Bad Boy Benefits: A Standalone Little Sister's Best Friend Romance Page 14

  I’m a little disappointed to see that she wears scrubs, but amazed at how on her they look like a fashion statement. Something about the way she walks making their frumpy bagginess an intriguing mystery rather than looking like she’s hiding something.

  “Hey,” she says, that tone again.

  “Hey.”

  She reaches in for the cheek-kiss even more enthusiastically than I do, her big smile never leaving her face. I open the door for her and get inside myself.

  “I should have gotten changed,” she says, “but it would have taken so long, and I’m still too new to be taking long lunch breaks.”

  “You look great,” I say. “With that hair, and that smile, you could draw looks in a bedsheet.”

  “It’s nice to see you’re just as corny in the daytime,” she laughs.

  “Speaking of which: What do you fancy? Mexican? A burger?”

  “Oh, I don’t care. I’m up for anything.”

  I turn to smile at her before revving the car out of the parking lot. “I thought you would be.”

  I take her to a nice old-fashioned diner, a place with an atmosphere as easygoing as she is, but still quiet enough to talk. We take a booth and order, then sip our Cokes as we wait for our food.

  She’s not afraid to look right at me, to show how much she’s enjoying this, and I realize how rare it is for me to be with a woman who doesn’t dance around her own happiness. Nothing but her infectious enthusiasm, her openness to life. No tricks or gameplaying. No complications. Nothing like Maeve, where even the simplest conversation is a battleground, where she’s only direct when she wants something, when she… Damn, Toby. Enough thinking about Maeve. Hazel’s right in front of you… Forget her…

  “You know, I’ve got to ask,” Hazel says, pausing so that our burgers and fries can be placed in front of us. She plucks a fry and bites it before continuing, as if she’s got all the time in the world. “How come it took so long for you to call me? And randomly in the middle of the day, too.”

  I take a moment of throwing ketchup on my fries before answering.

  “Honestly?”

  She nods eagerly.

  “Because I’m an idiot,” I answer.

  She laughs again, smile as big as her cute cheeks. “And I thought you were just a ‘busy guy.’”

  “I am—but only because I like to be.”

  She turns to wrestling with her burger and I go to pick up mine but stop when something hits me. All those texts and messages I’d scanned earlier in the day… Not one from Hazel. And that wouldn’t be strange except now I’m here, sitting with her, talking with her, and the last thing I’d describe her as is shy, or the kind of person who wouldn’t make the first move.

  “I should ask you the same thing,” I say as I grab my own burger. “You had my number.”

  She’s taking a big bite, burger covering half of her face, looking at me as she chews, but I still see it. It’s small, but in a face as cheerful as hers even the slightest dark thought becomes as visible as the sky.

  She turns her eyes down as she continues to chew, and I know I’ve found something—something more than just a happy-go-lucky girl who’s up for anything.

  “What?” I say, showing her that I picked up on it. “What is it?”

  She takes her time finishing chewing and when she’s done her expression is more reluctant than anything else.

  “Honestly?” she says, mimicking me playfully. “I…kind of… God, how would I say it…”

  “Say it,” I urge her, genuinely compelled now.

  She puts her burger down as if she needs to move her hands to find the words.

  “It was a great night—and you’re great. And maybe I’m just a little head-fried from a ton of bad dates that I won’t bore you by telling you about…”

  “Go on.”

  “But there were a few moments when I just…got this…weird…vibe.”

  “Weird vibe?”

  She nods, her eyes looking almost deeply apologetic. “Between you and Maeve.”

  I slump back in my seat as if she just pounded me in the chest.

  “Obviously I don’t know anything about you two,” she quickly continues, as if pleading for forgiveness, “and you have this kind of… This way of interacting with each other. I’ve just never seen it before. And how much can I really know based on one evening. I shouldn’t have said anything—”

  “No,” I quickly interrupt. “I’m glad you did.” I smile to let her know I’m not offended. Then I find myself chuckling a little and having to look outside. “That’s actually pretty…perceptive.”

  There’s a little pause where she looks at me intently, generously, the same way she probably looks at her patients, as if she’s judging whether I’m okay, and whether she can continue speaking her mind.

  “You really like her, don’t you?”

  Hazel says this simply, matter-of-factly, but if the last thing she said felt like a punch, this feels like she’s just stripped me naked. Everything we’ve done up to this point, my whole self-enforced purpose, pep talk in the car, decisiveness in taking her to lunch, now feels like a bad act on my behalf—and she’s just yanked me off the stage.

  I’ve had my mouth open for ten seconds without saying anything.

  “Yeah,” I finally mutter. “I really do.”

  Hazel picks her burger back up as if the toughness of the conversation has passed.

  “But I guess you can’t do anything because of Mia, or something? You’re worried about ruining her relationship with her best friend?”

  She chews and looks at me, as nonchalant as if we were talking about the weather, and strangely, her calmness and easiness with the subject makes me feel like talking about it more than I ever have.

  “Something like that,” I say, twisting a napkin between my fingers. “We actually—”

  I stop myself abruptly, suddenly afraid of how relaxed Hazel has made me.

  “Don’t worry,” she says, pausing to swallow, “I won’t say anything to Mia.”

  At this point, I’m not even surprised she read my thoughts.

  “We actually slept together a couple of weeks ago. Again. The first time it happened was years ago, just a random thing, and we agreed not to do it again—for Mia’s sake, and kind of for our own, in a way. My sister knows about the first time, but not the recent one.”

  “Mia’s cool though,” Hazel says, one hand putting fries into her mouth, the other picking up her coke. After she’s done with her mouthful, she adds, “Why would you both be so worried that she’d take it wrongly? From what I know of her it seems like she’d understand.”

  “It’s more than that…” I say, still staring at my food. “It’s… You saw Maeve. What she’s all about. She’s sassy and independent and fashionable and a socialite and she lives for herself. She takes what she wants from men and then tosses them away. That’s her whole identity. She’s always been that way, and she loves it. Too much to do anything different. She’s not the kind of woman who’s going to have a ‘long-term relationship’… A ‘boyfriend’… Not a chance… As for anything more than that…marriage…kids… You’d have to be insane to think Maeve wants any of that…”

  “But you do?”

  “Me?” I blurt out instinctively. “No! Hell no! I’m a player too. I’m a romantic. I like to have fun. I like the chase and the thrill and the—”

  I look up to see Hazel covering half her face with her burger again, but once again I can see in her eyes she doesn’t believe me, she doesn’t buy anything of what I’m saying, and it’s so plainly earnest on her that I feel ridiculous for trying to kid her.

  “Fuck,” I say, trailing off. “I don’t know… I don’t know what I want.”

  “What about…” Hazel says, as nonchalantly as if she’s playing I Spy, “a long-term relationship with Maeve? Marriage with her? Kids with her? What do you feel when you think about any of that?”

  I’m glaring at my burger now, wishing I could grab it
just for something to do, but never feeling less of an appetite. And I know that if I stop twisting the napkin and lift my hand from the table it’ll probably be shaking.

  “Fuck…” is all I can mumble.

  After downing a few more fries, Hazel says, “I mean…I get it.” I look up at her, my expression almost pleading for the mercy of some way out, of some easy answer. “You’re afraid to tell her how you really feel.”

  “Now hold on—”

  “Bad choice of words,” she quickly interjects, smiling at me. “No man likes to be told he’s afraid of anything. Let’s call it…cautious…wary… You’re wary of telling her that you want something more with her.”

  I stare at Hazel for a few seconds, and suddenly find myself laughing. Now I’m not just naked, I’m being dissected with anesthetic. I thought I’d seen every kind of woman there is, but the cute, happy, sexy girl with the psychological insight of some Victorian detective is a new one to me.

  “Where the hell do they make women like you?” I ask appreciatively.

  She laughs as she readies to put the last of her burger in her mouth.

  “I’m not sure they do anymore.”

  I watch her finish her meal and then ask, “So what do I do?”

  “That depends. Do you want to do the right thing, or the easy thing?”

  I let out a heavy grunt. “None of my options look easy at the moment.”

  “Oh, that’s not true. It’s quite easy to just sit back, feel sorry for yourself, and have life grind you into dust.”

  It’s weird to hear such words spoken with a cheery tone, and I can’t help thinking she’s speaking from experience.

  “And I suppose the ‘right’ thing is to tell Maeve how I feel?”

  “Uh-huh.” Hazel nods, then looks at my burger ravenously. “Are you going to—”

  I push the plate toward her. “Take it. But I feel like I owe you more than a burger.”

  She laughs and picks up the plate.

  “I’m going to get it wrapped up to go—I’m always famished after work.”

  “I’ll do it,” I say, taking the plate from her while I get up and pull my wallet out.

  She goes to the bathroom while I pay, and we reconvene just outside the diner where I hand her the bag and we walk across the lot to my car. I feel a strange lightness in my body that isn’t the hunger, and notice how pretty the street looks in the high sun, how pretty Hazel’s hair is as it catches the light.

  Near my car I go to open the door for her but pause to turn and ask, “You really figured me out, huh? All in one afternoon.”

  She shrugs and smiles and says, “To be fair, it was sort of a tell when you came out of the bedroom a minute after her all smouldering, your eyes all sexy and focused.”

  I chuckle and pull open the door, but she pauses before entering to let out a deep sigh—as indicative of some deeper sadness as her laughter is of her attitude.

  “Plus,” she says wistfully, as if speaking a prayer, “I just knew you’d turn out to be too good to be true.”

  16

  Maeve

  I’m not focused, interested, or distracted by anything other than my work when I head into the offices. Curt greetings as I make a beeline for my desk are all I give my colleagues. I have a mental checklist of goals for the day; virtually impossible goals. A week’s worth of tasks that I’m determined not to leave my shift in any state other than completed.

  Even though I always preferred working smart to working hard, being smart is starting to feel like hard work. I need order, structure, and to reduce my life down to a measurable set of targets. Everything else is messy, abstract, and unpredictable—and I’ve had a little too much of those things.

  Just a little after lunch (which I eat with one hand while working at my desk) I’ve already knocked out more work than I have in the prior week combined. Among which are a completed deal with a distributor over the phone, my tone hard and uncompromising enough to make the call short. A detailed response to a promising but flawed proposal for a loyalty program. And the final stamp of approval on Harriet’s merchandising plan.

  At this rate, I might get off work just an hour late.

  Then my office door bursts open like a SWAT raid, and the terrible twins storm inside making enough noise for an entire party.

  “Oh my God!” Brent exclaims. “You’re a genius, Maeve!”

  “Did you know there were photos?”

  “This launch is going to be so hot.”

  “If we act fast,” Harriet adds.

  “Oh yeah, absolutely. We need to strike while the iron’s hot.”

  “This can only get hotter though.”

  “So true.”

  I look up and glare at them in a way that stops them in their tracks. Both of them are carrying open laptops, and when I give them the death gaze their smiles drop and they stiffen up as if they’ve found themselves in the principal’s office.

  “The two of you putting your heads together,” I say slowly, “and you still didn’t think to knock?”

  Brent hangs his head, Harriet shrinks into her shoulders.

  “Sorry,” she says.

  “Yeah. Sorry. We just didn’t…”

  “Just so excited…”

  “About what?” I ask.

  They look at each other for a second, mentally urging the other to say it, then Harriet takes the plunge.

  “About you and Asher Kitt.”

  I drop my pen and lean back in my chair, devoting all of my attention to them now.

  “What are you talking about?”

  They share another glance, and this time it’s Brent who steps forward, rounding my desk so he can place the laptop down in front of me and show the screen.

  A cluttered gossip website with images of me and Asher arriving at the art exhibition, the two of us engaged in conversation, looking at each other with a focus that makes us look like a loved-up couple. Another picture of us in a group, both of us amused at something that someone else has said—again looking like a couple, our distinct fashion making us stand out. Then another, clearer picture of Asher alone, one of me alone, all at the exhibition.

  “These just hit the web,” Brent explains.

  “For God’s sake…” I groan, putting a hand to my face. “You can’t even go to an exclusive event these days without some idiot posting everything… Whatever happened to living in the moment?”

  Brent swaps a look with Harriet, and she steps forward to take the lead again.

  “It’s kind of good for us though?” she says, a statement as a question.

  “Yeah,” Brent adds. “Asher’s really hot.”

  “In both senses of the word.”

  “Did you know he’d released a record?”

  “He’s associated with movie projects right now that are getting a lot of buzz.”

  “His brand is really cool…”

  Harriet adds, “Cult.”

  “Right. Not too mainstream.”

  “Among the cool crowd, he’s the coolest—if that makes sense.”

  “And now that you’re a brand…”

  “It’s just really good optics.”

  I let out a deep sigh, all my previous energy and focus gone. “We just went to an exhibition together,” I say. “It’s just a photo.”

  After a little pause, another shared look, Harriet bravely says, “You know how this works, Maeve… All it takes is a photo of two people to make the world fill in the rest.”

  If she wasn’t right, I’d think she was overstepping the mark, telling me how this all “works.” But she’s right. Undeniably, objectively, absolutely right.

  I glare at the images on the gossip website, and Harriet and Brent remain quiet, as if recognizing by my expression that I’m trying to think, and not wanting me to berate them again.

  Part of the reason I’d decided to throw myself into work today was so that I didn’t have to think about this, the date, Asher, Toby. For a day at least I wanted to take a vacat
ion from being “Maeve: The event-attending, man-eating, trend-setting socialite, fashionista, and minor celebrity.” Today I just wanted to be “Maeve: Senior Buyer and Director of Project Management and Merchandising at Harrold’s.”

  The truth that I know too well, however—a truth I can’t really get angry at Brent and Harriet for simply acknowledging—is that there’s no such thing as separation in my life. There never was. I’d always mixed business and pleasure. Always understood the overlap between the person and what they do, between how they look and how they’re perceived. I signed up for it, I embraced it, I was good at it, but now… I just want to be rid of it.

  I lift my eyes to look at Harriet and Brent.

  “You two think this is a good thing, then?”

  “Absolutely,” Harriet says.

  Brent nods enthusiastically. “We couldn’t buy this level of publicity.”

  I ask, “What exactly are they saying?”

  “Well,” Brent begins.

  “There were a whole bunch of pieces written today about the exhibition.”

  “It was a big deal, apparently.”

  “Like, ‘culture pages of national news sites’ big deal.”

  “So there were loads of photos from the event posted on social media.”

  “And included in a lot of the articles.”

  “And they seem to love the photos of you and Asher.”

  I shrug. “Understandable.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “And then of course there’s your little contingent of fans who are into it.”

  “And of course Asher’s little ‘contingent,’” Brent puts in.

  “Generally really nice hype and excitement in those corners.”

  “I mean, a few bitchy comments.”

  “There always are.”

  “But it’s just great, really great, publicity for you.”

  “And thus the launch.”

  They stop talking and I take my eyes from them. My gaze rests on the screen again and I have to shut it so I can think. As soon as I do, Brent takes it away as if the mere presence of the laptop might offend me.