“Okay, fine,” I snap. “After Buchanan asked me out and I rejected him, we agreed to a less traditional…arrangement, and––”
“So you went through with it?” Ashlyn interrupts.
My lips bunch on one side, and I mutter, “Maybe?”
“What the hell does maybe mean?” Blake demands. “Are you guys like, friends with benefits or something?”
“More like frenemies,” I clarify. “Or at least, it started that way.”
“And now?” Ashlyn prods.
“I’m not entirely sure,” I murmur under my breath while searching my cabinets for a bottle of vodka. Those shots are sounding pretty good right about now. “I mean, yes. I’m definitely not crossing into relationship territory or anything, but the more we’ve hung out, the more we’ve gotten to know each other, and earlier today, things got a little more…personal, and instead of opening up to him like I should’ve, I was a bitch and deflected like I always do. Now, I don’t know where we stand or how I should act, or anything else for that matter.”
“So you’ve become friends,” Kate concludes.
“Maybe?”
“Friends who bump uglies,” Blakely adds. “Which means I was right!” Hands raised in the air, she does a twirl. “Booyah!”
With a flick of my fingers, the bottle cap on the vodka untwists and clatters to the ground, but I don’t bother to pick it up. Instead, I pour some vodka into my ice cream container and give the concoction a swirl with my spoon. “I’m not sure what we are at this point, but I do know I feel bad despite not being able to put my finger on why, which makes everything awkward and weird and…a mess.”
“No offense, but it became messy as soon as you proposed no-strings-attached sex with your boss,” Ash tells me. She takes the vodka from my grasp and adds a splash of it into her own pint. “But since you’ve already crossed the line, you might as well enjoy it, and if it turns into something else, so be it.”
Something else?
My expression sours, and I drop my spoon back into my ice cream, causing a few drops of the creamy vodka milkshake to splash onto the counter. “I don’t want it to turn into something else.”
“If you didn’t want it to turn into something else, you wouldn't feel guilty about keeping something from him,” Ash points out.
“Ash is right,” Kate adds. “You’re a closed book to literally everyone, and you’ve never cared until today. Maybe it doesn’t mean you’re looking for an actual relationship with the guy, but it does mean you’re starting to look at him like he’s more than a random hook-up.”
“Like maybe he’s even your friend,” Blakely adds. She reaches across the counter and swipes the creamy splash on the counter with her finger, popping it into her mouth. “Oh, yeah, that’s good.” She pours some alcohol into her own half-eaten carton and gives it a stir while Kate grins.
“You’re finding this way too amusing,” I point out.
With a shrug, she chuckles and says, “Take it from the girl who did everything in her power to keep a guy at arm’s length despite his determination to cross into the friend zone. It’s not so bad if you give in and let it happen. Who knows? You might even wind up liking him.”
“But I don’t want to like him,” I argue.
“Or maybe you’re scared of what will happen if you do,” Ash murmurs. “Regardless, having friends and letting them see you being vulnerable isn’t a bad thing. In fact, I’d argue it’s a really good thing.”
“Debatable,” I mumble.
“Or spot on,” Blakely offers. “You should’ve seen one of the boys I teach at the foundation. He was a big, fat butthead to everyone for months until another big, fat butthead started coming. They got into a nasty fistfight, and I had to break them up, which was a real hoot, let me tell ya. But afterward, Butthead Number One had a breakdown and started crying in my arms, telling me how much he missed his mom, who happens to be in prison. Butthead Number Two witnessed the whole thing, and instead of giving him crap for it, he sat on the curb beside Butthead Number One and told him about his older brother, who’s also in prison. They allowed each other to see their vulnerable sides,” she emphasizes. “And what do you know? They became friends and are practically inseparable now.”
“I think it’s really great for Butthead Number One and Two,” I tell her. “Although, I think you should probably give them new nicknames since they now get along and all.”
“Meh.” Blake shrugs. “They’re still buttheads, only not to each other.”
“PS, what didn’t you want to tell him?” Ash prods.
Pressing my lips together, I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“Obviously, you’re lying,” she returns. “So, you’re really not going to tell us, either?”
The familiar weight of my past sits heavily on my shoulders as I stare at the alcoholic milkshake in front of me, my stomach squeezing. They know. I know they know. Maybe not the details, but they saw the bruises. Or at least some of them. But it doesn’t mean we’ve ever actually talked about it. Not really, anyway. Shoving aside the memories earlier today was hard enough. Doing it again? With my best friends? My lungs burn.
“Hey,” Ash murmurs, sensing my discomfort. She reaches over and squeezes my forearm. “I was joking. You don’t have to tell us anything if you aren’t ready.”
“He asked if Shorty ever hit me,” I whisper.
Silence.
I peek up at my friends and sigh. “Yeah.”
“Shit,” Blake offers.
A dry laugh slips out of me. “Yeah,” I repeat.
“How did it even come up?” Ash asks.
“He wanted to know why I didn’t tell him I knew Scarlett was cheating on him, but when I said I assumed I didn’t know the full story, one thing led to another, and he could see my resentment toward the opposite sex, and it…came up.” I shove my hands in my hair and push it away from my face, adding, “And then, because I didn’t want to talk about it, I asked if he wanted to have sex again, and he said, ‘I'm nothing more than a dick to you.’” I mimic his words and puff out my cheeks. “Then, he kind of rejected me, and now, I have no idea where we stand.”
“You need to talk to him,” Ash announces. “Even if you don’t want to tell him about Shorty and everything, which I completely understand, I think he’s probably hurt and feels like you’re using him.”
“I am using him,” I say with a laugh, but it’s pathetic at best. “I don’t want a relationship, Ash.”
“Yeah, but if you guys agreed to friends with benefits, you should probably make sure he feels like your friend while also reaping the benefits portion. Because if you don’t, he’s nothing but a free gigolo,” Ash counters.
I snort. “He said the same thing. I mean, not the gigolo part, but the whole if I’m not willing to open up to him, we aren’t exactly friends, part.”
“He has a point,” Kate interjects. “So be friends with him. See? Simple.”