Page 97 of Enemies with Benefits

“What’s got you smiling? Finally hit puberty?” Mak’s comment makes me chuckle. I slow in my jog and turn to her.

“Nope. Already hit that. As you saw while peeping in the bathroom. Gotta go impress some scouts. Get ready, duckling. I’m about to make it big.”

“The only thing big about you is your head, turd breath.”

“Oh, duckling, you and I both know that’s not the only big thing.” I wink and laugh at the flush in her cheeks as I jump in my dad’s truck. “S’up.”

“You ready, son?”

“Heck yeah. Let’s go make some dreams happen.”

“Fuck.” Stumbling into my apartment, I fall back into the wall and toss my keys on the table, missing it by a mile. A sloppy chuckle bursts from my mouth, and I sway forward. I catch my balance—barely—and suck in a deep breath. Wiping my hands down my face, I focus on the couch. Must make it to the couch and pass out—

“Ben?”

My head whips to the left, and I wobble.

“Hey.” Two MaKayla’s walk up to me and grab my bicep. “Jesus, are you drunk?”

I try to focus on one of them. “I was drunk hours ago. I would consider this plastered.” I laugh.

“You tore us out of your mother’s house with no explanation and kicked me out of your car so you could go get drunk?”

“Correction. Plastered.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She and her double storm off.

“Hey, where you two going?” They halt and turn around. The fast movement makes me sway. They come back at me so quickly, I don’t react in time when four hands shove into my chest. I stumble backward, reaching for anything to catch me. Thank God the wall saves me.

“You had me worried. I thought something bad happened to you. I was just getting over the fact that you were rude as hell and treated me like I was nothing to you. Then again, I’m used to that. But to find out it was because you needed to go out and—”

“You know, not everything is about you,” I cut her off.

“Excuse me?”

I push off the wall. My mood suddenly flips a switch. The muscles in my jaw clench, and I step into her personal space. “You heard me. This isn’t about you.” My nostrils flare. My drunk-induced high is gone. My brows crease with anger, and it sobers me up some. I back away.

“Then what is it about? Talk to me.”

That’s the last thing I want to do. I don’t want to hash out why I am the way I am. Why he haunts me every night when I close my eyes. Why I hateher. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Oh, okay. So, you normally throw your girlfriends out of your car and go on a bender? Don’t lie to me. I’m not an idiot. I know something’s wrong. Was it your mom? Is it the anniversary of your—”

“Don’t say it. I don’t want to hear it.”

She reaches out to grip my arm. “So, this is about your dad? Ben, it’s okay to griev—”

“I’m not grieving!” I rip my arm out of her grip. “Jesus, he died thirteen years ago.”

“There’s no timeline on when someone is supposed to stop grieving.” She steps up to me, but I shrug her off. “Your mom is still hurting—”

“Just stop. You spend five minutes with her and think you know her?”

“I didn’t say I know her. I am saying I understand her.”

I laugh cynically. “You don’t understand shit.”

“Excuseme?”

---