Keane ran a hand over the back of his head. The movement was wracked with unease—and this, this right here was exactly why Keane had been right when he’d gently let me down years before. Because our friendship was more important than a maybe—and a maybe was all this would ever amount to on the romantic end of things. “Are you good, Navy?”
What a loaded question.
“I’m good.” I gave a smile that I actually felt this time. Whatever initial misplaced feelings I’d had about us crossing the line had evaporated. It really was just a mistake. We didn’t need to talk about it and make things even more awkward than they already were. If I repeated this to myself enough, it would stick. I knew it. “Thanks for last night. The pizza, I mean. And the drinks.” Not thanks for the sex. Not that I’m mad about it. Because, what I could remember about it was nice. Nice? It was more than nice.
Hell, I had to get the hell out of here.
I ruffled his hair. “You want me to trim your hair on Sunday?”
He looked momentarily confused but his eyes cleared as he dragged a hand through the mess on top of his head. “Do I need one?”
“It depends on if you’re going for bird’s nest or wild but momentarily tamed.”
“Those are my only two options?”
“As I see it.” I held his hair up as high as it would go. “You could lose an inch and that’d help the whole nest thing you’re currently rocking.”
“I guess if it’s that bad…”
“Good.” I squeezed his shoulder as I gazed up at him. I wanted so, so badly to behave as if this was normal between us, and that nothing had rocked our fifteen-year friendship. To go back to the Navy and Keane that we were the night before. But there was something in Keane’s eyes—a question he couldn’t or wouldn’t ask. I’d lost too much in my life to take a risk like this. Friends like Keane came along once in a blue moon and weren’t worth taking a gamble. Not that I was assuming he even wanted to. Keane went through women like water through a net. So while he could be a great—a fantastic friend—he was decidedly not the type of boyfriend I was looking for.
Again. Not like he even wanted to be my boyfriend. I was too much of a dreamer sometimes, thinking about fictional, hypothetical paths I’d never choose in reality. Funnily enough, I often told myself fiction just to get through reality. Like the fact that I would be able to move on from this moment unscathed.
“It’s my turn,” he reminded me as I let go of his shoulder. “To pick the movie.”
“Are you going to pick something bloody?”
“Do you want me to?”
“I want you to choose whatever you want.” I was trying to duck out as casually and quickly as possible.
“Even if that means something dumb, like my choices usually are?”
“If that’s what you want. Don’t worry, I’ll torture you with something sickeningly sweet next time.”
He placed his palms on my shoulders, stopping me from slipping out of his bedroom door. “Lay that syrup on thick, Navy. If that’s what you want.” He squeezed me gently. “Besides, I’ll surely make you suffer through another movie after we recover from your toothache-y movie.”
“Not Spartacus again,” I said. I rarely bemoaned his movie choices—wait, ‘rarely’ wasn’t completely true. He had an affinity for movies that didn’t even rank as B movies, but lately he chose movies like the 1960 Spartacus movie—which wouldn’t be so horrible if it wasn’t over three hours long.
“You could always just fall asleep, like you usually do.”
“Oh, so that’s your goal? To bore me to sleep?”
“Of course.” He let go of me and I made my way toward the door. “Wait,” he said, causing me to pause at the threshold. “You’re just gonna walk out there?”
I eyed him like he was confused about just who exactly was in his house. “Yes, that was my plan.”
“My mom’s probably out there.”
“Right…” I looked at him funny. “What’s your point?”
“She’s going to think something happened.” He glanced quickly at the bed.
“Well, she wouldn’t be wrong then, would she?” I tried to be nonchalant about it, but each time it was mentioned I wanted to shrink in on myself. Keane winced. “But it’s not like it’s the first time you’ve had a girl over.”
“Never overnight, never alone in my room.”
Was that true? I eyed him, silently feeling proud of having been the first girl he’d had stay the night, but also mentally shaking myself because this was explicitly a one-time thing. Nothing to get excited about. “You have girls rotating in and out anyway, it’s not a surprise.”
“I don’t go through girls like a revolving door.” He frowned again. “And you’re not just another girlfriend.”
“Okay,” I said, “but it’s not the first time you’ve had me over for the night.” I glanced back at the bed. “It’s nothing, Keane, really.” I put my hand on the knob. “It’s not like I’m going to sidle up for breakfast and tell her what happened last night.”
“That’s good.”
“Besides,” I said, turning the knob, “even if I wanted to, I don’t remember most of it.”
“You don’t?”
I wavered for a moment. It was true, to some degree. I didn’t remember the steps we’d taken. I had bits and pieces, like flashes from a damaged film roll. I remembered wanting it to happen. I remembered how he’d looked at me, how it was definitely not a friend-only kind of look. My body was sore, but I didn’t have specific memories of what had made it so, which seemed pretty unfair since it was the first and last time it would ever happen. “No,” I told him, giving him a smile. “Which is probably better for the both of us anyway, right? See you on Sunday.”
Once I was on the other side of the door, I blew out a breath. My hair was already slipping from the weak bun I’d made, so I righted it as I walked down the hallway toward the front door. In a perfect world, I’d walk right past Keane’s mom and she wouldn’t see me.
But it wasn’t a perfect world. “Navy Jane,” she said in her singsong voice from around the corner.
“Hey, Mrs. C,” I said, giving her a one-armed hug. “Sorry for the intrusion.”
“Intrusion?” She yanked out a seat at the island and gestured wildly for me to sit. “If you ever call yourself that again, I’ll—well, I’m a pacifist so I will just have to hug you to death.”
I laughed as I took a seat. “I feel like that’s still a little bit violent itself, Mrs. C.”
She tapped her chin. “I suppose you’re right. But, anyway, you’re not an intrusion. Want some bacon?”
“I’ll never say no to bacon,” I told her, glancing at the clock on the stove. “But I do have to take it and run. I’ve got work and I need to check on the twins.” Work wasn’t until later this morning, but I didn’t have a poker face and didn’t want even Mrs. C’s light, friendly interrogation to cause me to admit more than I was willing to.