by Lili Valente
“Yes. He did.” Laura pulls out of my grasp and points an accusing finger toward the front of the apartment. “And he did it after I begged him not to mess with my friends. But he went ahead and did it anyway. It was at a Halloween party, when they both ended up sleeping over in Tim Holler’s basement. For Justin, it was just another one-night stand, no big deal, but Miranda had feelings for him. She was so embarrassed to see his stupid face that she refused to set foot in our neighborhood, let alone the house right next door to his.”
“I remember she stopped coming over,” I say, a knot forming in my stomach. “But I didn’t know why.”
“That fucking jerk is why.” Laura paces out of my bedroom and into the living room, crossing to the windows overlooking the street. “Losing friends was one of the major downsides of living next door to a boy-whore who cared more about getting his dick serviced than who he was hurting in the process.” She pauses, wrenching up the window with a sharp jerk before shouting through the screen, “That’s right! Keep walking, asshole! And don’t you fucking look back. Because I swear to God, Justin, I am going to kill you for this.”
“Shut the window.” I hurry around her, pulling the pane down and blocking her attempt to pull it back up again. “Seriously, Laura, stop! Two other teachers from my school live in the building. On the off chance that they haven’t heard all the cussing and shouting coming from this apartment when I’m supposed to be home sick, please put a lid on it!”
Laura’s breath rushes out and a moment later she sinks to the floor beside the window, leaning back against the wall as she looks up at me with a pained expression. “Shit. I’m sorry, Libby.”
“It’s okay,” I say, grateful that the anger storm seems to be abating. “I know you have a temper, La. It’s nothing new.”
“No, I’m not sorry about that,” she says, scowling darkly. “I’m sorry that I let this happen. I knew Justin would be on the rebound, but I never imagined that he would go after you. I thought he had more respect for our family and our friendship than that.” She shakes her head sadly. “But that’s no excuse. I should have paid attention. I should have seen what was happening and protected you.”
I run a hand through my hair. “That’s sweet, Laura, but I don’t need you to protect me. Especially not from Justin.”
“You say that because you don’t know how he is.” She lays her palm flat on her chest. “But I’ve had a front row seat to every single one of his relationships for the past four years. He does the same thing every time, Libby. He breaks up with a girl he’s been serious with for a few months and immediately jumps into bed with the next woman who will hold still long enough for him to get his dick out of his pants.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s not what—”
“All while vehemently protesting that it isn’t a rebound and that he has real feelings for this woman,” Laura barrels on, jabbing her finger into the carpet beneath her for emphasis. “And then, like clockwork, a few weeks later, he breaks it off with the rebound girl, says he’s sick of the drama and is never going to date again, and starts one of those crazy giant afghan projects that takes hundreds of hours to finish. All of this, of course, is to avoid feeling shitty about the end of the relationship he actually did care about, which is never the relationship with the rebound girl. The rebound girl is just Kleenex, Libs, tissue to mop up some of the emotional mess before being thrown away.”
I sink to the floor beside her, sitting cross-legged on the carpet, not enjoying the ugly, stomach-twisting, you’ve-been-played feeling rising inside me. It’s a ridiculous way to feel. I haven’t been played. It isn’t Justin’s fault that I let my heart get involved in what we agreed would be a no-strings relationship. I knew what I was getting into from the start.
Did you really?
You wanted dating and sex advice. You didn’t go into this wanting to kiss Justin, let alone sleep with him. And if you hadn’t slept together, chances are you wouldn’t have suddenly decided that you have romantic feelings for a person you’ve been friends with for over a decade.
I swallow past the lump in my throat and ignore the inner voice. I can’t afford to get upset about this now. If I do, that will be all the confirmation Laura needs that she’s obligated to get revenge on Justin on my behalf, and my sister on the revenge warpath is a scary thing to behold.
“I hear you,” I say gently. “But that’s not what’s going on with Justin and me. I asked him to do this.”
Laura’s auburn brows lift. “You asked him to go out with you? But what about Roger? I thought he was the one you were crazy about.”
“He is,” I say, though I’m not sure that’s the truth anymore. I’m not sure of anything except that I need to get Laura calmed down and headed for work so I can give myself some time to process the events of the past twenty-four hours. “But you know how shy I am around men I like. That’s why I asked Justin for help. We were never dating, we were just…”
“Banging like bunnies?” Laura’s bewildered expression makes it clear she isn’t buying what I’m selling. “But Libby, that’s so not you.”
I hold my hands up, fingers spread wide. “You’re right. It’s not. But I’m tired of being shy, anxious, hasn’t-had-a-date-in-years Libby. I want to be confident and sure of myself, and being with Justin has helped with that. He wasn’t using me. We were using each other.” I shrug as I glance down at my folded legs, remembering what Jus said that first day in the woods when we decided to go for a more hands-on approach to my education. “He even mentioned the rebound problem, and said he was glad we were doing the friends-with-benefits thing so he wouldn’t end up rebounding after the breakup with Sylvia.”
Laura is quiet for so long that I finally look up, meeting her scowl with a stiff smile. “I’m serious, La. That’s what happened. Justin and I made this decision together. Eyes open, heads clear. I’m fine. You don’t need to beat him up, and we can all go back to being friends like we’ve always been. Like he said, we’re all grownups.”
She shakes her head slowly. “And you really believe that?”
“I do,” I say, anger prickling through the other confusing emotions swirling in my chest. I might be inexperienced, but I’m not a fool. Justin didn’t betray me, I betrayed myself by letting my stupid, squishy heart get attached to him in a way I shouldn’t have.
“Okay,” Laura says in a tone that makes it clear it’s not okay at all, “but I saw the way you looked at him while he was running out of here like a coward, Libby. And it wasn’t anything like the way you usually look at him.”
I stretch my neck to one side, rubbing the tight muscles with my fingers. “Yeah, well, I’m not usually worried that you’re going to draw first blood in my bedroom, either,” I say, doing my best to deflect attention from my change of heart where Justin is concerned. “I haven’t seen you that angry in years. I kind of thought you’d outgrown the crazy rage-spiral.”
“Well, I haven’t.” She crosses her arms tightly over her chest. “And it wasn’t a crazy rage-spiral; it was a completely justified rage-spiral. Because I love you and I don’t want to see you get your heart broken.” Her shoulders lift and fall. “And selfishly, I wanted things to stay the way they’ve always been. I wanted to keep being Justin’s friend and not have to hate him for hurting my sister. I don’t like having to choose sides and lose someone who’s important to me.”
“You won’t have to choose sides.” I lay my hand on her knee, giving it a squeeze. “I promise. Even if Justin and I made a mistake and this experiment doesn’t end well, it will be okay. I’ve been friends with him almost half my life, La. We’re going to still be friends when the other stuff is over.”
Though, I really don’t want to think about the other stuff being over, not when I’ve just discovered how beautiful and perfect and right sex can feel. But the cold, hard fact remains that once Justin and I have our “talk” I’ll probably never be with him again. I’m a terrible liar, and I wouldn’t want to lie about this anyway. I
f he asks if I’m having more-than-friends feelings for him, I’m going to tell him the truth. And chances are he’ll tell me that he’s out.
“I hope that’s true,” Laura says softly. “But in my experience, it isn’t easy to go back to being friends after sex enters the picture. Especially if you aren’t the one who decides he would rather not sleep with you anymore.”
“Who decided he would rather not sleep with you?” I tip my head, but Laura refuses to meet my eyes. “Not Henry. I thought you said you broke things off with him after you caught him trying on your underwear.”
Laura snorts. “God, that was a weird morning. Yeah, I definitely called it off with him. I’m not up for sharing my underwear with anyone, male or female. Panties are sacred. They’re the guardians of crotch secrets, you know?”
My lips curve. “That’s how I always think of them—as the guardians of my crotch secrets.”
“Right?” She laughs, but her smile fades as she takes my hand. “No, it was another guy. We’d been friends for a while. Then one night we ended up hooking up at this party. It was…really nice.”
“But…”
“But his life is complicated, and he decided there wasn’t room for me in it, and that was that.” She sighs. “And it’s been weird ever since. Every time I see him, I can’t help but think about how easy it was for him to tell me thanks, but no thanks, and I wonder if maybe I’m the worst lay on the planet. Or maybe I’m just unlikable or untrustworthy or generally not good enough for this very serious, very great guy who I think the world of. And that’s a crappy feeling. And we’re definitely not friends anymore. Not the way we used to be.”
I squeeze her fingers. “You are very likeable, as well as one of the most generous and trustworthy people I know. And I’m sure your vagina is dynamite.”
She wrinkles her nose. “You’re so gross. You know I really and truly hate that word, right? It’s not just something I complain about so we can laugh about it later. It’s like acid is being poured into my ears.”
I grin. “I know. I enjoy making you cringe. It’s a simple pleasure.”
“You’re more sadistic than people give you credit for,” she says, nudging my foot with hers. “There’s a dark soul hidden inside that cute kindergarten-teacher body.”
“Totally dark,” I agree, nudging her back. “But seriously, whoever this guy is, it’s his loss. You’re a great catch and a good person.”
“Thanks.” She presses her lips together, wiggling them back and forth before she adds in a conciliatory tone, “And maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it will be different for you and Justin. Maybe it will be easy to go back to being friends.”
“I hope so,” I say, but the more I think about it, the more I worry that Laura is right.
Am I ever going to be able to look at Justin without thinking about last night and this morning and how incredible it felt to be so connected to him? And not just physically, but emotionally. Making love to him is the most intimate thing that’s ever happened to me, and it’s quickly becoming the most terrifying. I feel so vulnerable, so exposed and defenseless, that by the time I get Laura off to work and settle down to text Justin, I can’t figure out what to say.
I sit huddled under a fleece blanket on the couch, scrolling back through our old messages, rereading the silly poem Justin wrote for me until I have it memorized, my thoughts turning in restless circles. Finally, I drop the phone on the coffee table and jump into the shower, hoping the warm water will clear my head.
But my tender nipples, lightly whisker-burned cheeks, and the soreness between my legs keep reminding me that everything has changed and I have no idea what to do about it. I emerge from the bathroom twenty minutes later as confused as when I went in, and discover a string of text messages from Justin waiting on my phone—
Hey, Brendan called a few minutes ago. Chloe started running a fever at school, her babysitter isn’t available until three, and Brendan is two hours away filming a commercial. So I said I would go pick Chloe up, take her home, and watch movies with her until the sitter gets there this afternoon.
I’ll have to go straight to practice after, but I can come to your place when I’m done. I’d rather not wait until nine o’clock at night to talk, but I don’t want to do this over the phone. I think it’s better if we talk in person.
I’m assuming you’ve got Laura under control by now. I’m sorry you had to deal with that alone. I’ll give her a couple of days to cool off, and then I’ll smooth things over. Once she understands the situation, I’m hoping she won’t want to kill me anymore.
Maybe just maim me a little. Cut off a finger or harvest an organ or something.
Anyway…
I miss you already.
Enjoy your day off, beautiful. Do something fun. I’ll be thinking about you.
The messages send a wave of happy sadness spreading through my chest, mixed with a healthy dose of confusion. My gut says these aren’t the texts of a man who’s planning to break things off with his friend-with-benefits, but my brain cautions that Justin wanting to talk face-to-face doesn’t bode well, and meanwhile, my heart runs around in frantic circles insisting that we should all jump into my car and drive to meet Justin at Brendan’s house right now because an entire day is too long to wait to confess the way we feel.
I haven’t felt this conflicted or confused since the day my mother told me she’d decided it was time to stop homeschooling and for me to join the rest of the kids at our local high school. She’d been happy to be home with me, but she needed to go back to work, and felt that the public school would do a better job of preparing me for college.
I’d been terrified, but excited. Eager to expand my social circle to people outside the group of friends who lived on our street, and simultaneously certain that I would never fit in with normal kids who hadn’t been born with a stutter, higher than average anxiety levels, and a tendency to babble inanely when they were nervous. The only thing that kept me from having a panic attack the first day was that I got to ride to CHS in Justin’s car, with my big sister and my friend in the front seat. By that point, Justin and I had been crochet buddies for years and he felt almost like family. Knowing that at least two people at my new school loved me and believed I could handle freshman year had made all the difference.
Looking back on the past decade-plus of friendship, Justin has been there for me more times than I can count. And I’ve done the same for him. When he was in meltdown mode his rookie season, it wasn’t Laura he turned to for help, it was me. Because we’ve always had a special connection, a quiet, solid friendship that isn’t as flashy or flamboyant as his wild weekends with my sister and their mutual friends, but is every bit as real. He is one of the touchstones in my life, a person I’ve always known I could trust to have my back and to give it to me straight when I need real advice, not meaningless platitudes.
And now I’ve put that at risk. Put us at risk.
How did I ever think this was a good idea? How stupid was I to fool myself into thinking that having sex wasn’t going to change things between us forever?
Even a dumb virgin should have known better, but I didn’t, and now I feel so lost. I can’t talk to Laura, that’s for damned sure, and I can’t talk to Justin, either, at least not until I untangle all the things I’m feeling. And that isn’t going to happen by nine o’clock tonight.
Finally certain about something, I text back—I’ll be thinking about you, too, but I can’t talk tonight. Or tomorrow really. I have to get up early to volunteer at the animal shelter, and then I’ve got lesson plans to put together for next week.
I think we should wait and talk after the game tomorrow night. Just seems like better timing.
Better timing for getting my heart torn into a hundred soggy, sad little pieces.
As if there’s ever going to be a good time for that. But at least Justin won’t be distracted by my messy emotions while he’s trying to focus on the game. I know him. If he has to hurt me, it’s going to hurt
him, and no amount of meditation will be able to get him back on track if he’s lost a friend less than twenty-four hours before hitting the ice.
And it will be a friendship lost, I’m afraid. I don’t see a way back to where we were from here. I can’t imagine being in the same room with Justin and not wanting to touch him, kiss him, or see him smile in that way that I know is just for me.
Maybe I can get out practice. The message pops up on my screen, followed quickly by, Shit, no, I can’t. Coach is shuffling the lines. I need to be there.
I text back, It’s okay. Tomorrow night is good. That way you can focus on the game and we can take our time talking things through after.
All right. But remember your promise. If I don’t see some quality Sext Goddess action on my phone after the game, I’ll know who’s to blame for the break in the Badgers winning streak.
I nibble my lip, not sure I’ll be able to work my sexting magic while I’m this uncertain about what the future holds for Justin and me, but nevertheless I type, The Sext Goddess will be on her best—or rather, worst—behavior. And you’re not going to lose. Think positive thoughts.
You, too. And think some thoughts about my cock while you’re at it. He’s going to miss you tonight…
“I’ll miss him, too,” I whisper aloud, my cozy apartment feeling cold and empty for the first time since I moved in right out of college.
I’ve always been the kind of person who thrives on solitude—I need it to focus, recharge, and get ready to tackle the world outside my door—but right now I would happily handcuff myself to Justin and throw away the key if there were any way to make a conjoined lifestyle work. If the school didn’t frown on bringing significant others to work, or if I could skate half as well as I ski.
Which is as much reason as any to take at least a day to think about what’s going on here. I don’t want to become one of those people who can’t function without her boyfriend around, especially considering Justin isn’t my boyfriend and might not even be my fuck buddy for much longer.
