Friend Is a Four Letter Word (14 page)

“Okay,” Carter says. He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“I’m great,” I say, my voice void of all emotion.

“Good. Are you going to hang out here, or are you coming back with me?”

“What?” Quinn asks. “What do you mean coming back with you? Is something—”

“I just mean all of her stuff is at my place,” Carter interrupts.

“Oh,” Quinn replies. “I was just telling her she could stay here. We only have one bedroom, but you’re welcome to the couch, it’s more comfortable than it looks.”

“Her stuff is already set up in my room,” Carter bends the truth. I have nothing but the crappy duffle bag I came in with.

“Your room, huh?” Quinn says, her voice is prickly with accusation.

“Easy, Quinn. I took the couch,” he says. “You and Ben need your privacy. Plus you work and go to school, you’re never around. Ben is always slipping in and out at weird hours to go to the studio. She can come back with me. I already told her that.”

“I’m right here,” I finally say. I should be flattered that they are both basically fighting over who gets to entertain me as a houseguest, but I feel pathetic.

In the way.

And homeless.

“It’s up to you, Shayna. You’re welcome to stay with Ben and I. And I’m a better cook,” Quinn sneers at her brother. It’s the most ridiculous, endearing display of sibling rivalry I’ve ever witnessed. It almost makes me jealous. And for the first time since I found out that my parents aren’t my real parents, I wonder if I had siblings. If it was just me that my birth mother didn’t want. I can’t believe I’ve never questioned it before, whether there is protective older brother, or a snotty little sister that I was robbed of. I may never know the answer to that.

“You cool staying back at my place, Shay? Give the love birds their space?” Carter asks, raising a challenging eyebrow at me.

“Absolutely,” I say with a faux smile. “It’s just down the hall and my stuff
is
already there.”

“Cool,” Quinn says. “You guys entertain yourselves then for a bit? I want to unpack and take a quick shower, we’ve been on the road all damn day.”

“Sure thing, Quinnlette,” Carter says. “Why don’t Shayna and I take care of dinner? We’ll bring something back by in a couple of hours?”

“Sounds good. Not that Thai place you like though. All of their sauces taste like feet,” Quinn calls from her bedroom.

“You’re an asshole,” I mutter under my breath.

“For giving you a place to stay?” Carter counters. He gives me the cockiest smirk I’ve ever seen and then says, “Let’s get home, doll.”

I stomp down the hall after him and as soon as the door is closed behind us say, “Home my ass! You knew I wouldn’t turn you down in front of Quinn. That if I did it’d look weird. You can’t freaking hold me hostage, Carter.”

Carter steps in close to me. So close I can smell a fresh, citrusy scent. He must have showered before he came over to Quinn’s like a barbarian to track me down. “I’m not holding you hostage, doll. I’m just being a good friend.”

I take a step back even though I’m so angry I want to punch him in the throat. He moves with me until my back is pressed up against the wall.

“I missed you,” he says.

“Wh—”

But he cuts my question off with his lips. Hard and hungry on mine. It’s only been a couple of hours but I missed him too. He pushes the hair off of my neck and replaces it with the warmth of his lips. Still, I push him away.

“That is
not
how you kiss a friend,” I say, catching my breath.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I just want you to be straight with me, Carter. What’s going on? One minute you’re skipping out on me, the next you’re kissing me like you can’t stand to be away from me.”

“I don’t want to be away from you,” he says. “And that’s crazy, right? We’ve talked on the phone, but… But the truth is, I’ve thought about you—I’ve thought about that Christmas Eve talk. I’ve wondered about you every day since then.”

“You have?” I’m gob smacked. “Why?”

“Why?” Carter repeats, like I’ve just asked the most absurd question ever. “Because you’re so god damn beautiful. And smart. And so—” he links his fingers through mine and kisses my knuckles. “So sexy. Even if you’re so wounded—”

I drop my hand. “I’m not a project for you, Carter.”

“I didn’t say that. I just meant that you don’t realize how amazing you are. And me feeling like this—me wondering about you for the last several months—you showing up here—that just wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Of course not,” he says. “I want you here with me.” He loops his finger through the belt loop of my jeans and tugs me closer. “I want you closer to me.”

I slip my hand up his shirt and feel his warm skin and taut abs. He sucks in a quick breath through his teeth, and grins down at me.

“Because, I can still go,” I tease. I rub small, soft circles with my index finger on his skin. “If you want to continue this pretense of you and I being friends, fine.”

“It fucking physically aches not to take you right here and now, Shay,” he says. His voice is ragged. “And that’s why I had to bail earlier. Because I know if I do—if I cross that line, there’s no turning back. There’s no way to
not
screw this up if I give in.”

“You’re not going to screw up anything, Carter.”

He sits in one of the chairs and pulls me down onto his lap.

“Tell me you want me to leave,” I say. I shift my weight slightly, like I may get up and walk away. It takes only that slight movement for Carter to grip my hips and pull me back down to him.

“I just… There have to be some boundaries. For both of our sakes. Until we figure out what exactly we’re doing.”

“How’s this for boundaries?” I ask. I pull my shirt up over my head. “Am I crossing any lines here?” I’m half joking, half waiting for him to shut things down again.

Carter pulls his brows together, looking pained. “Shayna—”

“Because if you want me to leave, if you want me to stop… say the word.” I pull his face closer to mine.

“Stay.” The word comes out like a beg. He grips at my waist and tugs me into his chest. “I know what I want. Stay.”

“What about dinner?” I ask as he scoops me up into his arms and carries me to his bedroom. “You promised Quinn we’d bring dinner.”

“They’ll figure out dinner for themselves. You just promised me dessert,” he growls in my ear.

Shayna’s nails rake gently over my chest in a way that should be soothing. I should be able to fall asleep to the rhythm of her soft breaths, but all I can think is,
‘tell her.’
Each rasp of her nail on my skin is another slice in my resolve though.

The homesick feeling we’ve both talked about—the feeling of searching for something that maybe doesn’t even exist—the feeling that has gnawed at me for as long as I can remember is gone when I’m with her. Being with Shayna is like a bandage for my damn soul. But she’s here trying to get her life back together. She gave up every vice to be the person she thought her parents wanted her to be. I can’t expect her to understand. We’ve just started something, something I don’t know if I can wholly throw myself into. I don’t know how close I can let her get. I don’t know if I can be what she needs. We were supposed to be friends, nothing more. How did it turn into this so quickly? Boundaries are a joke when it comes to her. I want her. I need her.

The only thing to decide is if I tell her now, and let her rip the bandage off quickly as she walks away. Or if I’ll drag it out. Let the corners of our relationship fray until the truth slips out when I least expect it, letting the bandage fall and taking the rest of whatever Shayna and I have with it.

I close my eyes and force myself to focus only on the feeling of her bare skin, molded to mine. Her legs tangled in mine under the sheets. Her breath steady in my ear.

I should wake her.

I should wake her and tell her every damn thing running through my mind. I should tell her how much it means that she stayed last night. That everything she’s talked about—feeling lost and out of place—I’ve felt all of those things my entire life and held it all in because I felt like I had to be the most together sibling of our fucked up family. That when I’m with her, I feel like things finally make sense. But I’m a damn coward.

So instead of kissing her lightly like I want to and watching her eyelashes flutter open, instead of seeing that sleepy smile cross her face when she sees that I’m still here beside her, I slip my arm out from under Shayna’s tiny body, praying to a God I’m not even sure I believe in that she stays asleep while I pull on my jeans and grab a clean t-shirt and my keys. There’s a 7AM meeting across town that I sometimes hit before I surf. It clears my head, and then when I hit the waves I feel that much more incredible. Shayna and I were up late. I can make it there and back before she wakes up.

I jingle the change in my pants pocket with my hand. It’s a nervous habit, because walking in and out of this place never gets any easier. It’s at minimum, a bi-weekly slap in the face reminder that I screwed up. But I have to do it.

I knew I had a drinking problem two years ago when I was still in college. They say admitting it is half the battle, but that’s a bunch of horseshit. Admitting it just makes it crystal clear in your own mind that you’re a fuck up. That makes you depressed—that makes you want to drink.

I tried quitting on my own, with no support, but I didn’t have the willpower. And even though I knew I had a problem, I really didn’t want to change it, and I sure as shit wasn’t going to admit it to anyone else. So I skated by in college because it’s okay to be a drunk in college, right? But when I showed up for my AICPA exam still buzzed, then fell asleep during the test that was supposed to the final stepping stone to my career as an accountant—following in my dick of a dad’s footsteps no less, I knew I had to do something. So I started coming to these meetings on the South side of town where there’s no chance I’ll run into Quinn or anyone else I know. But the fact that I can feel secure that I won’t be seen by anyone I know doesn’t make it any easier to show my face at these things.

“Carter,” Jane calls after me. I turn to the petite blonde who has about twenty years on me but based on that youthful smile alone would probably still get carded if she were still drinking and not the proud owner of a five-year bronze chip. Jane is my sponsor. “Two meetings this week already, huh?”