Shortcake

by Watson, Lucy

  Surprised? Nope. Pissed off? Too tired.

  “Hi.” I wave at her like a dork, hoping my smile looks sincere and not like I’m praying for the earth to open into a small sinkhole and swallow me whole.

  It looks like Ben and I can agree on one thing: Nick’s a little shit. He’s also like Chinese handcuffs, the more you fight, the more he traps you, so I decide whatever this is, I’m just going to ride it out now, and later I’ll look for a tall, lean, tattooed and annoyingly cute voodoo doll on Etsy.

  He motions to the table with Winston, Jesse, and two women who look like they have successful lifestyle channels on YouTube. One of which, I’m pretty sure is the proud owner of the mystery BMW.

  “This is Milly and Reina.” Massage Barbie’s friend Reina? Fuck my life. He flicks his hand to Win and Jesse. “You already know those assholes.”

  “Hi.” I smile to the women. At this point, I’m pretty sure they think “hi” is the extent of my vocabulary.

  Reina gives me a head tilt and a perfectly glossed so-bright-it’s-bitchy smile as she intertwines her arm with Jesse’s.

  Milly’s smile is a little less bright and way more real. My eyes flick to Jesse who, you guessed it, isn’t smiling, but I think his lip might have twitched, so…

  “Watcha got there?” Winston asks, standing from the table, his hazel eyes zeroed in on the cake.

  He takes the bill of his baseball cap and flips it around like he’s Sylvester Stallone in Over the Top. A movie I’m embarrassed to say I’ve seen more than once.

  “It’s… for Ben.” My gaze flicks to Ben, then back to Winston. “From Mrs. Baker for his birthday.” My voice raises with the lie as Winston lifts the cake from my outstretched hands.

  Nick snickers not so quietly at my side.

  My cheeks heat as I press my elbow not so gently into his stomach, causing him to move his lean body farther behind mine, which somehow puts us closer together.

  Lovely.

  “Mrs. Baker, huh?” he bends down and whispers low in my ear.

  I meet his mischievous yellow-brown eyes behind Clark Kent glasses. “Don’t you have a soul to steal or something,” I say with a fake smile.

  This earns me a deep, husky laugh that fills the kitchen. Even though it’s at my expense, I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. Fucking Nick.

  My gaze jumps to Ben to see his black eyes are fixed on Nick, who moves his arm over my clavicle and hugs me a little tighter against him, effectively using me as a human shield.

  Ben’s eyes narrow, his jaw ticks, and he takes another swig of his beer.

  I could use a beer about right now…

  The strange moment is broken when my phone chimes from my back pocket, which I use as an excuse to artfully detach myself from Nick’s embrace to pull it out.

  I give the screen a millisecond glance, using it as a catalyst to make my retreat. “Well, it was nice meeting you all.” I give a smile and a wave, picturing the amount of alcohol it’s going to take to turn myself into “fun Emmy” tonight.

  Might as well start an IV.

  “We’re going out later. You should come with us,” Winston chimes in, ripping the plastic lid off the cake and licking part of a pink balloon off his finger.

  “Sorry, I have plans.” I hold up my phone like that explains everything. “But thanks.”

  “With who?” Nick asks before he steps to the table and slaps Winston’s hand from digging into another balloon. “Dude, that’s fucking gross.”

  “Back off,” Winston barks, sliding the cake away from Nick.

  With the attention off me, my gaze slides to Kate who’s pulling plates down from the cupboard. Like this is her kitchen. Like this is her house. She catches my gaze, which isn’t hard since I’m throwing it her way like a fast-pitching stalker.

  “Well, it was nice seeing you again,” I say, with a non-stalker smile.

  “You don’t want any cake?” she asks like the perfect hostess as she carries the plates to the table.

  “I’ve gotta run, but thanks.”

  I meet Ben’s fiery stare. It feels like I’ve stepped into a hot jacuzzi, almost too hot to stand in, but I can’t help but sink into it.

  It looks like he wants to say something, but instead, he just finishes off his beer, then gives me a chin lift before he goes to throw away the bottle.

  “Awk-ward,” I hear Nick mumble behind me, earning him a few stifled laughs from the table.

  No shit, Nick. No, shit.

  And with that, I slip my phone back into my pocket, turn and walk out of the kitchen, keeping my eyes straight ahead, leaving Ben behind to enjoy his birthday cake with his friends. Friends who have no problem talking and laughing as soon as I step out of the kitchen.

  I liked it better when I was numb with exhaustion, too tired to feel any of this shit.

  “Hold up!” Nick calls after me as I approach the hallway.

  I exhale and turn to face him.

  “I almost forgot to show you this.” He stops in front of me with a cheesy grin and lifts up his T-shirt, showing me his lean six pack, every inch of which is covered in bright ink.

  I’ll admit it’s a totally drool-worthy stomach, but why he chose this time to show it to me, I have no clue.

  “Wow. Impressive,” I deadpan.

  He huffs with a shake of his head, seeming annoyed at my apparent slowness. “See this?” He motions to a collage of brightly colored geometrical shapes and patterns fracturing out from each other. At the center of all the chaotic beauty is the most vibrant solid blue triangle I’ve ever seen.

  He points to the triangle. “That’s you.”

  “Me?” My gaze jumps to his, still having no freaking clue what he’s talking about.

  “The color of your eyes,” he clarifies with a lopsided grin.

  “No way,” I whisper in disbelief, turning my eyes back to the triangle, peering closer.

  “I’ve been saving that space, trying to find the perfect color to finish the piece.”

  “My eyes aren’t that color,” I whisper to the triangle.

  My eyes are blue, but not that blue.

  “Dude. One thing I know is color.” He places his elegant pointer finger on the triangle. “That’s your exact eye color, which is why Ben’s so pissed.”

  My eyes jump to his, and I see the familiar evil glint in them.

  “Why would Ben be pissed?” I’m almost afraid to ask. Hope is a very dangerous thing, especially to an already fragile heart.

  “Why do you think?” He smirks. “He’s fucking crazy about you.”

  My heart fills with helium. I grip tight to that sucker, trying to keep it from flying away because once it takes flight, it’s gone forever.

  I snicker. “I think you ate one too many crayons, Nick.”

  “Yeah?” His voice drops. “Right now your boy’s fuming because he knows we’re alone together. Knows I’m gonna show you your tat. Knows most women would fall hard for that shit.” He gives me a soft villainous chuckle. “He’s so fucking pissed right now.”

  “He didn’t look pissed standing with your sister,” I counter, even though he did look pissed. But at me. Not Kate. Me.

  Like always.

  I tighten my fingers on my helium heart as it ignores my logic and tries to tug free of my hand.

  “My sister will always love Ben, but she is in love with Milly. This is the happiest I’ve ever seen her.” His sarcastic mask drops as he continues, “Ben went through some dark shit after his mom died. He turned to Katie, who was going through her own shit, and they went through that shit together. It wasn’t love like it should be, but it was pain and sometimes that feels just as real.”

  My mind races to catch up with what he’s saying.

  “Oh.” Is the only word I can seem to form against the storm of emotions hammering against my chest.

  Nick’s well-worn Diablo mask slips back in place as he takes a step closer and glances over his shoulder.

  “Any second
now…” He looks down at me, his eyes lit with excitement.

  “What?” I take a step back because whatever’s happening I’m pretty sure is gonna suck.

  My pulse jumps at the sound of heavy footfalls. Nick gives me a lopsided grin and a wink, then turns around just as Ben rounds the corner.

  “Miss me?” Nick shoots Ben a grin.

  Ben shoots Nick his famous death glare as he walks up. Then his gaze hits mine with the force of a shotgun that pushes me back a step.

  “It’s your birthday, dude, smile.” Nick gives him a sarcastic clap on his shoulder as he saunters past. Ben may have growled at him, or maybe that’s my stomach. I’m not sure.

  Ben stops near my front, not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel. I step to the side in case he wants to walk past, not wanting this to be one of his “move” moments. He doesn’t budge.

  “Nick was just showing me his tattoos.” I feel like I have to explain myself, which I don’t, but I do it anyway.

  “I’m sure he was,” Ben grumbles as he runs his bandaged hand through his thick hair and his gaze slides down the length of me, then back.

  Unlike him, I’m wearing the same clothes I threw on in a rush this morning. Unlike me, I’m sure he smells delicious, not like Ron’s cat litter.

  We stay like this for a few breaths, in some sort of weird staring contest.

  I’ll take “Awkward Hallway Moments” for $100, Alex.

  “Well, I better go get ready…” I motion down the hall. Apparently, my feet are waiting for Ben to dismiss them or some shit because they don’t budge.

  And he said I’d never make it in the Army…

  “Where you going tonight?” His rumbly voice is softer than usual. It’s a sexy morning-in-bed voice, not a hallway-at-dusk voice.

  I’m not proud of the fact that I have to fight back the urge to tell him I have a date, wanting to see his reaction, wanting to see if maybe Nick’s right.

  Instead, I shrug and say, “Just out with a friend.”

  Because I’m mature like that.

  This earns me a nod and a grunt, followed by another round of awkward silence before he says, “I don’t think I said thanks for this morning.” He holds up his bandaged hand in case I forgot what this morning entailed.

  “No worries.” I smile, which earns me a nod followed by another awkward stretch of silence. He didn’t offer to pay me for the bandage or my time, so that’s progress.

  Ben gives me a nod, his gaze flicking down and back, his fingers finding their way into the top part of his pocket.

  I realize then, with the jolting clarity of an ice bucket challenge, that this is Ben trying to have a civil conversation with me. Ben trying to talk to me. Not glare. Not yell. Not tease. But talk. To me. Like we’re friends. I can’t help the happy bubble working its way through my chest.

  If I thought Brooding Ben was hot, Awkward Ben is so fucking hot and adorable that my resolve melts like the Wicked Witch of the West into a puddle at his feet.

  “You find a dress?” he asks.

  I guess he doesn’t know about the dress…

  “Did you leave me a choice? I had fifteen pairs of eyes staring at me, all waiting to see some kind of divine sparkle,” I tease.

  “Yeah.” He gives me a smooth chuckle that crinkles the corners of his dark eyes.

  Do I want to capture this moment in a bottle and save it for when I’m alone? Yep. Is that odd? Maybe.

  “How about you? Where are you going tonight? I mean, for your birthday.”

  “Fuck if I know.” He sighs with a quick shake of his head. Then his eyes capture mine, holding them steady. “I’d rather just stay home and hang out, you know?”

  If you ask me to stay with you, I will. We can watch movies and eat take-out. I’ll run my fingers through your hair the way you like it. And you can fall asleep in my arms.

  “Then that’s what you should do,” I encourage.

  I swallow back the urge to cancel on Mara. My luck I’d cancel on her, and Ben would hang out with his friends, and I’d be stuck at home, alone with a bunch of take-out and Netflix. In other words, your typical night.

  His demeanor changes a bit at my words.

  “Yeah. Maybe.” He glances over his shoulder at the voices growing loud from the kitchen.

  Beating him to the inevitable, I say, “Well, I better go.”

  He nods with a tight-lipped smile.

  I give him a small wave—turns out close-range waving is my new thing—and head down the hall, feeling the weight of his eyes on me. Which sucks because I’m sure my ass looks terrible in these jeans.

  “Hey, Shortcake,” he calls out, his deep voice sliding across the sensitive skin of my lower back.

  I look over my shoulder, and what I see makes my knees weak and my legs wobbly.

  “Thanks for the cake,” he says with a sweet smile so breathtaking, that my hand falls open and I watch my helium heart disappear into the sky.

  Of course, he knows I bought him the cake. Note to self: if you want to tell a convincing lie, make sure not to pawn off the purchase of a weird cake on the cheapest human on the planet.

  I give him a you-caught-me smile and say, “You’re welcome. Happy Birthday.”

  His smile grows even brighter at my confession, warming my skin. His eyes hold mine for another breath before he turns and walks away. I bask in the fading glow for a moment, before turning down the hall, realizing with a pang in my gut that it’s actually possible to fall in love with a smile.

  A smile that I’ll most likely never see again.

  A smile that will never belong to me.

  I shove this hurt feeling into my overflowing compartment of unwanted crappy things.

  Tonight, I promised myself that I was going to have fun. And having fun means that I’m not allowed to think about Ben. Not allowed to feel the panic of an uncertain future.

  Not allowed to think about my missing pieces.

  I steel my resolve and take in a shaky breath.

  The only promises I have ever broken in my life have been the ones I’ve made to myself.

  Not tonight.

  Tonight, I keep my promise.

  21

  Ring of Fire

  I walk into the mothball-infested guest room to gather the clothes I’m going to wear tonight. Or more correctly gather the clothes Mara told me I’m going to wear tonight. Clothes that she pulled from her walk-in closet and then worked her seamstress talent on, making them my new dive-bar duds. Which includes a pair of tight black faux-leather pants I’m a little in love with.

  A white plastic Amazon package on the dresser catches my eye. Ben must’ve put it there. I don’t remember ordering anything, but this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve received a surprise package from myself.

  I flip it over to see my name, then tear it open and pull out a grey T-shirt. I hold it up, and my breath catches because looking back at me in all his malformed glory is none other than…

  Sloth from The Goonies.

  A laugh bursts from my chest. My heart swells. My soul feels like it could float us to the ceiling if I let it.

  I tuck the shirt under my arm and bring out my phone to text him. My trembling fingers fly over the screen as I go through a hundred different texts and settle on something simple:

  Me: Love the shirt! :)

  A few seconds later.

  Ben: Good.

  I stare at his one-word text with a Joker-worthy smile stuck on my face. I’m pretty sure this means we’re friends. Which is a start. I think about texting him back but decide to quit while I’m ahead.

  Just as I’m about to slip my phone back in my pocket another text chimes:

  Mara: ARE YOU READY TO PAARRTYYY!

  Below her text is a gif of Kristen Wiig’s scene from Bridesmaids.

  Me: Hell, yes! Can’t wait!! :) :)

  It takes me a few seconds after I slip my phone back into my pocket to recognize the giddy feeling working its way through my body.
>
  I almost laugh out loud when I give it a name.

  Excitement. I’m excited to go dancing tonight. To hang out with Mara. To have fun. It’s been so long I’d forgotten what it feels like.

  I take in a deep breath, a small smile playing on my lips, and decide to get ready in Rose’s bathroom since no one uses it. Because it’s going to take a very long time (plus a small miracle) to turn this ketchup-dipping-steak-eating Sandra Bullock into sexy pageant-worthy Sandra.

  Do I want someone to look at me tonight the way Benjamin Bratt looks at Sandra when she walks out of the airplane hangar in her banging blue dress? Hell yeah, I do.

  Do, I want that person to also be named Ben?

  Unfortunately, the answer is also yes.

  In short, if I were an emoji, I would be the girl giving herself a facepalm.

  That’s me.

  Facepalm Patty.

  * * *

  “Hold still,” Mara orders, hovering over me with unblinking eyes focused on my face, or more specifically my mouth.

  “I am holding still,” I mumble, trying not to move my lips as she paints them Lady Danger burgundy-red.

  She takes a step back with a satisfied smile on her face. “Wow.”

  “Can I look?”

  “Not yet.” She turns and starts to rummage through the makeup and doodads littering the sink. Makeup and doodads, she brought in an oversized boho bag.

  It’s been over an hour since she texted that she was pulling up to my house. This surprised me because one, we were supposed to meet at her place. And two, she knew where Ben lived. My surprise quickly morphed into joy when I opened the front door and saw her standing there, in all her mini-skirt, dive-bar-chic glory, holding a Wendy’s bag full of greasy food. Greasy food that I’m pretty sure Winston would steal if given a chance.

  I sliced my gaze to the music-filled garage, where the gang migrated a few hours ago, half expecting to see him walk out sniffing the air.

  If Mara thought it was weird that I grabbed her hand, yanked her inside and rushed her to Rose’s bathroom while wearing a lime green muumuu and orthopedic slipper, she didn’t say.