Blurred Lines (17 page)

“Oh my God.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “We did it.”

“Did what?” His voice is still irritated.

I force myself to meet his dark eyes. “We messed up our friendship. We complicated it with sex.”

“That, or
you
complicated it by deciding to get back together with your asshole ex-boyfriend.”

“Hey!” I point a finger at him. “That is
not
fair. I asked your opinion on that, and you said—”

“It shouldn’t matter what I say!” Ben shouts. “You either want Lance, or you want—”

He breaks off, and rubs both hands through his hair, but I step forward. “I want Lance or I want whom?” I press.

It’s crazy how much I want him to finish that sentence.

Instead his arms drop to his side and his eyes shutter. “This is fucking nuts. I’m getting out of here.”

“Great plan. Run away when things get tough,” I say snidely. “I can see Lori’s a lucky girl. You’re going to make a really great boyfriend.”

Ben looks up then, and his eyes are ice-cold. Colder than I’ve ever seen them.

“I’ve got one word for you, Parker, but know that when I say it, I’m not saying that I want to go back to how things were before we were fuck buddies. When I say it, I’m saying that I don’t want to go back
at all.
”

I feel a stab of panic. “Ben—”

He holds up a hand. “No, listen. You’re right to move in with Lance. You need to move forward. But
I
need to move forward too, and I can’t do it with someone who thinks I’m nothing but a superficial, womanizing asshole. I can’t do it with someone who thinks
she
can have it all, but doesn’t want the same for me.”

“Wait, Ben—”

He leans forward so we’re eye to eye, and the look on his face is lethal as he utters the one word I never imagined hurting so much: our safe word.

“Cello.”

And just like that, my best friend walks out of my life.

T
HREE
W
EEKS
L
ATER

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?”

“For the last time, yes,” I say. Then I give Lori my best smile to soften the edge of my tone.

But
seriously,
she’d asked me about twenty times, in a dozen different ways, if I’m okay with this, and if I have to hear it one more time…

Of course I’m okay with this.

Why
wouldn’t
I be okay having dinner with my best friend—
former
best friend—and her live-in boyfriend?

Sounds
great.

I open the door to the trendy Italian restaurant Lori’s been yammering about all week and allow her to go in first.

I’m not really big on all the crowds and hype around the “opening” of restaurants, but Lori knows someone who knows someone and acted like getting reservations on a Friday night was like the Heisman Trophy of eating or something, so I’m trying not to be a dick about it.

The place is noisy and packed, which I kind of hate, but it smells amazing, so I try to think positive.

Lori tells (shouts) our name to the frazzled hostess, who points to the back of the restaurant. Lori nods before beckoning me to follow her.

I take a deep breath and wind around the tiny, too-close-together tables, trying to brace myself for what’s to come.

And then I see her.

I see Parker, and all thoughts of thinking positive about the evening fly out the window.

I don’t think I can do this.

But, of course, I have to.

Lori and I have been on a handful of dates now, and I’m officially out of excuses for dodging this double date.

Parker and Lance stand as we get closer.

Parker so that she can hug Lori, Lance so that he can shake my hand in that weird, man-to-man thing that guys do.

If Lance or Lori notice that Parker and I don’t say hello, much less hug, neither says anything.

“This place looks amazing,” Parker gushes as we all sit down around the too-small table. She and Lori are sitting across from each other against the wall, with me across from Lance on the outside.

This leaves Parker and me kitty-corner from each other, which I guess is as good as can be expected given the circumstances, but it still feels too close.

Lori doesn’t know about our fight, and from the placid look on Lance’s face, I suspect he doesn’t know, either, so we’ll have to play nice.

And since Parker’s currently talking, playing nice means looking at her. Pretending to listen.

She’s wearing a black sleeveless top with a low scoop neck and a bunch of layered necklaces. Nothing special. Her hair’s pulled back in a long ponytail, her makeup all smoky and Friday-night-out-ish.

She looks amazing, and that pisses me off. I don’t want her to be miserable—not really—but I don’t exactly need her to look like
that,
either. All pretty and glowing and…happy.

“I’m so glad we could do this,” Lori is saying,
because oh my God are we still talking about the restaurant
? “We could have gotten a better time next weekend, but obviously that won’t work with Ben going back to Michigan.”

Parker glances at me in surprise. “You’re going home?”

And then it’s Lori and Lance’s turn to look surprised, because normally—as in
before
—Parker would have known that not-so-little detail about my life.

I take a sip of water. “It was too expensive to fly on Thanksgiving, so I’m going back the weekend before. It’ll appease the parents without blowing my entire savings account on a plane ticket.”

“Right, of course,” she murmurs.

I suspect that she, more than anyone, knows how much I’m dreading the trip.

And, yes, I know that’s an awful thing to say. I hardly ever see my parents, and putting in some time at the winter holidays really isn’t too much to ask.

It’s just that I always come away from trips home feeling woefully inadequate. Four straight days of passive-aggressive versions of
So, when are you going to stop messing around?
will do that to you.

“I hear you,” Lance is saying. “My parents are paying for me and Parker to fly to Boston for Thanksgiving, so expenses aren’t a problem, but,
man,
I hate traveling on the holidays.”

It’s my turn to glance at Parker in surprise, but she’s staring at the candle on the table and won’t look at me.

Thanksgiving in the Blanton household is a big deal.

I mean,
all
families like to be together on turkey day, but Thanksgiving is Sandra Blanton’s favorite holiday, so she goes all out.

More than even Christmas.

I can’t believe Parker’s going to miss it to spend it with Lance’s family.

Lance, who dumped her just a couple months ago. Lance, who—

My thoughts are interrupted by our server, who rattles off five specials of things I’ve never heard of before taking our much-needed drink order and disappearing, once again leaving the four of us in awkwardness.

At least it’s awkward for
me.

Lori and Lance seem to be continually oblivious to the fact that they’re carrying the entire conversation.

Probably because Lori is really good at talking.

I’ve learned this about her in the two weeks since we started “dating,” if you’d call it that.

Not that it’s a big deal. Just a couple dinners. Lunch together at work. She came over the other night and watched a movie.

And yet…no sex. Nothing even close to sex.

I can tell she’s puzzled, but she hasn’t really pressed. I feel a little guilty. I’m pretty sure she thinks that I haven’t made a move out of some gentlemanly sentiments, but the truth is…

I haven’t been interested in sex with Lori. Or with anyone.

I glance at Parker and Lance, wondering how
their
sex life is, only to realize that the thought destroys my appetite. Since the supposedly excellent food at this place is likely to be the only good part of the evening, I push the thought away.

Things go pretty well through our first round of drinks.

And through appetizers. It’s right after our main dishes are served that they start to go downhill.

“So, Ben,” Lance says, cutting a bite of his steak and then glancing up at me. “I’ve gotta say, when Parker told me that you and Lori were dating, I practically fell out of my chair.”

“Gosh, thanks, Lance,” Lori says sarcastically.

“Not because of you, honey,” he says with a little wink. “It’s just I always thought Ben here had no intention of dating.”

“Wonder where you got that idea?” I say with a pointed look at Parker.

She pauses in the process of winding pasta around her fork and narrows her eyes at me. “I’m pretty sure he picked it up from your track record. Because, remind me, when’s the last time you saw the same girl for more than one night in a row? Is it four years ago now? Or five? And didn’t you cheat on her—”

“Hey, now,” Lori says with a little laugh. “We all did things we shouldn’t have in college. Slept with people we shouldn’t have—”

“Became friends with someone we shouldn’t have,” I mutter around a bite of my pork.

Parker’s fork clatters to her plate, but she reaches for her glass of wine to cover it, and the place is so noisy, nobody seems to notice.

Except
I
notice.

Just like I notice the look of hurt on her face and feel instant regret. This fight that we’re having is stupid. I get that. Six solid years of friendship, and I lost my temper all because she thought I didn’t want a girlfriend.

But
damn,
that had burned.

The way it didn’t even occur to her that I
could
be a boyfriend.

The way she couldn’t even begin to picture that if I cared for someone, I would treat them like they were my
everything.

The way she’d thought I wasn’t good enough.

Sure, I’d been her boy toy for a while there, and that had been more than okay. I’d gone into that situation eyes open, perfectly content to be there.

But until our conversation in her bedroom that last day, I hadn’t realized that she
only
thought of me as a boy toy.

And it had hurt.

Just like
she’s
hurt now, by my careless statement about regretting the friends I made in college.

But I’m not feeling all that apologetic just now. Not when Lance’s arm drops around the back of her chair as he starts to tell some boring-ass story about an art show they went to last night.

The only time Parker and I ever went to art shows was to make fun of the art, but, hey, if her
boyfriend
wants to go…

“So, what are you two doing the rest of the weekend?” Parker asks, putting her elbows on the table and smiling at Lori.

Lori gives me a nervous little glance. “Oh, I don’t know. No plans really. I have my sister’s baby shower tomorrow afternoon, and then—”

“We’re going to Portland City Grill,” I interrupt.

Both Parker and Lori look at me, and it’s tough to tell who’s more surprised.

“We are?” Lori asks.

I give her a slow, seductive smile. “Surprise.”

And then I feel like
the biggest asshole
because she gives me this beyond-happy smile, and I realize I’ve just done the ultimate dick move of toying with one girl’s emotions just to get a rise out of another girl.

I suspect Parker knows it, too, because she’s no longer looking wounded; she’s looking pissed.

Fuck. Fuck.
Fuck.

Not only have I given Lori the wrong impression about where our “relationship” is going by claiming to be taking her to one of the nicest restaurants in Portland, but now I’ll have to actually try to get reservations, plus foot the ridiculously expensive bill.

All because I’d been wanting to jog Parker’s memory of
our
night there, back when we’d been carefree and happy.

Fuck.

I need to regroup.

I can’t think in this crowded, noisy hellhole, so I take the coward’s way out and stand under the pretense of having to go to the bathroom.

Problem is, Parker’s had the exact same thought, and she stands at the exact same time,
also
announcing that she has to use the restroom.

I start to sit, but Lori touches my hand with a little laugh. “You two can go at the same time. I’m sure Lance and I can manage to make conversation without you.”

Fuck
again.

The old Parker and Ben would have had no problem heading toward the restroom at the same time. We wouldn’t have thought a thing about it.

The
new
Parker and Ben…

I force a smile and avoid Parker’s eyes as I gesture for her to precede me in the direction of the restrooms.

The cramped dining room and the noise of tipsy diners prevents us from having to make conversation, but then we step into the deserted hallway and it’s annoyingly silent.

Still, we say nothing as we walk to the restrooms.

Correction.

Restroom.

Singular.

The tiny restaurant also apparently equates to tiny facilities, which means there’s only one coed bathroom. “You first,” I mutter.

She nods in thanks and brushes past me, but before she can close the door, my palm is on the door and I’m pushing it open, crowding her backward as I follow her in.

I shut the door, leaving us alone in a tiny dark room lit only by a few tiny candles that smell like lavender or some shit.

“What the
hell,
Ben,” she says, pushing at my shoulders. “I have to pee.”

“You do not,” I snap. “You were trying to escape the table just like I was.”

She says nothing. “I can’t believe you got us into this. Why didn’t you just tell her you didn’t like Italian food?”

“Because
everybody
likes Italian food. Why didn’t
you
just tell her that you and I aren’t on good terms?”

“Why didn’t you? You’re her
boyfriend.
”

I open my mouth to refute this, only to realize that my lack of boyfriend potential is the entire reason for our fight in the first place, and I refuse to give her any ammunition.

“You and Lance seem cozy,” I say snidely. “I take it he hasn’t gotten bored yet? Remembered all the reasons he dumped you in the first place?”

Shit.
Too far.

Way
too far.

Even if Parker hadn’t gasped in surprise, I would have known I’d crossed a cruel line with that.

I reach for her arms, gently, but she jerks back. Only she can’t, because the stupid bathroom is so small, we’re still chest to chest, both of us angry, both of us hurting.

“I’m sorry,” I say after several moments of strained silence. “That was an asshole thing to say.”

She glances at her feet before crossing her arms. “It’s okay. I know you hate me now.”

My chest tightens. “No.
No.
”

This time when my hands reach for her, she doesn’t move away, and I gently press my fingers into her upper arms as I shake her, just slightly. “I’m mad, yes, but I don’t hate you, Parks. I could never.”

She still won’t look at me. “You basically told me our friendship was over. All because we had one little fight. That’s not what real friendship is, Ben. You don’t just get to end it because you’re mad at someone.”

You hurt me,
I want to say.
You’re my best friend. The one who’s supposed to tell me I’d be the best boyfriend in the world and that any girl would be lucky to have me, not the one who laughs outright at the thought that I might need someone to love.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, because I can’t say any of the other stuff.

But it’s not enough. I know the quiet apology isn’t enough to repair the rift between us.

Mostly because I don’t even fully understand what the rift
is,
and I suspect Parker doesn’t, either.

“You should get out before someone comes and finds us in here together,” she says quietly.

“Yeah.” But I don’t move.

Neither does she.

And then I’m pulling her closer, my hands sliding up her arms.