Page 102 of If It Can't Be Us

“She’s Johnny’s friend… We’ve… you know, um,” I stammer, struggling to find the right words, knowing whatever I say won’t help.

“I gathered as much. Honestly, I assume that half the women we pass have fucked you at one point or another. It’s fine, I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Oh wow, ouch. The claws are coming out, but not in the witty, fun way that I love. I know I should apologize for using the term friend, but that would lead to a conversation I’m purposely avoiding.

We walk the rest of the way home hand in hand, silent except for my occasional attempts to fill the void with surface-level chatter.

When we reach her townhouse, she doesn’t stop me from following her inside, which I take as a good sign. She kicks off her shoes and immediately heads upstairs.

“Can you please lock up and make sure all the lights are turned off?” she calls down to me without looking back.

After securing the house and shutting everything off for the night, I find Vivian in the bathroom, washing her face in nothing but an oversized T-shirt and her underwear.

I stand behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her close, kissing the top of her head.

“Hey,” I say gently, “are you okay?” I pause, noticing her hesitation. “I’m sorry.”

She turns toward me and places her hands on my chest, looking up at me with a fleeting fear in her eyes. I hate seeing her like this. Why can’t I just call her my girlfriend? Because I’m terrified. The label, the commitment—it ties someone to something more, something deeper. And that scares the hell out of me. I hate myself for it. She deserves more, and I can’t even call her what she clearly is.

“Are you?” she asks pointedly. “What are you sorry for?”

“For that awkward encounter.” I know it’s the wrong answer and that I should apologize for calling her my friend, but I don’t. I’m putting up shields, protecting myself.

She sighs softly, rubbing her thumb against my chest. “Okay,” she says somberly. “Thanks for the apology.”

She offers her lips to mine, a silent truce, and we end up making love because that’s what it’s become with Vivian. A goddamn connection mixed with incredible sex, making me feel phenomenal things, all while feeling terrified at the same time.

Her heart’s not in it, though. She’s reserved and quiet, silently pulling away, closing herself off, going through the motions. Her touch lacks the usual fervor. I feel the distance she’s putting between us, even in this intimate moment.

When we finish, she turns her back to me, not bothering to get up and use the restroom like usual. I get up and splash my face with cold water in the bathroom sink, gripping the back of my neck in frustration. My stomach churns with a knot of nerves entangling, twisting, and pulling.

I lay back down beside her, scooting closer to close the gap between us. I slide an arm around her, feeling her body tense at my touch. She’s building a wall again—maybe not a ten-foot wall, possibly just a fence—but a barrier nonetheless. I don’t know how to break it down, I can’t lose her.

I lay awake an hour later, watching her, knowing she’s wide awake too. She rolls out of my arms, and sleep eludes us both as she tosses and turns for the next couple of hours. Her mind is obviously racing in a million different directions, while mine fixates only on her. Somewhere in themidst of the uncomfortable avoidance, I eventually fall asleep, my arm stretched out across the bed, reaching for Vivian.

Chapter 31

VIVIAN

I feel Leo settle into a deep sleep after hours of watching me toss and turn. Turning to face him, I watch the steady rise and fall of his chest. The way his hair falls messily over his forehead, his peaceful expression—it all makes my heart ache. My mind races to places I don’t want it to go, replaying the run-in encounter repeatedly. I think about everything we’ve shared over the past ten months, wondering where I miscalculated our relationship and Leo’s intentions.

This is my friend, Vivian,he said.What? Where did I go wrong in thinking that we were so much more than that? I mean, I’m looking at him right now, inmybed. He’s been inmybed every night for months. We’ve got to be more than friends. I love him. I love him so damn much, and right now, I hate that I love him. But I’ve been so sure that he loves me too. He not only won’t say it, he won’t even admit we are more than friends.

Good God! Am I just a friend with benefits to him?

From the beginning, I promised myself I wouldn’t be the one to say “I love you” first. He has to cross that barrier and get there on his own. He’s the one who’s scared to love. He’s the one who said he was working on things, wanting to try this… whateverthisis. I didn’t want Paris to be a one-time thing, but I was prepared for that to be the reality.

Am I crazy? Did I make this up?

No…hemoved us forward.Hewantedthis.

I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, my mind racing and my body too wired for sleep. My fingers twist in the sheets, every muscle tense as I replay our encounters, especially those leading up to New Year’s Eve and our break in January. Every sign tells me that Leo loves me. I know in my gut he feels the same way, and it hurts that he won’t admit his feelings. I’m scared this is going nowhere. I’m not getting any younger, and at the end of the day, I want marriage and kids someday.

Ashley… fuck her.A gorgeous five-foot-ten blonde with long, thick hair and legs that go on for miles. She had at least two to three inches on me, even without the stilettos that made her look like a supermodel. Leo is tall, six-foot-two. With her heels, the gap was only a couple of inches.

God, she was a bitch!

I’m so annoyed that I’ve let some girl I don’t even know get under my skin, making me second guess myself and what I have with Leo.

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