Best Man

by Katy Evans

  “Did they now?” He doesn’t seem offended, just interested. “And what kind of questions did they ask?”

  I grin. “Basically, since you were never interested in any of them, whether you were gay.”

  He freezes with a handful of candy poised between the box and his mouth. Then he pops them in, his brows furrowing a little. “Well, you of all people could’ve set the record straight on that one.”

  Now I freeze. When I meet his gaze, his deep blue eyes are intent on mine. He’s struck me speechless for a moment, and suddenly I know—I feel it in every inch of my face—that my cheeks are burning.

  I turn away from him. “You remember that?”

  He laughs, a grumbling sound low in his throat. “Yeah. Don’t you?”

  “Well…yes, but…” I’m trying and failing to get control of myself. I must be as red as a tomato.

  He smirks. “And it must’ve been so memorable for you, because the next thing I knew, you were with Aaron.”

  I don’t know why but it feels as if my stomach is in a freefall. I start to babble aimlessly, like I always do when I’m uncomfortable. “Well, I seem to remember that after it happened, you vanished for like, two months. And I didn’t realize you remembered. Because we were drunk.”

  Feeding off that, he doesn’t seem uncomfortable at all. “I wasn’t drunk. I’ve never been drunk in my life.”

  He…really? He’s got to be kidding me.

  “Were you?”

  I glance at him. Of course I was drunk. I wouldn’t have slept with him if…

  A little voice intercedes at that moment.

  Oh, yes, you would have.

  The voice is right. The night had worn on and Aaron disappeared without getting me that beer. And the buzz I’d had started to wear off. I couldn’t find my friends and I’d left my cell phone in my dorm so he’d brought me upstairs to use his. And, with pretty much all my faculties intact, I’d gone into his bedroom and…fallen completely, irrevocably under his wizard’s spell.

  I can’t think about that right now.

  We need to stop going down this path.

  “Well…that one time doesn’t prove anything. That might have been the time that made you decide once and for all to play for the other team.”

  He smirks. “Trust me. It didn’t.”

  Only then am I aware my mouth is hanging open, completely dry. “Well, you never had any girlfriends. I know you had women, but no repeat engagements.”

  “You know that?”

  I’m not willing to admit that every time I left Aaron’s room while Miles still lived in the frat house, I practically stalked him, seeing all those gorgeous girls leaving his bedroom. I wondered to the point of near madness whether he’d made them come, whether he’d called them “insanely beautiful,” whether he’d opened up new worlds of pleasure for them, too.

  His eyes are so hot on me that I can’t look at him. Even when I look away, I feel them.

  When I open my mouth again, my voice is weak.

  “Aaron always said you had unrealistic expectations. That you wanted a triple-D model type. And we never talked about it afterwards, so I assumed you were drunk and made a mistake.”

  He leans forward and puts his forearms on his knees, nodding. “Well, yeah. That’s true.” I wish I knew what part he’s talking about. “I don’t know about the triple D, but I have high standards.”

  I roll my eyes. “Why do you have such an ego? Why do you think no one is good enough for you?”

  He thrusts his hands into the pockets of his jeans and strolls casually over to me, so he’s looming like a tower—a warm, hot tower of male flesh—right in front of me. “Not true. I have met someone.”

  I don’t know why my heart plummets at the news. “You have? Why didn’t you bring her to the wedding, then?”

  “Oh, she’ll be at the wedding, all right,” he says, as I venture a look up at him and his eyes capture mine. They’re darker than I’ve ever seen them. “She’s the bride.”

  A quick flutter sends my heart skipping, and a moment of breathlessness passes through me. His expression doesn’t change for the longest time. His jaw is set, his eyes tinged with defiance, like he’s just issued a challenge and now he wants me to respond.

  My first instinct? I ache to grab his shirt and put his mouth on mine, feel the scratch of his beard and entwine my tongue with his.

  But whoa. Where did that come from? And how wrong and awful would that be of me?

  I can’t say my second instinct, the desire to push him back down on the bench and straddle his hard body, is any better.

  It’s a good thing we don’t have to obey our instincts, because I’d be in so much trouble right now if I did.

  Before I can have a third instinct, I notice the color of his eyes has changed. They’re dancing now, vibrant blue.

  He was joking. Trying to get me to react, which is his specialty.

  I shove him. Hard. So hard, he takes a step back.

  He chuckles, almost to himself. “You should’ve seen your face.”

  “Fucker. I really hate you,” I growl, slamming my fists into his hard chest. “Sure, you’re so beyond Aaron. You’re just as immature as he is!”

  He’s not laughing anymore. He puts his hands up to block my fists, and when I don’t stop, he turns away.

  I stomp away, feeling embarrassed and stupid as hell. What was I thinking? It’s nearly ten o’clock and I must be exhausted because for a split second, I’d actually entertained kissing mindfucker Miles Foster. Which isn’t really even his name. The day before I’m supposed to marry his best friend.

  What the fuck is wrong with me? When I pictured my Wedding Day Eve, I imagined a nice night with family, preparing for the adventure of my life.

  Not this. This beyond-shitty clusterfuck that makes me want to go outside, tilt my face to the snowy night, and scream like a fucking banshee that I. Am. Done.

  Miles Foster can’t keep getting under my skin like this. Any more, and I’ll never be able to pry him out. Maybe it’s already too late.

  11:36 PM, December 6

  Somehow, I manage a little bit of sleep. But it’s not the good kind of sleep.

  Oh, it’s good in that I forget where I am and really do zonk out. It’s bad because the second I close my eyes, I dream about that night.

  After Aaron left, I expected Miles would talk to me. But a new frat brother took Aaron’s place, and Sergeant Shitface started getting into the game again, instructing the new brother which way to throw the ball. My buzz fading, I stood there awkwardly, biting my lip and wondering when Aaron was going to get back.

  Around me, the crowd was rapt with beer pong, cheering and laughing. I tried to be interested, but I suddenly looked around for my friends and realized everyone was a stranger. I began to back away, when I looked up.

  Miles was now staring at me.

  He leaned over, close, but not close enough to touch me. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Lia.”

  He sat up on his stool, elbows on his knees, and hooked a finger at me, like he had a secret to tell me. I waited for him to ask me the same pick-up questions. What’s my major?

  His voice was gravelly as he said, “Don’t stand there. Stand here.”

  I frowned at him. So he was ordering me around his house like a fucking lap dog. Even so, I moved like he told me to, confused as to why it mattered. “Why?”

  He pointed at the game board, just as a Ping-Pong ball flipped into the cup that would’ve been closest to me, spraying a couple of girls that were standing where I’d been. They shrieked, drenched.

  Oh. That answered that question.

  I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. And either Aaron had gone overseas to fetch that beer, or he was never coming back. I began to feel like an idiot, sitting there, talking to no one, so I started to meander away.

  “Wait,” he said, his voice straining over the music. “Don’t go.”

  I frowned. “Why?
So you can not talk to me some more?”

  “Why do we have to talk? It’s too fucking loud here. Can’t we just be here?”

  I blushed. “Um…why?” I asked.

  He tilted his head, regarding me like he was seeing me for the first time. “You ask too many questions.”

  “Because—”

  He put a finger to his lips, and I got the feeling that I was like some science project that he wanted to dissect. So I stood there, for maybe twenty minutes more, watching him give the occasional direction to the brother playing beer pong, until the basement got a little less crowded and things started simmering down.

  When it did, he leaned in and said, “You’re alone.”

  Duh. “I don’t know where my friends went.”

  “Text them.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t have my phone.”

  His eyes drifted over my shoulders, taking in my bare skin, my long hair. I didn’t see appreciation in them; just curiosity. “Why am I not surprised that outfit doesn’t have pockets?”

  I suddenly felt naked. Well, I was close to naked, much closer than I was used to, but I’d dressed in order to fit in with my new friends. It was the tail-end of summer, and still hot, so we’d all worn short shorts and tight camisoles to bare our tans. I crossed my arms over my breasts.

  He stood up from the stool as he set his beer down. I noticed he hadn’t taken a drink from it once. “Come on.”

  I know, it wasn’t safe for me to follow a guy I’d just met anywhere. But for some reason, I never questioned it. I’d come into the basement from the walkout, so I’d never seen the rest of the house. We climbed up a narrow staircase, into a dark-paneled, masculine room that looked like a medieval banquet hall, complete with a massive wooden chandelier, arched doorways, and tapestries.

  He walked through it with his head down, unimpressed, but I nearly tripped over a pile of lacrosse gear that had been discarded there, so interested was I in the house. He didn’t stop, and as he passed other guys with D-Phi shirts, he didn’t say hi to them. I noticed them eyeing him, too, as if he was as big a mystery to them as he was to everyone else.

  Then, they gave me a once-over, like, What do you think you’re doing with him?

  As we climbed another wide staircase with ruby-red carpet over mahogany stairs, I glanced briefly at the lines of composite photos of each class of D-Phi brothers, dating all the way back to 1911. By the time I found the most recent one, he whistled.

  I didn’t get a chance to find him in the picture. I turned to find him all the way down the long hall. “Come on. Keep up.”

  I peered into some of the open doors as I passed them. Walls decorated with posters of movies and scantily clad women, shelves holding empty alcohol bottles, floors covered in garbage and strewn clothing. The brothers were slobs. The carpet was stained with a rainbow of strange substances and the hallway and smelled like cheese and body odor. It was the exact result anyone would expect of twenty-some guys living together. Music drifted from one of the open doors, and somewhere, there was a rhythmic banging sound. I didn’t realize what it was until a girl started to moan.

  That knocked me sober.

  I was eighteen, and had had sex exactly twice before. Once, just to get rid of my V-card, and the other, because the first time was so awful, I’d decided I must’ve done something wrong and needed a do-over.

  Annnnd the second time had been worse.

  So I really had no interest in a third time. Not until I found a guy to totally sweep me off my feet and romance me out of my panties. Someone I knew really well. Someone I maybe even loved.

  He opened the door to his room and hung an arm on the knob. I hesitated in the doorway.

  “Coming?” he asked, his eyes challenging me.

  I took a single step. When I did, he banged on the door and yelled, “Hey, Ross!”

  I whirled to see a guy in boxer shorts, stumbling out of one of the rooms down the narrow hall and scratching his balls.

  “You bang a girl in a common room again, I’ll kick your ass. You left cum stains all over the upholstery. It’s yours to clean up. You hear me?”

  The guy mumbled something under his breath, shoved open the door to the bathroom and gave him the finger.

  He banged the door again with his fist, then rolled his eyes until they landed on me. “If you stand there all night, there’s about a ninety-six percent chance a beauty like Ross might try to have his way with you. Your choice.”

  Good point. I stepped inside.

  His room wasn’t just a different room. It was like a different world.

  The place was immaculate. There was a neatly made futon in the corner. The carpet had recently been vacuumed because I could see the tracks in it. His walls didn’t have posters of half-dressed women and obscure bands. The only thing on his desk was his laptop, and a shelf over the desk had a number of trophies for swimming and rugby. There was an entire wall filled with books, the spines neatly arranged…alphabetically?

  I was so shocked by it that I forgot my purpose. The next thing I knew, he held his phone out to me. “Your dorm at Williams?”

  I nodded and stared at his phone. “I…really don’t know anyone’s number. I just met all those people.”

  “Then I guess you’re in trouble.” His eyes drifted to the phone, where the display showed the time as three in the morning. Where had the time gone? “Campus transportation’s done for the night.”

  I looked around, feeling a little desperate. This was not how my first frat party was supposed to go. Stranded in a fraternity? Great. Would he throw me out on the street, now?

  He sat down on his futon, leaning back, then noticed a bit of fuzz on the carpet and plucked it up. Then he fixed me with a curious, lazy stare. I don’t think any guy had ever looked at me with such confidence.

  “So…Lia. You look a little worried. Something tells me you’re not used to trouble. First time away from home, huh?”

  Oh, really? Was it that obvious from the way my knees were practically knocking together? He had a window open, and cold air was blowing in, putting goose bumps all over my naked arms and legs. I hugged myself.

  “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you. You can stay here tonight and I’ll walk you to the bus stop at six, when they start up again.”

  Stay here? My eyes trailed to the narrow futon. It looked as clean as the rest of the room, but still…

  “You can have my bed. I’ll sleep somewhere else.”

  I let out the breath I’d been holding. “Thanks.”

  He was still watching me, making me so self-conscious I spun, wobbling a little. My eyes snagged on the books on his shelves. They were all classics. As someone considering majoring in English, I was fairly well-read, but he had lots of lesser-known works from the greats. Albert Camus’ The Plague, Pale Fire by Nabokov, and some Jack London I’d never even heard of before. That, and a whole lot of nonfiction.

  I wondered if he knew that he came off as super-pretentious. I picked one of the books, flipped through it, then put it back, upside down, to see if he’d notice. “Interesting collection. Are you an English major?”

  He shook his head. “Math and Business. Double major.”

  “I’m thinking of English, myself.” Only because I had to. I liked reading. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life.

  “Yeah?” His eyes briefly went to the bookshelf. “Second shelf from top. Third from the left. Read that one. You won’t be sorry.”

  I stood on my toes to read the spine. It was The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. “I’ve never read that one.” I stole a look at him, only to find his gaze on me, wandering slowly up my body in a way that made me feel like he’d already stripped me bare. “You’re the first person who hasn’t tried to talk me out of English as a major.”

  He shrugged in a superior way. “Read the book.”

  I eyed him doubtfully. “You’re graduating in the spring?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “And?�
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  “And I’ll move to Denver. I already have a job lined up at a place I’ve been interning at for the past three years. I’ll never come back here.”

  I don’t know why that made me sad. He was the first person I’d met at CU who didn’t seem to give a shit about drinking and acting older than he was. He had his own drumbeat in his head, and was marching to that. I liked it. I already sensed I didn’t feel the need to pretend for him, and if I did pretend, he’d call me out on it. “You won’t? Why?”

  “No reason to.”

  “Your brothers don’t seem to like you very much.”

  He chuckled and stood up. He reached into his pockets, removing his wallet, his keys, his phone, and setting them down on the table, like he was about to turn in. “No great loss.”

  “Hmm,” I said, trying not to show how impressed I was. I was at that age where I wanted everyone to like me. I felt like I was in high school, talking to my first real adult. I ran my finger along his bookshelf. No dust. “You’re very clean.”

  He walked toward me, stopping so close I thought he’d touch me. Then he went to the bookcase, slid out the book I’d put in wrong, flipping it the right way. “I just like things the way I like them.”

  “And you clearly don’t like people. Why?”

  “I like some people.” He smirked down at me. “But I don’t like socializing. I’d much rather sit back and observe.”

  “Observe what?”

  “People. The way they behave. People like you.”

  I cocked an eyebrow at him. “You weren’t even looking at me.”

  His eyes met mine, and he held my gaze. “Doesn’t matter. You don’t just observe with your eyes.”

  So he had been noticing me? Suddenly, I felt like he knew me better than I knew him. Like he understood that I’d spent most of the past few hours trying to figure him out. “And what did you observe about me?”

  “You might not want to know. It’s not very kind.”

  I wrinkled my nose. What, did I have a big butt? I knew I wasn’t ugly, but I wasn’t the most gorgeous woman on Earth, either. “Well, thanks.”