Friends With Partial Benefits (Friends With… Benefits Series (Book 1))

by Luke Young

  James arrived with a bag full of Chinese food and carrying a soft briefcase. She was surprised with the change of plans but was a fan of Chinese, so she didn’t object. She brought out some plates, and they ate in the dining room. As she spooned out the food, James pulled three books from his bag and set them on the chair next to him. Jillian couldn’t see the titles of the books, but she poured them each a glass of wine without asking about them. She figured he’d talk about the books when he was ready. They talked about the usual stuff, and she forgot all about the books until she returned to the table after clearing the plates and found he had the titles arranged neatly in front of him.

  She could see the spines of each book, and she read the titles of the first two in horror. They were all relationship books. One was How to Strengthen Your Relationship, another was Relationship Secrets, and she didn’t bother reading the third. James looked at her as he held his folded hands over the books. “Where do you want to do this?”

  “Do what?” she asked, confused.

  “Work on our relationship,” he said in a tone that implied she should have known.

  Jillian wondered exactly what relationship was he referring to. We’ve been on two dates and this thing tonight, whatever the hell this is.

  He watched her carefully. “Here or on the sofa?”

  “Sofa.” She filled her wine glass to the top and slowly walked into the great room and sat down. James sat next to her—right next to her—and placed two books by his leg. He opened the third to a page he had marked with a Post-it note.

  She took a long sip of her wine. “What do you think we need to work on?”

  He looked like a crazed druggie as he stared at her and blurted, “I think all relationships need work. Don’t you agree?”

  “Well, yes. I guess,” she replied.

  She sat speechless, drinking wine as he proceeded to go through the pages marked with Post-its. After five pages, she refilled her glass, and after five more, she brought the bottle over. By the time they had finished the bottle, James had reviewed what seemed like forty pages of lists, charts, and relationship secrets. She desperately wanted to strangle him. Alternatively, she hoped for a house fire, so she wouldn’t have to get her hands dirty. While he droned on, she resorted to thinking about how she’d like to remodel the room. During his presentation, when he looked to her for confirmation, she politely nodded and said, “Uh, huh” at the appropriate intervals.

  After two more grueling pages, she checked the time, feeling like they had been going at it for at least an hour, but they were only about thirty minutes in at that point. When he picked up the second book, and she saw what looked to be about a hundred Post-it- marked pages, she stood. “I’ll be right back. I have to go to the bathroom.”

  She stayed in the bathroom, which was just off the hallway between the great room and the kitchen, for about five minutes. She came up with a plan and flushed three times. She returned to him, clutching her stomach, but he was glued to book number two and didn’t notice. As James began to review the highlights of the first page, he glanced over at Jillian and noticed that she appeared to be in pain.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I have a little stomachache.”

  He gave her a sympathetic smile. “Oh, I had explosive diarrhea last week. It was horrible. You don’t have that do you?”

  She looked at him, a little horrified. “Well, no, but I—”

  “That’s good,” James interrupted. “You should take half an Imodium and a tablespoon of Pepto. I think I have Imodium in the car if you—”

  “No, thanks. I’ll be okay,” she said in a tired voice.

  “Let’s finish going through the text later then.”

  Jillian perked up. “I think that would be best.”

  “Let’s do just one more thing tonight, though,” James said as he reached into his briefcase and pulled out a stack of papers. Separating two stapled documents, he handed her a copy and kept one for himself.

  “What’s this?” she asked hesitantly.

  “A relationship quiz that I put together from the books and some Internet sites.”

  “Quiz?” she asked, flipping the pages as her eyes widened.

  “It’s mostly multiple choice, but there are a few short-answer questions,” James said, paging along with her. He flipped to the back page, and she continued to review the document while breaking into a sweat. James added, “The back page is focused mostly on religion. We’ve never really discussed—”

  “No, we haven’t,” Jillian interrupted before leaping up from the sofa. “I really need to go to the bathroom again. Be right back.”

  Rushing to the hallway, she continued into the kitchen and quietly opened the freezer. There, she pulled out a bag of frozen vegetables and grabbed the milk carton, along with a large plastic cup. Carrying her items, she slipped quietly into the bathroom and closed the door. She placed the cup on the counter and rushed to open the frozen vegetables. The bag ripped, and vegetables shot all over the sink. She cursed, scooped up some vegetables to fill the cup halfway, and then added milk. She opened the bathroom door slightly, lifted the toilet seat, and poured one-third of the contents from about two feet above the bowl. For the next ten seconds, the frozen soupy mixture splashed loudly into the toilet, and Jillian added a groan before repeating the process twice more.

  “Jillian?”

  “Yes,” she replied in a pained voice.

  “Would you bring in a couple of pencils?” he yelled out loudly.

  She frowned. After scooping the rest of vegetables into the cup, she added milk and opened the door a little more, repeating the process a fourth time. This time, she held the cup about four feet above the bowl and provided a louder groan, which she directed out the door. Then she rushed to the door, inching out into the hallway just enough so she could see if her theatrics were getting a reaction.

  When she left him, James had been slumped back against the sofa, leafing through his relationship material. Now, he was sitting straight up, looking horrified, staring straight ahead with his eyes bugging out.

  Satisfied, Jillian returned to the bathroom, flushed twice, and ran the water while she collected the few vegetables that remained scattered over the sink. She splashed some water on her face, turned off the faucet, and returned to the great room, holding her stomach. James wore an odd expression.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “You didn’t hear any of that, did you?”

  His eyes darted back and forth as he said, “No, I, uh, well—”

  “Wow. That was… Sorry. I had to open the door. I was dying,” she said while waving her hand in front of her face. “There’s no window in there.”

  Standing, he began placing his books into his briefcase. “Maybe we should do this another time.”

  “I’m so sorry about this,” Jillian said. “Why don’t you leave the quiz with me, and I’ll e-mail it back to you?”

  James didn’t look at her as he said, “Uh, okay.”

  He glanced at her and reluctantly handed her the papers as he rushed to the front door.

  Following him to the door, she watched with a guilty grin as he hurried to his car, never looking back. Then she closed the door, walked into the kitchen, grabbed the phone, and sat at the island, reviewing the quiz and shaking her head. A big smile appeared on her face as she dialed Victoria’s number.

  7

  Brian sat with Natalie on her bed; they were making out once again. On this visit, there was no removal of Natalie’s shirt and bra, or anything else intimate, but Brian still enjoyed being with her and really wanted to give her some time. There was a knock at the door. Natalie got out of bed, walked over, and opened the door just enough to see who was there. From his angle, he couldn’t tell who it was. She whispered something through the tiny opening as he looked on curiously. She closed the door, told him she’d be back in a few minutes, and said he should read something while she was gone. Before he could say a word, she s
lipped out the door.

  After forty minutes, she still had not yet returned. Brian kept himself occupied by reading a few magazines and looking at her books. He checked the clock again, and when he put his hands back to lean against the wall, he noticed a book open but face down on the bed. Picking it up, he scanned the page. Once he realized it was her diary, he quickly put it back down. He placed it back where he found it and glanced over at it a few times. He considered the phrase that had caught his eye; it was something about being in love with him or thinking she was in love with him. He stared at the book, desperate to know but hesitant to invade her privacy. Remembering she told him to read something, he also thought about her leaving him in that room for so long with the diary right out in the open. He was convinced that she intended for him to read it. Maybe it held the secret to why she could not get close to him, and this was her way of telling him. After glancing once more at the clock, he grabbed the diary. He read the important entry, which was:

  I think I’m falling in love with him, but I just can’t give myself to him yet because of you know. There’s too much pressure. I need some space now, but I hope he will wait for me because I know I will get there soon.

  He read the entry a couple of times with a smile on his face, immediately assuming that he was the “him” being referenced. Brian went to replace the book where he’d found it and then stopped as he realized, from what he read, there was no real evidence that he was actually the “him” in question. After turning the book back toward his face, he got what he needed from the first entry on the previous page:

  Brian is coming over tonight… can’t wait to see him.

  He quickly flipped through the diary and saw that only the first four pages had been written in so far. Quickly skimming the entries, he found no mention of any previous life-altering event. Maybe the new diary meant she was starting fresh—fresh with him. He smiled, replaced the book exactly where he had found it, and quickly picked up a magazine.

  Minutes later, Natalie entered, looking a little flustered. Brian smiled and barely looked at her as he climbed off the bed and set the magazine down.

  She said, “I’m so sorry, but I, uh, had to—”

  “I’ve got to go. Call me sometime, but no pressure… Just, well. See ya,” Brian said. Then, beaming, he walked out the door. She stood there, confused but also relieved.

  8

  Brian played on the intramural tennis league on campus, and he’d asked Natalie a few times to watch him play a match, but she never went to a single one. He hadn’t seen her in a week—not since the diary incident. He didn’t tell her about this particular match, because he was trying to give her space, and he was playing horribly, probably because he was so preoccupied with thoughts about her.

  He lost the first set, and during the second set, he noticed someone in the otherwise-empty stands. When he looked over, he realized it was Natalie, watching him with a bright, encouraging smile on her face. She waved, and his face lit up. He was down three games to one and facing break point on his serve. If he lost the game, he would be down a devastating four games to one, with little chance to come back and win the match.

  From that moment on, Brian was in the zone—blasting aces, hitting blistering passing shots, and making few errors. He won that set six games to four, and his excellent play continued into the third set, until he looked to the stands and saw that she was gone. He scanned the surrounding area and noticed a girl who looked just like Natalie walking quickly away with some guy. He only saw the backs of their heads, but he was sure it was Natalie, since he recognized her body immediately in her signature tight stretch pants.

  Devastated, Brian couldn’t regain his focus and lost the final set. Walking back to his dorm, he found Natalie, sitting alone on a bench near the center of campus. She looked depressed. He walked over and sat down next to her.

  “Where did you go?” he asked.

  “I don’t know how he found me, but my high school boyfriend showed up at your match and said he wanted to talk,” Natalie admitted.

  “What high school boyfriend?”

  “His name is Soros.”

  “Are you still dating?” he asked.

  “Sort of.”

  Brian stared straight ahead at nothing. The sting of losing the match, combined with this news, sent his head spinning. He turned to her. “But what about what I read in your diary?”

  “You read my diary?” she asked angrily.

  After wearing a confused expression, he scoffed. “Oh you wanted me to read it. You left me in your room for forty-five minutes, telling me you’d be right back, and you told me to read something. It was right on the bed next to me.”

  “I most certainly did not want you to read it. It’s private.”

  “What I read was about me, wasn’t it? It said you thought you were falling in love with him, but you just couldn’t get close to him yet, and you hoped he would wait.”

  Speechless, Natalie just looked back at him.

  “Am I ‘him’?” he asked.

  “Yes… Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “Exactly how many hims are you dating right now?” he asked sarcastically.

  Rising from the bench, she looked at him. “I don’t want to talk about this. You’re scaring me.”

  “I’m scaring you? How am I scaring you? I’m just sitting here, asking how many guys you’re seeing.”

  “I don’t like you when you’re like this,” Natalie said as she backed away from him as if he had a knife pointed her way.

  He looked at her like she was crazy. “Like what?”

  “I just can’t talk about it now.” Turning, she walked quickly away.

  He stood and called after her, “Thanks for coming to my match!”

  Returning to his room, Brian collapsed on the bed. He looked over at the John McEnroe poster on his wall. Brian’s father had given him the poster when he was ten, just after introducing him to tennis. His father was a big McEnroe fan and had shown Brian tapes of the classic Borg–McEnroe matches of the early eighties. McEnroe was the reason Brian played tennis. The poster showed McEnroe simultaneously falling forward and leaning backward with his hands in the air and his fists clenched in celebration of his first Wimbledon championship. Most of Brian’s friends made fun of his 1980 poster, but he didn’t care. McEnroe changed tennis forever, and that image was the one he tried to picture in his head when he was feeling down. McEnroe’s Grand Slam victory after being an unranked amateur only one year before proved that if you work hard enough and really want something, you can achieve just about anything. As he looked at the poster, he thought, Johnny Mac would never put up with this kind of crap from a girl, and he could hear John’s iconic phrase playing over and over in his head:

  “You cannot be serious!”

  He could hear John saying it to him about Natalie. How could he seriously be putting up with her shit? Either she wanted to be with him now or not. It was as simple as that. But Brian was too scared to give her an ultimatum, because he feared what the answer might be. At least this way, he felt there was still a chance.

  9

  Two weeks had passed since the tennis match, and Brian hadn’t spoken to Natalie once. When Rob entered the suite, Brian was standing in front of the window in the living area, staring out at the landscape. Rob walked over. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Nothing,” Brian said as he stood there, pretending to enjoy the scenery and weather on that early spring day. They both watched as students walked quickly by on the sidewalks below.

  Rob glanced at Brian. “Don’t I see you right here when I get back from my ten o’clock class every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday?”

  “I don’t think so,” Brian said nervously.

  Below them, Natalie appeared on the sidewalk, wearing one of her standard outfits Her long, blonde hair flowing down to her ass. Brian spotted her right on schedule, and his expression changed to one of confused longing.

  Rob noticed the change, looked
down, and spotted Natalie. He looked back at Brian. “Man, you have a serious problem,” he said, shaking his head slowly.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “She has a ten o’clock, too, but it’s across campus,” Rob said with a knowing look that screamed he had solved the case.

  “Who?” Brian scoffed.

  Rob walked away and then sat on the sofa. “You’re obsessed with her.”

  Brian turned toward him, busted.

  “Admit it—you’re stalking her,” Rob added.

  “I’m not obsessed,” Brian replied defensively. “It’s not like I’m hanging outside her window, watching her change, or anything. And yes, maybe I rush my little sorry ass up here every fucking Monday, Wednesday, and fucking Friday at exactly 10:57 a.m. to watch as she walks by.” Brian closed his eyes when he noticed the look of concern in Rob’s eyes and ran his hands nervously through his hair. “The earliest she’s ever walked by was at 10:59 and the latest was 11:07.”

  “Oh, well, I take it back then. You are not obsessed,” Rob said sarcastically.

  Pulling his hands away from his face, Brian looked to Rob, desperate for understanding. “I think she’s just trying to mess with me. She likes me. She doesn’t like me. She’s got this thing from her past that prevents her from getting close to anyone. Then there’s this Greek guy, this high school boyfriend—Poros or Milos or Dildos. One of those freaking oses.”

  “Greek boyfriend?” Rob asked, a little too interested.

  “I didn’t tell you?”

  Rob shook his head no.

  “All I saw of him was the back of his big, fat Greek head as he was leading her away from the court.”

  Rob stood up and walked to the window. After pausing to think for a moment, he turned back to Brian. “What are you doing for Spring Break?”

  “I’m staying here. I can’t afford to go anywhere.”

  “Come home with me,” Rob said.