Friends with Benefits (Friend Zone Series Book 3)

by Nicole Blanchard

  After I got Tillie and Molly home, they helped me make the beef stew and gobbled up two bowls each before I herded them to the bath. They were old enough to take care of themselves while they bathed, for the most part, which allowed me some time to clean up and maybe even do a little homework, but not much.

  Sheldon and Leonard were arguing as I worked on a few notes that I was required to make. Next semester, there wouldn’t be so much bookwork, but for now, they were dumping as much information on us as they could. It was almost as though they wanted to see which students got overwhelmed and, I had to admit, I was getting close.

  Not because of the work—because I could do the work. It was everything else.

  The twins.

  Work.

  School.

  Chris.

  …Tripp.

  Maybe it was too much.

  It took being scared half to death when the twins ran off at the grocery store for me to take a step back. I couldn’t let this thing with Tripp distract me. The next time I saw him, I’d have to reiterate the whole casual aspect of the friends-with-benefits thing. Just to make sure we were clear.

  I was packing my bag for the next day when there was a soft knock at the door. Despite my firm resolve to keep things casual, heat washed over me at the mere thought of it being Tripp on the other side. Apparently, my body didn’t care about keeping it casual.

  “Hey,” he said when I opened the door. “Can I come in?”

  “Of course.”

  When his body brushed against mine, the heat concentrated in my sex, and I gulped. No matter how much I tried to tell myself we needed to talk, I couldn’t seem to make the words come out of my suddenly-dry mouth.

  “Emmy,” came a call from the bathroom. “We’re done.”

  “Do you mind?” I asked.

  “No, of course not. Take your time.”

  “Make yourself at home.”

  The girls were covered head to toe in bubbles—and so was the floor—but I couldn’t find the energy to be mad. They were safe. Tripp was here. I’d figure the rest of it out.

  I always did.

  “Is Tripp here?” Tillie asked as I helped the two of them get dressed and ready for bed.

  The scent of the lavender baby soap I’d been using since they were babies wafted up from their skin and downy hair. They endured me sniffing their heads and giving them a tight hug as they both climbed into the bottom bunk for their story and settled underneath the blankets.

  I decided not to lie to them. They were too smart for me, anyway. “He came by to talk.”

  “After the story, will he tell us good night?”

  At this, I hesitated. It was such a fine line between benefits and family where they were concerned. But Tripp was Tripp, and he’d known these girls practically their whole lives. “Of course, sweeties.”

  He could be a part of our lives as long as I was crystal clear on which parts.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Tripp

  Junior Year

  The stadium was packed with people, their screams and cheers filling the air. The sun beamed down, relentless and bright. The sky was as blue as I’d ever seen it, without a single cloud marring its surface. I couldn’t have asked for better weather.

  I should have been excited.

  This was the moment I’d been working for my whole life. Countless weeks of nonstop practice. Giving up opportunities to be with my friends in order to play travel ball. Missing milestones like my sixteenth birthday to play away games. Having a normal life—whatever that was—to devote it to living my dream.

  After today, either I’d move on to the next level of the game, or I wouldn’t.

  Either prospect was terrifying.

  Alex swung an arm around my shoulder and joined me at the entrance to the field. We were still in the shadows, so the fans in the stadium couldn’t see us from their vantage point.

  “Don’t you love it? They’re here for us, man.”

  “Showboater,” I said automatically. Alex always got off on the spectacle of it all. He loved being in the spotlight. He was the type of player who enjoyed being a player. Alex ate up all the attention from the fans—the female fans in particular.

  “You know it,” he answered. “You ready for this?”

  “Born ready.”

  Alex whooped and punched me in the arm. “Let’s do this!”

  By this time, the rest of our team had joined us. We were about to run out on the field for warmups. It was the first game of the year, and spirits were high. Our summer practices had been rigorous, but we were more prepared than ever. This was what I’d been waiting for.

  The din of the crowd kicked up several notches as we ran out on the field and took our places to warm up. I’d thrown some to warm up, but I always liked to get a feel for the mound before we started the game. All eyes were on me, but my focus was solely for our catcher and the plate.

  We were going to dominate.

  It was the bottom of the sixth. We were up by two and had one on second. I wasn’t a genius at bat, but I was competent. While I was on deck, I took a moment to scan the crowds, looking for my parents. The game had been head-to-head until now, so I hadn’t had the chance before.

  I found them behind third, a few rows up. They both waved enthusiastically when I lifted a hand in greeting. Then my gaze found Ember, who was sitting in the row immediately behind them. She had her friends, Layla and Charlie, next to her, each with a twin on her lap. They were about to turn five, and no doubt Em needed her friends to help wrangle them because they’d taken the “eff you fours” to the next level.

  The three girls waved, and the twins copied them. I saw their mouths move as they cupped their hands and shouted. They were too far away for me to hear what they were saying, but I didn’t need to hear it. The twins were holding a sign that said, “WE <3 #9!”

  I pointed my bat at the lot of them, and the twins began jumping up and down. With a grin, I turned to do some practice swings while our shortstop was up at bat. He hit a single, and I brought them both in with a triple. The next person up at bat struck out, which ended the inning and put us back on the field.

  I walked the first two, and the second got a single to right field. Sweat poured down my face, and my uniform was already soaked. My focus was so absolute it was as though no one else in the stadium existed but the players on the field.

  Alex signaled a fastball, and I nodded. I wound up, and the ball torpedoed past the player at bat. Strike. Once I got the ball back, I checked the players on either base out of the corner of my eye. Their coach liked to play it safe, but it didn’t hurt to make sure neither was trying to pull anything.

  The second fastball made my shoulder twinge a little. It wasn’t out of the ordinary, so I rolled it and gave my arms a quick stretch to shake it off. It wasn’t abnormal to experience some muscle exhaustion this far into the game, so I didn’t think much of it.

  Stress on the muscles and ligaments is why we did so much conditioning and strengthening. It’s also why Coach Taylor wanted us to give a sign if we were reaching the point of putting ourselves through too much. Injuries could end a career.

  A curveball took out the player at bat, and I gave my shoulders another roll as we set up for the next one. A quick glance at the coach showed him focused on the player at bat. We only needed two more outs. I could get through them, no problem.

  It was when the final player came up to bat that I realized the pain in my shoulder wasn’t merely soreness from routine throwing. It had increased from a normal ache to a persistent burn. I was going to have to ice down for hours once the game was over.

  The first fastball tore through my arm like a hot knife stabbing into my shoulder and ripping through my bicep and down to my wrist. I stumbled a little off the mound and had to breathe heavily in my mouth and through my nose to deal with the searing pain.

  It wasn’t the first time I had had shoulder pain—it was common among most pitchers. The repetitive strain
of throwing over and over again caused wear and tear in the muscles that attached the arm to the socket. I’d had my fair deal of sore muscles, but I’d never felt anything like this.

  I gave a passing thought to signal Coach, but then I remembered my family in the stands, and the potential employers watching. Giving up now would mean losing so much. I could make it through the rest of the game and get it looked at after.

  Alex signaled for another fastball, but I shook him off. I’d have to play it safe, but smart, for the rest of the game. The change-up that got the last player on base gave me a twinge that I ignored. Since I hadn’t struck him out, it brought another player to bat with one on first.

  I threw a curveball, and the moment my arm reached the follow-through and released the ball, I knew I’d fucked up. White pain tore through me with violent intensity. I let out a hoarse cry, and then the pain reached a peak so intense that my arm went numb. Black flashed in front of my eyes, and white noise blotted out the screams and cheers from the crowd.

  Once I could hear again, I heard Coach calling for a time out. I didn’t know who was on base or what happened to the ball after the batter had made connection. Sweat poured down my face, and my cheeks were twitching from the intensity of my grimace.

  “Get Collins,” Coach shouted when he reached my side. I barely paid any attention as the backup pitcher took my place and Coach herded me back to the dugout. “Take him to the team doc and get him checked out.”

  Someone guided me to the locker rooms where our field medic was waiting. “Can you lift your arm for me?” he asked. I couldn’t remember the dude’s name.

  I did as he asked but could barely lift it over shoulder-height. He repeated the directions, asking me to turn my arm wrist-up and move my arm back and forth, but I couldn’t fully do as he asked. He palpated the shoulder, and I nearly punched him in his face.

  Sometime later, one of the assistant coaches loaded me up in their sedan and took me to the hospital. I could barely pay any attention. It wasn’t so much the pain as the growing realization of what that one mistake could mean for my future.

  I was numb through the initial assessment. They did an ultrasound and had me move my arm again as they looked at different ligaments and tendons. I knew it was for-real serious when they recommended me for an MRI. It couldn’t merely be a pulled muscle. My spirits sank. The expression on the assistant coach’s face—or rather the lack of one—told me all I needed to know.

  A pounding came at the door.

  “Open the door, Tripp. I know you’re in there.”

  I glanced up from the movie playing on the TV and considered getting up to open the door. In the past week, I hadn’t moved from the couch other than to get more food from the kitchen or use the bathroom. There wasn’t much need to. I was on leave from school until after my surgery, and I didn’t have practice to go to anymore, so what was the point?

  “You have three seconds!” came Ember’s voice through the door.

  Frankly, I was surprised she hadn’t shown up sooner. She’d texted to check on me at least once a day, but I hadn’t known what to say to her, so I hadn’t answered.

  The ice pack on my shoulder had turned to water, so I got up to refill it. Keeping my shoulder iced or under a heating pad were the only ways to stave off the ache that never seemed to go away. Sometimes, I could swear I felt it in my dreams.

  “One! Two! Three!”

  What was she going to do? Breath through the door? I doubted it. She might be a force of nature, but a linebacker she was not.

  A little too late, I remembered that I’d given her a key in case I locked myself out. Cursing, I shuffled awkwardly to the door, but she had it open and was slipping through before I could latch the chain lock.

  “Really, Tripp? Can’t answer a text?” Her green eyes were bright as emeralds. Nose wrinkling, she looked around me. “Good God, it smells like a frat house in here.”

  “If you’re not going to clean, then get out.”

  Turning away from her, I went back to exchanging my mushy ice pack for a fresh one. I slapped it on my shoulder and reclined back on my nest on the sectional couch, which was now covered in dirty clothes, old takeout containers, and a remote…somewhere in the cushions.

  “Tripp,” she said, and her voice was so full of compassion that it made me want to hurt things.

  “Don’t start.”

  “Please talk to me.” She sat down on the couch next to me despite the junk covering every available surface. “I want to help you.”

  I scoffed. “What are you gonna do? Fix my shoulder? Go back and win the game for us? C’mon, Em, there’s nothing you can do to help me. Just leave.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. If cleaning is what you need, then I’ll clean.”

  I didn’t answer that. She could do whatever the hell she liked. I wasn’t going to stop her.

  We ignored each other while she picked up trash and dirty clothes. I pretended not to notice her and closed my eyes in protest. If she wanted to waste her time, whatever. I wasn’t her daddy.

  When she was done, she sat down beside me, but I didn’t acknowledge her. I knew that if I did, I’d break.

  Another knock came at the door, and I cracked open an eye. It was some guy I didn’t recognize. “Hey,” he said to Ember. “I was at your place, but your friend Charlie said you were over here.” His eyes darted to me. “Are you ready?”

  “I can’t go out tonight. I’m sorry. I meant to text you.” She lowered her voice. “He’s still a little down. Raincheck?”

  “For you, anything. I’ll text you.”

  “Okay, bye,” she answered, but I could hear the smile in her voice.

  Since when did she have a boyfriend?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ember

  The twins fell asleep with surprising ease. They weren’t even awake long enough for Tripp to wish them good night. The one night when I could use their bedtime to clear my head and organize my thoughts, and their lights were out in less than ten minutes. Why do they always do the exact opposite of what I want them to? It’s a conspiracy. It’s like they know.

  My heart was thundering as I closed the door to their room and headed back down the hall. This wasn’t going to be easy, but it was necessary. Doing the right thing had allowed me to survive thus far. And cutting things off before they got too complicated was the right thing.

  Wasn’t it?

  I reached the end of the hallway. “We have to talk,” I said clearly, though inside I was shaking.

  Tripp got to his feet from where he was reclining on the couch. “Uh-oh, that sounds ominous. Come here. The twins get to sleep okay?”

  Why did he have to be so damn nice? I went to him, taking a seat by his side. I hoped he couldn’t tell how nervous I was. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” Even though I kinda did.

  “I know what you meant.” He held up a finger to my lips before I could respond. It stopped me short—like it always did when he touched me. It only made me want him to touch me more. “I bet I can guess what you’re going to say.”

  Bewildered, but at the same time not really surprised, I blew out a breath. He always seemed to know what I was thinking before I thought it. It was unnatural. “You do?”

  He nudged my shoulder and said with patient exasperation, “C’mon, Em, how long have we been friends?”

  To be honest, it felt like forever. “A long time.”

  “I bet you’re thinking we were crazy for sleeping together. That a friends-with-benefits relationship could never work between us. That you’re worried it’ll mess everything up. The twins should be your priority. Am I wrong?”

  He wasn’t, which was what made it so infuriating. Was I really that easy to read? Apparently, not for him. “No,” I admitted. “But you can’t say you don’t understand where I’m coming from.”

  Instead of answering, he gripped me by the arm and guided me to my new room. I could have stopped him if I wanted, but I offered no resistan
ce. Carefully, he shut the door behind us. The click of it closing made my heart stutter. This was why I had avoided being alone with Tripp for all those years. It was easier to deny his effect on me when it was dulled by having other people around.

  Funny how I’d never actually been able to admit that to myself before now.

  In my distracted state, Tripp was able to maneuver me to the bed. But I couldn’t let the growing sense of intimacy deter me. This thing between us had to stop.

  I managed to say as much out loud.

  Or, at least, I thought I did.

  “I understand where you’re coming from.”

  Tripp nudged my shoulder, pressing me inexorably back on the bed. He stretched out beside me, his long, lean body blocking out the yellow light from the bedside table. Shadows painted his face, accentuating his cheekbones and sending thrills down my spine. He stole the fright right out of me.

  “You do?” Well, shit, that breathless note in my voice didn’t help my argument. “You know I have to think about what’s best for the girls.” My protests were weak.

  He scribbled secrets on my skin with the tips of his fingers, drawing gooseflesh to the surface. He knew my body as well as my mind. And just like that, all the thoughts flew out of my head. I let him lift my lips to his with the slightest pressure from a hooked finger. His mouth brushed over mine with easy comfort and the devastation of a natural disaster.

  The contrast of his implacable body to his soft lips made me forget myself. His mouth nibbled at mine—no hesitation, no self-doubt. His focus was one hundred percent on me. Tripp’s confidence had always astounded me. What must it feel like to always know exactly what you want?

  Even more, how did a girl react when that certainty was focused entirely on her?

  Sweat gathered in the deep of my lower back as his tongue enticed my lips to part. With light, easy pressure, it rubbed against mine. I couldn’t help it. I moaned into his mouth, the sound needy and urgent, even to my ears.