to me. You’re my friend. One of the best I have, and I don’t say that lightly. Only ever trusted a few people in here,” I point at my heart. “Two of them abused that, so I guard myself as much as I can. But you’re here, like you to stay there too.”
Inky eyelashes kiss the top of her cheeks, gaze tipped downward. Picking up a pancake, she takes a sizable bite, chewing slowly.
“I’m sorry for throwing what I did at you last night,” I add. “My issues, not yours. This,” I tap my temple, “got the better of me, and I started concocting stories in my head. I know you’re good people, Francesca. I know that your heart is kind and genuine. I’m sorry for letting you think I would think any different.”
Finishing her pancake, she picks up a second, breaking a bit off to stuff into her mouth. “Apology accepted,” she offers, finishing her mouthful. “But if you ever speak to me like that again, our friendship is done.”
I can’t stop my smile creeping along my face. “Won’t happen again.”
She returns the gesture. “Only reason you’re forgiven is because I would’a gone off the deep end too… situation reversed. Also, these pancakes are ridic. You’ve been holding out on me, Thor.”
I stand upright, feeling accomplished. “Called in to take us both off the schedule today, was thinking if you’re up to it, we could go for a ride. Show you Washington State on the back of a bike.”
The two dimples that send me to madness appear in her cheeks, lighting up her eyes. “I’d like that.”
Chapter Thirteen
Frankie
Weeks have passed, and Luca and I slid effortlessly back into the arrangement we’d both convinced ourselves was harmless fun. Only now we spend more time together. He writes the schedule to ensure we work the same shifts, therefore guaranteeing us more time off together.
If we’re not at work, together. We’re at home, together. We’re out, together.
<
br /> I live in a comfortable state of denial, telling myself we’re nothing more than friends.
You’ve become important to me. Same, Luca, same.
You’re my friend. One of the best I have. And he likes me in his heart. I’m still not entirely sure I’m not dead, having drifted into a dreamland where Luca St. Kelly declared us best friends.
I’m not even sad about being friend zoned in that way. Because it’s not your typical friend zone. For starters, we fuck. A lot. He’s insatiable. He’s dirty. He’s as delicious as he looks on the outside.
Also, he didn’t say friends, he said one of his best. There’s a difference.
Best friends you can’t survive without.
Best friends are more often than not, your most favorite people in the world.
I’ll take that.
“Yo, Luca.” Toby breaks into my thoughts. “Please tell me Frankie snores or somethin’. Her perfection is now starting to shit me. I need a flaw, just one, to convince me she’s real, not just a femmebot sent here to destroy us all.”
We’re at a karaoke bar in Bellevue for Willow’s birthday. It’s late. Too many drinks have been consumed.
Luca glances at me briefly, his ice-cold eyes thawing, ever so slightly, as he rests upon my face. “No snoring.” He shakes his head, eyes latching onto mine, refusing to let go. “She sleeps like the dead, wakes like it too. More walking dead than beauty queen.”
I roll my eyes at his good-natured stab, scowling at Darci’s knowing giggle.
“Morning. Got it. I’ll drop ‘round, Frank. See you in all your horrid glory and this innocent infatuation I have will be dead in the water,” Toby teases, arm slung over Willow’s shoulder in familiar affection.
“That won’t help you,” Luca cuts off my laughter, eyes still boring into my face. “It’ll have the opposite effect, you’ll fall deeper.”
Quiet descends over our tables as Luca seems to forget where we are, who we’re with. He’s so used to us being alone, in our own secret bubble that he’s let his guard down. His body language communicates as much, lost in his thoughts, making my neck itch with his heavy attention.
“Frankie’s beautiful, we all know that, but in the morning, she’s somethin’ else. That thick dark hair is a mess of warring directions, mused to make it look twice as big and chaotic, dwarfing her sleep-creased face. Her black eyes are lazy with sleep, hidden under heavy lids, so every time she looks at you, her stare is sultry. She’s quiet, doesn’t speak until after her shower, so she moves around the space offering only drowsy smiles and soft touches as she maneuvers around you.”
I swallow deeply, hypnotized by his words, wanting to break the connection he’s forcing at this moment, but unable to. Or maybe unwilling. They seem one in the same.
“She makes herself coffee and cereal and nestles into the corner of the couch, as far as she can go, cereal rested in her lap, coffee on the armrest. Her hand finds comfort tucked into the waistband of her sleep shorts, and it stays there the entire time she juggles her breakfast.”
He sighs, eyes now like fire. “Finally, she gets up, leaves her used dishes on the couch and moves to the bathroom. All without a word, without a single glance into the Frankie we all know.”
He watches me for a pause in his story, long enough to move his glass to his lips and take a heavy swallow. Placing his glass back onto the table carefully, he turns it round and round on the stained wood.
“Then this Frankie appears, like magic, impeccable in her appearance and more energy than you considered possible in one person. While you welcome this outgoing and perfected version, you miss the alternative and your mind wrestles with which one you prefer; exuberant and full of life or disheveled and still half asleep.”
I don’t think I’ve blinked. Not once in the entire time he spoke. My eyes sting with the effort to keep them open, or maybe the need to stop the tears currently forming to spill over.
“So which is it?” Toby tests, his voice startling Luca from his trance, making him sit up straighter, become more aware of his surroundings.
“Hmmm?” He coughs out awkwardly, pulling his gaze from mine.
“Which version?” Toby clarifies. “Exuberant or disheveled?”
He stares at Toby, unwilling to speak, eyes boring into our friend’s face with the irritation of pushing him further.
“The disheveled version,” Archer responds for him, glancing between Luca and me before dropping his eyes to Belle. “His preference is the disheveled version. It’s the most real version of her, so he prefers that.”
He looks to Luca then, Annabelle still tucked tightly into his body. “But more importantly, he prefers the disheveled version because it’s the part of Frankie only he gets. He doesn’t have to share that part of her with anyone else. In those moments, she’s his. Only his.”
Eyes widening in shock, my stare immediately darts to Luca, who meets my stare for only a moment before looking away, his teeth gnawing at his lip in nervous irritation.
Clearing his throat, he looks to the table once again, the ice of his glare firmly back in place. “Yo, Hippy, you gotta smoke?”
Toby grumbles under his breath, shaking his head. “I’ve quit.”
“Anyone?” he throws out irritably, waiting impatiently.
He’s met with only shakes of the head and whispered no’s. “Be back,” he rasps, turning without another word and beelining straight for the bar.
I watch his retreat with curiosity. That’s the most he’s ever spoken about his feelings for me. Something other than the addictive attraction we both seem to share.
He orders a drink, tipping two shots back in quick succession, the tension in his shoulders visible through the white material for his shirt.
Turning back to our friends, they all look away quickly, the obvious movements both irritating and hilarious. Archer is the only one that doesn’t redirect his eyes, winking in delight as he tips his drink back to drain the contents.
Two hours later and I’m still a little shaken by Luca’s words. The genuine feeling behind them and what that means for us.
“We’ll pick out of a hat,” Darci suggests. “That way it’s all by chance.”
Ripping coasters into parts, I hand the girls each a torn slip as Darci searches her handbag for a pen.
“Hat,” I demand from Jake, hand outstretched.
Pulling it from his head, he readjusts his hair, bringing it over his brow, only to push it back from his face once again.
Throwing our names into the hat, Toby snickers. “It’s like we’re swingers.”
Archer sighs heavily in annoyance. At being made to participate or at Toby’s ridiculous comment, I don’t know. Still, it’s amusing watching him brood.
Annabelle rolls her eyes at her husband, scowling in his direction, but he ignores her glare, nabbing her chin between his index finger and thumb to drag her mouth to his. I watch their exchange, a stab of unfiltered jealousy coursing through my veins at their show of intimacy, of their unrealized act of possession. They belong to one another. Without a sliver of doubt and they’re happy for the whole world to know. It’s them and only them, the rest of us are just bystanders to their love story. I envy them of that. Their complete devotion to one another. The ease in which they declare their love.
“Ready when you are, Crazy Girl.” Luca nudges my shoulder, his face twisted in hostility as he glances from the two people sucking face, to me.
Clearing my throat to mask my embarrassment at being caught, I sit up straighter, refusing to look toward Annabelle and Archer again.
“I’m going first,” Bennett almost squeals, making us all turn to him, eyebrows furrowed in a what the fuck look.
Glancing to Aubrey, then away again immediately, he shrugs. “Just wanna choose first.”
“Oh, hell no. You think if you go first, you have a better chance of NOT picking me. This really needs to stop, Bennett. Seriously. It. Wasn’t. That. Bad.” Aubrey crosses her arms over her chest, fal
ling back into her chair in exaggerated annoyance.
“It was,” the rest of the gang all chant back in unison and my smile peeks at my lips.
Hand moving around the hat, Bennett waggles his eyebrows, victory already dancing in his eyes. Pulling the slip of torn paper from Jake’s hat, he reads the name blankly. He doesn’t speak, only continues to stare for a long drawn out minute.
Finally, Aubrey claps, her laughter ringing out through the bar. “It backfired, didn’t it, fucker? You picked me?”
Flicking the paper at her, she catches it triumphantly, her smile mocking a sulking Bennett.
Luca reaches across, his large hand pushing the hat downward as he grabs the first slip of paper he comes across. Unfolding it, he laughs, his eyes closed in amusement before opening and settling on Annabelle. “Sweetness.” He tips his head and she leans forward offering him a high five.
Sweetness. The affection in the term bristles at my pride and my fists clench involuntarily in my lap.
The hostility radiating from Archer is palpable, encasing all of us. “I’m with Frankie,” he suddenly declares, his eyes never moving from Luca’s.
Luca’s nostrils flare, his shoulder inching back as he straightens himself in his chair. “Doesn’t work that way.”
Archer ignores his bubbling anger. “I’m. With. Frankie.”
Luca takes a breath to speak, but placing a hand on his forearm, I stop him. “Sounds good. Toby, you’re up.” I move the hat in his direction.
I feel Luca’s glare at my profile, shooting daggers into my skin and I turn slightly, meeting his eyes. The look of disgust clouding his face shocks me, but before I can speak, he shakes his head, dismissing me before downing the rest of his drink and standing to move toward the bar. Again.
“Darci, babe, it’s you and me. Let’s sing a love song and make Bennett jealous.”
Darci giggles nervously and I don’t have to look her way to know her cheeks are pink, her hands fiddling with her glasses. You think being married to Bennett James, you’d be a little more limber in your coyness. Not Darci though, she’s still as shy as all shit.
