Chapter Twenty-Two
Twenty-Two
Michelle
As soon as Tristan left, I squeezed my eyes shut so tightly I felt dazzled in the self-inflicted darkness. It still wasn’t enough to shut out the memory of his skin on my skin, his lips on my lips.
But I did what I always do—I deflected all of that worry as best as I could, locked it down, and tried to distract myself.
Not with work, though.
I reached out to my friends from my college soccer team.
Turns out there are five of us who live in the LA area, and now four of us are gathered around a picnic table loaded with barbecue.
A handful of kids are running around, screeching, and playing tag, and Caitlin, who’s hosting us at her sprawling suburban house, sets a sweating pitcher of iced tea on the table.
“Careful,” she yells at one of the little towheaded boys who darts out from underneath a huge smoker. “Sorry,” she says to us, shaking her head and grinning. “They’re feral.”
“They’re adorable,” Nia replies, pulling her braids back into a low ponytail. “Feral, sure, but cute.”
Caitlin laughs at that, and then they all fall quiet as they look at me.
“We missed you, you idiot,” Stella tells me.
“Rude.” Nia points a finger at her.
“Not wrong, though,” Stella shrugs, loading a toasted bun full of charred brisket.
“I know.” My nose wrinkles, and I sigh. “I’ve been stupid. And stupidly busy.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Caitlin says, shooting Stella a highly annoyed look.
“We’re glad you reached out. We know how busy you are, but look at you.
You’re killing it.” She nods at herself, agreeing with her own pronouncement, and it’s such a typical Caitlin move that a pang of nostalgia goes through me.
“We’re all damned proud of you,” Nia adds.
I blink rapidly, surprised to feel the sting of tears threatening.
“You made her cry,” Stella observes.
Nia shoves her with her shoulder, and Stella grunts, rubbing her bicep. “What?”
I laugh at that, because the two of them have been together so long they’re basically an old married couple. Nia rolls her eyes at me and passes me a bun, then a container of pickled red onions.
It’s all so familiar, like no time has passed at all, like I didn’t cut them out of my life because being around them reminded me of everything I wanted and couldn’t have when it came to soccer.
“Why’d you want to get together now?” Nia asks, and there’s no judgment in it. “You’ve been in the group chat this whole time.”
I hate that question, because I hate the answer to it even more.
“Because I realized that I was an idiot.” I slap a piece of brisket on my bun, trying not to think about all the jokes Tristan would make about buns and meat if he was here.
Tristan, who helped me figure out that my need for control was closing me off to so much freedom.
“And I realized that I missed having you all as friends…and that—” I get choked up, and I make myself swallow before I can go on.
“And that I miss soccer, but I miss you all most.”
“Oh, shit.” Caitlin drops her plate and reaches over, hugging me tight. “Don’t even start, because ever since I had those feral kids, I swear I cry at everything.”
“I’m not going to cry,” I sniffle.
“Of course you’re not,” she says, rubbing my shoulder.
“So we have to do this more often,” Stella says easily. “And if you ever want to get back to something more hands-on, I’d be happy to talk with you about my work.”
“I would like that,” I agree. “I really, really would.”
It’s as simple as that, and the conversation ebbs and flows comfortably while I slip back into their lives as easily as swimming in a cool creek on a warm summer evening.
When I park back at my apartment complex, my heart’s lighter after having reconnected with my old teammates. A text pings through, and my phone vibrates against my cupholder. My gaze flicks to it as I put the car in park, and my heartbeat speeds up at the name on the screen.
Tristan.
I lean my head against the wheel, overwhelmed…only to shriek and jump as the horn goes off.
I launch myself backward on reflex, then let out an embarrassed laugh.
Smooth. Real smooth.
Turning the key, I shut off the engine and sit in the cool quiet of my car for a long moment. Night’s fallen, with any glow from the stars overhead blotted out by the lights of the city all around me.
My phone lights up again, buzzing insistently against the cupholder. I pluck it from the plastic console, nibbling on my lower lip as I swipe a finger across the screen.
Tristan
I missed you today
I don’t know if I’m allowed to miss you, since you want to do casual
I stare at the words on my phone, then inhale, clutching it tightly to my chest. What the fuck am I supposed to say to that?
Michelle
Why did you miss me?
I hiss out a breath, then drop my head back against the seat, staring up at the top of my car.
This doesn’t feel casual with Tristan, not that I’m the damned expert, but the way I feel about him—it’s not casual.
Maybe it’s a me problem. Maybe I’m too messed up to know what the difference is between something like this and an actual relationship.
Tristan
Because I sleep better beside you
Because I’m addicted to your smiles
Because you’re the best thing I’ve ever held
“Fuck,” I say on an explosion of air, my heart squeezing so hard in my chest it hurts.
Tristan
And no, I’m not drunk
I blink. I have no idea how to respond to this. The thought of these being just some drunk texts is like a punch to the gut. It hadn’t even crossed my mind that maybe he was drunk-texting me.
I believed him when he told me he was done drinking like that, and I still believe him.
I trust him. I care about him.
“Fuck,” I repeat, my brain melting at the simple realization.
Tristan
Friends with benefits, am I right?
Friends with benefits. Right. Of course.
Michelle
If you say so
Have a good night, Tristan
Tristan
I’ll find you tomorrow, Sweet Cheeks
I sit there, stunned and emotionally raw. Something’s shifted between us, and maybe it already had before we had sex.
This doesn’t feel like friends with benefits.