Page 31 of Because of You
His eyes had a darker edge to them when he looked at me. It almost looked like…need. Or desire. Whatever it was, it was something I have never seen in Ben’s eyes before. And it was…well, it was sexy. It was fucking sexy, and that’s not something I have ever thought about Ben before.
I replayed those looks in bed last night until my body was so itchy and buzzing with energy that I finally reached into my bedside drawer for my favorite vibrator to relieve some of the tension.
Yep, I got off—twice—to thoughts of Ben’s eyes on me. And if a quick fantasy of him leaning forward and kissing me on the dance floor the way Jordan kissed Allie and then leading me out of the ballroom to go have sex in his car snuck in while my handwas between my legs? Well, let the jury convict me. I’ll go quietly because I am guilty as shit.
I am feeling some kind of way this morning and am looking for a distraction, so brunch with the girls is perfect. We’re meeting for breakfast at our favorite diner and then heading out. I’m running a little late—because lack of sleep—so Julie, Emma, and Molly are already at a table by the time I push through the door. Julie waves me over and then stands up to hug me before I sit.
“You okay?” she whispers into my ear. “You were quiet last night on the way home. I’ve been worried about you.”
My entire body flushes hot. God bless the August humidity. I’m already sweaty from the walk over, so my getting sweaty for an entirely different reason isn’t noticeable. Julie is one of my best friends, but there is no way I can tell her that I was quiet on the ride home because I was hot and bothered and incredibly confused about her twin brother acting positively swoony towards me. So, I do what I do best and deflect.
“Totally fine. I think that last drink was a mistake because I was on the wrong side of tipsy when I got home.” She seems to accept that, and I give her an extra squeeze before I blow a kiss to Molly and Emma on the other side of the table and claim the empty chair next to Julie.
“I would have ordered your coffee already, but I wasn’t sure which of your drinks you would be in the mood for,” says Julie.
“No worries.” I flag down a server and order an iced coffee with milk and one Splenda. Without warning, I remember the morning a couple weeks ago where Ben knew what kind of coffee I wanted before I told him. I still can’t figure out how he did that. I need to get a grip and stop thinking about Ben.
Once my coffee is delivered and we place our food orders, Molly takes charge of the conversation.
“So, recap,” she says, leaning back and crossing her arms. “Em, you’re up first. And if you don’t include details about your dance with our sexy former hockey player friend, I’ll be serenading you alongside Lin Manuel Miranda and the original cast of Hamilton for the entire drive to the lake.”
Fuck. The gala recap. All up in my feelings this morning, I forgot about our annual post-gala download of who wore what, who got drunk and did something ridiculous, which athletes were most likely to be dreading the headlines this morning because of the ridiculous something, speculating over who hooked up with who, and a general what’s what from the night before. It’s always fun and usually hilarious. But this year, I’m not sure I can get through it without turning awkward, stammering, and accidentally sharing my late night…activities with the contents of my bedside drawer.
“I mean, it was a dance,” Emma says. “There aren’t really a lot of details. It was Jeremy. He’s a nice guy. He’s my friend, although I still can’t speak actual words around him for some reason unless we’re talking about work, which will never not be humiliating. I don’t know why he even asked me to dance. It was his event, and he probably had a thousand other things to do.”
“He asked you to dance because he likes you, Em,” Julie pipes in, reaching over to lay her hand over Emma’s. “He’s liked you for a while, I think. I mean, he keeps sugar behind the bar for your margarita glass, and you know how he’s a salt-on-the-rim purist.”
“I think he’s just trying to be nice. He probably feels sorry for me because I can’t manage an entire sentence around him most of the time.”
“Bullshit,” says Molly. “He has it bad for you. You guys were so close during that dance I’m shocked either one of you could breathe. I bet he is a fucking god in bed. All that former athlete stamina.”
I agree one hundred percent that Jeremy is harboring some serious feelings for Emma. I suspect all her stammering means she likes him right back, but she hasn’t figured it all out yet. I stay quiet, though, knowing Emma is uncomfortable talking about her love life under the best of circumstances. It’s going to be a wild ride watching the two of them finally get their act together.
“Okay, next,” says Emma, eager to turn the spotlight off herself. “Blondie over here and the sexy as sin football player.” She uses finger quotes for “blondie,” and aims a wicked grin in Julie’s direction. “You were dancing, and his hands were basically on your ass. Don’t tell me he didn’t ask for your number.”
“Well, my ass is amazing,” Julie says with a smile. “I would have put my hands on it, too. And he absolutely did ask for my number, but I absolutely did not give it to him.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“I don’t have time to date right now, especially not an athlete.”
“Who said anything about dating?” asks Molly. “You could just fuck him, you know. There’s no doubt he’s amazing in bed too. He has all thatcurrentathlete stamina.”
“What’s even the point? His pre-season has already started. I’m sure his schedule is insane, and after the lake, my schedule will be insane too. It seems like a lot of work.”
“Sex, Jules. Sex is the point. Hot, dirty sex with a tall, gorgeous athlete who was eye fucking you all night and danced with his hands on your ass.”
Our server chooses that moment to arrive at the table with our food. She puts it in front of us and before she turns away, looks at Julie and says, “You should do it, honey. Hot sex is most definitely the point.” Then she winks and walks away.
“See, she gets it,” says Molly.
“Okay, if I say I will consider the dirty sex with the gorgeous athlete, can we move on to you, Mol? Which football players did you have falling at your feet last night?”
“You know me, babe. They all fall at my feet.”
In fact, they do all fall at Molly’s feet. She is obviously beautiful, but she is also wholly and unapologetically herself, with a magnetic personality that draws people to her. She dates on and off, always casually. But as soon as a guy starts falling for her, she runs away like her ass is on fire. When we met her during our first year of law school, she told us she was just getting over an explosively bad breakup. She doesn’t talk about it much, which is unusual for her because she is an open book about everything else. We know enough to know his name is Gabe, she thought he was the one, and he shattered her heart.
In all the years we have known her, she has never been in a serious relationship. We all think that Gabe is why, even though Molly has never admitted it. Anytime the topic of men or relationships come up, we let Molly act flighty and casual about it. Whenever we press or encourage her to go for more, she gets this haunted look in her eyes that breaks all our hearts. Molly is color and life and happiness. Whatever happened with Gabe was bad enough that it seeps away everything that makes Molly, Molly.
