Page 7 of Neighbors With Benefits

“Spoken like someone who has never failed at anything in his life,” I replied.

Bash pointed at me with his beer. “Oh, I fail all the time. But here’s the secret about failure: it’s not permanent. You get to try again. Unless you’re, like, an ancient Roman gladiator or something. Then failure leads to death.”

“You’re not doing a good job of reassuring me.”

“That’s not my job,” he countered. “But trust me: everything will work out.”

I trusted Bash on pretty much everything in life, but I didn’t trust him now. He was imbued with boundless optimism, which was why he was such a good negotiator at work. But hehadled a relatively privileged life. His dad paid for his college, and all four of his grandparents were still alive. It was easy for him to think everything would always work out.

The rest of us had to live in reality.

We ordered burgers at the bar—our post-victory tradition—and then went home. It was a Saturday night, but neither of us wanted to go out. Especially not while waiting for Carmen to get back to us. So we cracked open some beers and put on a movie.

I checked her profile on the dating app again. There wasn’t anything new, nothing unusual that would explain why she hadn’t responded to me in almost two days.

“Will you stop checking your phone?” Bash complained after a little while. “It’s making me antsy.”

“I still think we should have waited until Dante was home,” I said. “Maybe that’s why Carmen hasn’t replied.”

“Dante doesn’t matter. We’re all on the same page, and we know what he likes. Aiden, you’re going to drive yourself insane if you keep thinking about it. Seriously, just turn your phone off and enjoy the movie. Here, I’ll put mine away, too.”

He extended his palm to take my phone, but I didn’t want to do that. So I got up and said, “Talking about Dante reminded me that I still need to water the plants. Keep the movie running—you don’t need to pause it.”

“You’re going to text her, aren’t you?” Bash demanded.

“I don’t have her number. I messaged her on the dating app and gave her mine. You know how it works.”

“Good thing,” Bash muttered. “Otherwise you would’ve texted her a hundred times and scared her off by now. Just remember: everything will work out.”

We had a large patio with plenty of hanging plants, plus a massive garden in the backyard. Dante had left us very specific plant watering instructions while he was out of town for the next month; different plants got watered on different days, which varied depending on if we got any natural rain.

As I watered the plants, I wished I had been born with Bash’s optimism. It would be nice to put on a smile and just assume everything would go my way. But that’s not how the real world worked. Bash just didn’t know it yet.

A sense of calmness came over me while taking care of the plants. It always seemed weird to me that a hot-blooded guy like Dante would take up a hobby like horticulture, but now I kind of understood why he did it. Maybe taking care of these plants was the only activity that actually kept Dante sane.

The text finally came when I was almost done watering the garden. I almost dropped the watering can in the rush to pull my phone out of my pocket:

UNKNOWN: Hi! I hope I’m not replying too quickly, but I’ve considered your offer and want to take you up on it. Are you home right now?

I laughed out loud. Replying too quickly? It had been two days! But more importantly, she was agreeing to the offer I had extended to her. Relief soothed my body and settled into my bones as I replied in a rush. I had a really good buzz going, but I managed to respond without any typos.

Me: I’m really glad you texted! Dante’s not here right now, but we can discuss everything without him. Just to confirm the basics before you come over: you’ll be dating all three of us. You get to choose who, and how often. You also get to decide what level of relationship with each of us: emotional, intellectual, sexual. And if it is sexual, you get to decide whether you hook up with us individually, all together, or any combination in between. Basically, you’re the woman running the show. We’re comfortable with anything. If this sounds good, then come on over so we can discuss further!

UNKNOWN: I’m confused. This is Jazz, next door. Aiden Rush left me this phone number with a pie.

The relief I felt disappeared and was replaced with a frigid sense of dread.

This wasn’t Carmen.

This was Jazz, the new girl next door.

I re-read the text I had sent, my dread expanding with every word.

Ohno.

I paced along the side of the garden, wondering what I should do. If I told Bash, he would say it was my fault for worrying so much. Adrenaline flooded my veins, sobering me up quickly and making my hands shake.

I just told my neighbor that we want to share…

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