Always Been You Page 3

  I shake my head. “You don’t have to explain. You weren’t looking to start anything. I get it.”

  “I had too much to drink,” he repeats.

  You had sex with me because you were drunk. I get it. You don’t need to bludgeon me with it.

  I’m surprised my face doesn’t crack at the smile I force on it, or that my nose doesn’t grow when I say, “And we were curious. It’s a good thing it wasn’t all that, right?” This is how you save face, you make light of it. Make it out to be less than the earth-shattering experience it really was.

  Something odd flickers across his face before he finally says, “Then we’ll forget this ever happened?” He seems to be holding his breath for my response.

  I give it readily, nodding as tears burn the backs of my eyes. “Of course. Let’s just concentrate on getting through what’s going on with your mom, okay?” And I mean that. Troy isn’t in any shape to be starting a relationship with anyone.

  The relief that softens the sharp lines of his features is so profound, it causes a physical ache in my chest. I get that he’s hurting about his mom, but would being in a relationship with me be so bad? Was having sex with me something he didn’t want to repeat? Apparently so.

  I try to relax as he hugs me. It feels impulsive given the brevity of it and how quickly he sets me away, a sad but grateful smile edging his mouth. He’s no doubt relieved that I’m agreeable to writing last night off as a one-off.

  “And don’t say anything to anyone. My mom doesn’t want anyone to know. At least not right now. She’s going to tell your mom sometime down the road.”

  I don’t ask when he expects that will be because I can tell by his expression he’s not happy about his mom keeping the news from mine.

  What else can I do but agree? If his mom doesn’t want anyone to know, I have to honor that. I’m sure I’m not even supposed to know. He’s taking me into confidence with this information.

  “I won’t say a word.”

  “Thanks, you’re the best,” he murmurs, his mouth twisted in a wry smile, but the pain and worry beneath it is evident.

  Yeah, I’m fabulous. Which is why after a night of incredible sex, I’m only ever going to be his friend and nothing more.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Two years later

  I’ve been avoiding Troy and the fact that he’s waiting outside of my Advanced Textile class tells me one thing: the piper is looking to get paid today.

  I take my time crossing the wide hall toward him, watching as he lazily pushes that toned, six-foot-plus body of his off the wall to come to his full height. In a pair of worn blue jeans, a light-gray t-shirt, he’s on the receiving end of a whole lot of double takes, longing stares, and flirtatious smiles from the girls who slow as they pass him, but his gaze remains fixed on me.

  I give an inward sigh. This whole thing would be easier if he weren’t so damn easy on the eyes. And the lips. And the tongue.

  Argh! I really need to muzzle my brain and do myself a huge favor and forget the time we fell off the wagon. If I relapse, I can see it now, the only thing my future will hold is a houseful of cats and a vibrator in my nightstand drawer.

  Seriously. No joke.

  We’d broken the one cardinal rule by mucking up our friendship with sex.

  And Troy hasn’t made putting him neatly back in the friendship slot easy. Oozing sex appeal shouldn’t come as natural to him as breathing. Nobody should have it like that.

  You have a boyfriend. You have a boyfriend, a voice in my head chants. Which is something I shouldn’t have to keep reminding myself.

  “Hey, what’s up?” I ask in my brightest, there’s-nothing-wrong-with-us voice.

  “Why is it so hard to get a hold of you these days?” Despite his smile and mock glower, his eyes convey a hint of concern.

  God, I never wanted it to come to this. But the truth is, our friendship is the one thing that’s always stood between the success of every relationship I’ve ever had. I see that clearer than ever. And now I have to figure out a way to tell him that this has to change.

  “What do you mean?” I halt in front of him and hold up my cell phone. “I was going to call you right after I got out of class.”

  He’d called me twice this morning and texted as many times this afternoon. I was going to return his call… Later tonight. After my study date with Colin. My boyfriend.

  I glance around the rapidly emptying halls of the arts and communication building. “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you.” He relieves me of my book bag, hooking the strap over his shoulder to join his.

  In silence, we start down the hall toward the exit. The comfortable distance I keep between us is now habit. There are already enough people who think with benefits is an integral part of our friendship.

  “It must be pretty important for you to resort to stalking me.” I go for light teasing because he looks like he’s getting ready for a heart-to-heart.

  He slants a glance down at me. “Yeah, why is it that I have to hunt you down these days just to talk to you?”

  I make a dismissive sound in my throat. “Stop exaggerating. I’ve been busy. You know that thing called school and work.”

  “When’s the last time you actually had to work?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

  By work I mean modeling. And okay, maybe my last assignment was five weeks ago, but it’s still work. I don’t just go there and stand around looking pretty. Well, okay, maybe that’s what it ends up amounting to, but the eight-hour, round-trip drive to Manhattan and the overnight stays are a bitch. So is the homework and tests I have to make up for when I get back. But it pays a lot better than waiting tables or cataloging books in the school library. My family may not be hurting for cash and haven’t been for a while, but I still remember the days of ramen noodles and boxed macaroni and cheese. Financial stability isn’t something I’ll ever take for granted.

  “Don’t judge me because my job pays better than minimum wage.”

  “And then some,” he mutters as he pushes the door and holds it open for me.

  Such a gentleman.

  I breeze past him and into the surprising heat of a midafternoon day. Early May in upstate New York isn’t always shorts and tank top weather. This week it has been though.

  “C’mon, let’s go over here.” Troy points to a small patio area off the side of the building. The three concrete tables bolted to the ground are empty. Too bad the attached picnic-type benches are so hard on the butt.

  “Okay, so what did you have to tell me?” Instead of sitting, I brace my right thigh lightly against the table.

  A smile immediately brightens Troy’s face. Apparently it’s something good. “My mom got the test results today. They came back clean.”

  Happiness rushes through me in a flood of relief, the pressure on my chest lifted. On a half sob and laugh, I throw my arms around his neck. “Oh Troy, that’s fabulous.”

  Without missing a beat, he pulls me tight against him. “I know. I know,” he whispers in my hair. My eyes well at the raw emotion in his voice. And I know if I say another word, I’ll start bawling like a baby.

  I’m not sure how long we hug, but it’s long enough for my body to recognize that I’m flush against a strong, very desirable male body.

  God, I’m pathetic. The sheer happiness of his mom’s cancer-free diagnosis should not become usurped by the physical response of my body. The tingling of my nipples and the pulsing between my thighs tells me it’s time to put an end to our embrace.

  I ease back and unhook my arms from around his neck in a way that I hope feels and looks natural. I don’t want him guessing the truth; that this kind of intimacy between us is…disturbing. Arousing. This kind of hug shouldn’t turn me on.

  Did I forget to mention I have a boyfriend? His name is Colin and he’s very good to me.

  My arms only fall as far as his, which he still has wrapped around my waist. There still isn’t a lick of distance between us.<
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  Relax. Breathe.

  I smile up into his face. His gaze is tender when it lands on me. “It’s like I can finally breathe,” he says softly.

  “I know the feeling,” I reply, my voice just as soft.

  “Thanks for always being there for me.”

  Now I’m really going to bawl. I cup his face in my hands, loving the faint scrape of his scruff on my palms. “You never have to thank me. That’s what I’m here for. Friends to the end, remember?”

  He gives me a crooked smile and my heart flip-flops. And given its current vulnerable state, I’m not close to prepared for what he does next.

  He kisses me. My lips part without me giving them express permission to do so.

  I’d like to say it’s a comforting, platonic kiss. But once you’ve had sex with someone, once you know how good it feels to have him inside you, once he’s brought you to orgasm, it’s nearly impossible to go back to that space in time when his kiss doesn’t arouse you. Even when it starts out light and gentle and all there is is an exchange of breaths.

  Then his mouth firms on mine, and his tongue slips past my lips. His fingers tangle in my hair, cupping my head.

  He makes a sound in his throat and urges my mouth open wider.

  The shrill pierce of a car alarm goes off in the distance. I come to my senses with a violent start and jerk away from him. He immediately steps back, his arms dropping to his sides.

  That’s when I remember all the reasons we can’t be doing this.

  “What was that?” I pray to God he can’t tell how badly that brief kiss has my whole body trembling.

  His laugh is rough and has a self-conscious ring to it. The way his gaze shifts from my mouth to my eyes suggests he might also be feeling a little guilt. “I’m sorry. Lost my head for a second.”

  Lost his head? Not good enough. Not this time. “I have a boyfriend and you have a girlfriend,” I state lest he forget that.

  He lifts his shoulders in a halfhearted shrug. “Rosie, it was just a kiss. My mom…”

  Just a kiss? With us, there’s no such thing when tongue or roaming hands are involved.

  Right now, I have to restrain myself from punching him in his gorgeous face. Ass. Two years ago it was drunken sex after the breakup with his high school girlfriend and his mom’s cancer diagnosis. Last year we made out after yet another breakup with another girlfriend. And now today… I’ve made the same mistake with him twice and I’m not going to make it again. It’s an unhealthy cycle with us. He goes through an emotional upheaval and turns to me for sexual comfort. I’m not a damn blowup doll.

  “Do all of your friends get tongue when you kiss them?” I ask, doing little to keep the snippiness from my tone.

  He shoves his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and hunches his shoulders.

  “Would Melissa be okay with you kissing me like that?” I push to drill home my point.

  “She’s not my girlfriend. We’re just dating. It’s nothing serious.”

  I huff a laugh. “Really? Does she know that?”

  “We never agreed that we were exclusive, so she doesn’t have a right to be anything.”

  I roll my eyes and start off toward the parking lot. Troy follows, quickly falling into step beside me. “Well, I do have a boyfriend and he wouldn’t be okay with you kissing me.”

  “Rosie, it was just a kiss. Don’t make a big deal of it.”

  Don’t make a big deal of it? Don’t make a big deal of it! When a guy sticks his tongue down a girl’s throat, it is a big frickin’ deal.

  Honest to God, this is what drives me crazy about guys. They know absolutely nothing about women.

  “And I’ve told you half a million times not to call me Rosie. You know I hate that name,” I snap. That’s a lie. I love it that he’s the only one who has a nickname for me.

  “Hey, I just got carried away, okay? The news about my mom…ya know.”

  His mom is cancer free, which is good news. No, it’s the best news. Which also means I can’t rip into him the way I want to. Nope, I have to take the overly friendly expression of his relief on the chin. Or on the lips as it were.

  Yep, I have to be the bigger person.

  I release a sigh and square my shoulders as we continue toward my car. I could ask him if he plans to French kiss all his other friends when he gives them the good news, but that would be petty.

  “Fine,” I mutter and grudgingly let him off the hook. Again. “But from now on let’s keep our kisses confined to the cheek area and the tongues in the mouth, capisce?” That’s pretty much the extent of our arguments these days. He does something stupid and I get snippy, then he somehow—I don’t know how—manages to make me feel like I’m the one making a mountain out of a molehill. Argument over.

  Troy frowns and for a second I think he’s going to fight me on that. It’s as if the thought of not kissing me doesn’t sit well with him. And I’m not remotely happy about that because I can’t deal with the mixed message it sends.

  Then a twinkle appears in his eyes. He’s teasing me. Like always.

  Leaning down, he pecks me on the cheek. No heat. No passion. Definitely no tongue. My stomach still does that somersaulty thing.

  “You mean like that?” he asks, his voice and expression deadpan.

  “Yes, exactly like that.” If he can do this, go from zero to sixty that easily, so can I. “So what happens now?”

  His brow furrows.

  “With your mom.” I elaborate since we’ve drifted off topic.

  “Oh right. Yeah, now they watch her. But no more radiation, no chemo and no hormone treatment.”

  “I’ve got to call her when I get home.”

  He nods. “She’ll like that.”

  We slow as we approach my car.

  “You doing anything tonight?” he asks. “I barely get to see you anymore. I thought we’d hang out. Watch a movie or something.”

  Yes! But I curb my instinct to grab the opportunity to be with him. I’ve been in the weaning stage for the past month and kicking Troy as a habit is more painful than giving up carbs two weeks before the bikini shoot last year.

  I stop at the back of my car. Guilt has me briefly dropping my gaze to my pink-polished toenails peeking out from my Michael Kors calf-leather sandals. A pricey birthday gift from my sister. “I can’t. I’m studying with Colin tonight.”

  After a few seconds of absolute silence, I lift my gaze back to his. He doesn’t look angry, or hurt. His expression is devoid of all emotion. It’s disquieting when Troy gets like this because as much as he’s not revealing anything to me right now, I know it’s because he’s holding it in.

  “What about tomorrow?”

  “And if I can’t make it tomorrow?” I know exactly what he’s doing. He’s trying to make a point—prove his point.

  “So Johnson is going to get one hundred percent of your free time from now on?” Frustration trickles back into his voice.

  “One hundred percent, no. But he’s my boyfriend, Troy. I want to spend as much time with him as I can.” While I’m not being entirely truthful, I do want to want that.

  At his look of annoyance, I sigh and lift my hands in a gesture of helplessness. “We’re not in high school anymore, Troy. And next year we’ll be—” Going our separate ways. But I can’t finish the rest because that will make it real. “—moving, working, joining the real world.”

  Troy slowly lowers my book bag from his shoulder and offers it to me. I take it. “What exactly are you saying? What does that have to do with us hanging out?” His tone is far too casual for the unwavering hardness of his stare.

  Either I’m not explaining this right or he’s deliberately being obtuse. “Come on, Troy, you had to know this was going to happen one day. All relationships are bound to change, which is perfectly normal.”

  He makes a pissed-off sound in his throat. “Yeah, screw loyalty, right?”

  Affronted, I fist my hand and jam it against my hip. “Hey, that’s not fair.�
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  He raises an eyebrow. “Unfair? I’m not the one who’s decided we need to hang out less.”

  “Are you forgetting that you don’t even like Colin?” I bet that conveniently slipped his memory.

  “What, because I don’t want him tagging along every time we go out with our friends?”

  I shake my head in bewilderment. He can’t be serious. “You do get that he’s my boyfriend, right?”

  “And I’m your best friend,” he states as if that fact has somehow escaped me. Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear he’s jealous. It’s a good thing I’m over my deluded stage.

  Sighing, I drop my hand from my hip. “Yes we’re friends and that’s never going to change. But right now, all I’m trying to do is make a go of this relationship.” And that’s no small feat with a friend like Troy in the picture.

  His jaw works and his nostrils flare. “By letting your boyfriend dictate who you can be friends with?”

  “He’s not dictating anything.”

  “Is that what you want?” he asks, steamrolling my denial. “A guy who pressures you to give up your friends?”

  Colin isn’t asking, demanding, or pressuring me to do anything. But I can tell by the expression on Troy’s face that nothing I say is going to convince him otherwise. When it comes to my boyfriend, his mind is set in stone. Closed.

  “No, and I wouldn’t be with him if he did. But what kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn’t want to spend more time with him than I do with you?” Right now it’s enough that I want to want that to be the case.

  Troy’s gaze narrows. “I don’t give a fuck what kind of girlfriend you are to that ass. What I want to know is what kind of friend you are to me.”

  He’s got to be kidding. I’m the best damn friend he’s ever going to have. Like always. “I’m the kind of friend who won’t hold this against you and one who will tell you when you’re being a selfish ass. Troy, you’re being a selfish ass. There, you happy? You’ve ruined the good news about your mom.”

  I jerk my car door open and toss my purse and book bag haphazardly in. My lipstick and sunglasses spill out onto the passenger seat. Dammit. See what he made me do.