Three Months Later
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Owen calls, tossing the video game controller onto the couch and shaking his head. It’s Sunday evening and I’m lounging across the gray sectional in my brother’s penthouse apartment while he gets his ass handed to him on Xbox.
Justin, sitting on the couch opposite Owen and me, only chuckles. “Four to one, bro. You lost. Again.”
Owen picks up his bottle of beer from the coffee table in front of us and takes a long swig, draining it.
“Maybe if you had stayed out of the penalty box a little more,” Justin offers.
“Don’t tell me how to do my job,” Owen growls. He takes another sip, looking sullen. “You wanna play, Lise?”
I chuckle. He knows I’m God-awful at video ice hockey. “If you need someone to stroke your ego, you’re going to have to find someone else.”
Owen grins. “I want someone to stroke my—”
I hold up one hand, stopping him. “Let’s keep this family-friendly.”
“G-rated,” Justin echoes, shooting me a sympathetic look.
It’s taken me months, but I’m finally able to be in the same room as him and not want to cry. Or puke. Yay, me.
“You’re dead to me, Brady.” But Owen doesn’t mean that. He’s just pouting. They’re like brothers, they’re so close. It’s disgusting how deep their codependence runs.
“Awe. Look who gets all crabby when he loses.” Justin stands, stretching his arms over his head, making his t-shirt hitch up a couple of inches to reveal his defined set of abs.
Abs that no longer set my pulse on fire.
Okay, I’m lying. But hey, at least I’m trying to go through the motions. Even though I can still remember how those abs feel against my fingertips if I think about it long enough.
It’s been three long months of trying to forget our night together, three months of pretending it never happened, and three months of wading through the kind of tough-love therapy that only your girlfriends can dish up. It didn’t matter that that night in his bed left a permanent imprint on my heart. Didn’t matter that Justin was still the only guy who sent my pulse into overdrive. I had moved on. I was dating someone new, and I was actively working on beating Justin at his game of pretending that night didn’t exist. I wasn’t very good at that game, but it didn’t stop me from playing.
“Another beer?” Justin asks on his way to the kitchen.
“Abso-fuckin-lutely.” Owen props his feet up on the coffee table. “You wanna come out with us tonight?” my brother asks, turning to meet my eyes and giving me his best puppy-dog stare.
“Not tonight,” I say.
Justin returns with two bottles of beer and hands one to Owen before twisting the cap off his own and taking a long sip.
I force my gaze away from watching the way his throat moves as he swallows.
“I’m staying in tonight,” Justin says, setting the bottle down on the table. If I didn’t know any better, it’s almost like he’s purposely avoiding looking at me. My brother hasn’t noticed anything, but sometimes I catch Justin staring at me when no one else is looking.
I guess tonight is not one of those nights.
Owen flashes the sad puppy look at Justin. “It’s been weeks since we’ve been out.”
“Yeah but the season starts on Thursday. I want to lay low tonight.”
“Two words. Lindsay and Lisbeth.”
Justin rubs one hand over the back of his neck. “What about them?”
Owen laughs. “It’s been two weeks. We should get out. Blow off some steam.”
Justin gives me an uneasy look, but I’m suddenly really busy inspecting the polish on my thumbnail. If he thinks I don’t know about all the puck bunnies, he’s even more clueless than I thought. But it doesn’t mean I want his sex life rubbed in my face. It’s been hard enough watching him disappear from the bar early with a woman more times than I can count.
“Coach is going to be riding us hard. We can’t be hungover tomorrow,” Justin says.
Owen stays quiet, grabbing the video controller to start another game.
“Oh, now I’ve got your attention?” Justin chuckles.
“No. You’ve got my pity, dude. Two weeks without pussy? My balls would be officially blue,” Owen says.
I force a smile and shake my head. Justin didn’t say that it had been two weeks since he’d seen some action, just that it was two weeks ago since he and my brother went out with those twins—or Busty Barbie and Botox Betty as I like to call them.
And even though my heart is squeezing inside my chest at the thought of Justin with one of those girls, I laugh right along with Owen. I just hope he can’t tell how hollow the sound is.
I took Becca’s advice and moved on with my life, but that doesn’t mean I’ve gotten over what happened. I don’t even know how that would be possible. Justin Brady has held a part of my heart since I was six years old. As I grew up, that comfortable fondness evolved from friendship into love…for me anyway.
The year I turned fourteen, Justin was away at college and wasn’t at my birthday party like he usually would have been. And then to make matters worse, he decided to come home one weekend later when I was sick with the flu. He’d taken to staying at my parents’ house rather than with his dad when he came back for a visit to avoid his family’s nonstop drama. I didn’t know all the specifics, I only knew that his dad had remarried and Justin didn’t really feel welcome there anymore. Normally I’d be ecstatic to see him, but instead of spying on him and Owen and parading around in front of him in my best skinny jeans, I was laid up on the couch with a fever in my ratty bathrobe.
My mom kept trying to shoo everyone away from me so that no one else would get sick, but Justin would have none of that. He checked in on me several times, sitting with me to keep me company, and brought me tea when I complained of being freezing. I can still remember with clarity Owen shouting from the bedroom for Justin to re-join him in their video-game tournament, but Justin only grinned down at me, and called out to Owen the game could wait. That secret little smile meant the world to me. It still does. Even if I don’t want it to.
So yeah, getting over our night of mind-blowing sex is probably not happening. Plus, to actually get over something, you probably have to, I don’t know, talk about it like two grown ass adults. Which Justin and I never have. Without any type of closure my heart has remained wide open.
“Fine,” Owen concedes. “Let’s order some food. You in, Elise?”
“What?” I shake my head, tuning back into the conversation. “No, I already ate. And I’m going to get ice cream with Andy in a little while.”
Owen abandons the game he’s starting, and looks at me. “Damn. So it’s getting pretty serious with this guy. Maybe I should meet him.”
I can feel Justin watching us, but I don’t meet his gaze.
“You will,” I say to Owen. “Soon-ish.”
The truth is, Andy’s not a hockey fan, and I really can’t imagine him getting along very well with my brother. When I told him my brother played pro-hockey, he made some offhand remark about hockey being little better than MMA with all the fighting. Hockey’s always been a huge part of my life and while it’s not a requirement that the person I’m dating be a fan, I’m not sure exactly how well ultra-conservative Andy and my foul-mouthed brother would get along.
I check the time on my phone and then rise to my feet. “Actually, I need to get going.” I grab my purse, and slip on my jacket. Through the high-rise’s floor-to-ceiling windows, I can see the light drizzle darkening the sky. It’s officially fall in Seattle.
I lean down and give Owen a kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight. You two be good.”
Before things went down between us, the old Justin would have made some flirty remark like, “I’m always good.”
But now he stays quiet.
“Text me when you get home,” Owen adds, eyes already back on the game.
I leave without a backward glance and make my way to the elevator at the end of the hall.
One day at a time.
Becca would be so proud.
• • •
I swirl my spoon through the melted puddle of chocolate ice cream in the bottom of my bowl.
“Did you hear what I said?” Andy asks, brows knitted in confusion as he looks at me.
“Hm? No, sorry.”
He launches into some story about what happened in his third period class today, but I just can’t get myself to focus. The fact that I’m a preschool teacher and he’s a middle school math teacher should mean that we have something in common, only it’s starting to feel less and less like we actually do.
I laugh when he’s done talking and hope that I’ve read the social cues correctly. Andy balls up his napkin and tosses it inside his empty ice cream dish.
“You seem really distracted lately. Everything okay?” he asks.
He really is a sweet guy. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Cute in a nerdy kind of way. I like him. At least, I think I do. Or maybe I just want to like him, or anyone other than Justin. I’m not even sure anymore.
I lean forward and press my lips to his, and will myself to feel something—anything as his kisses me back. I will my heart to beat faster, for my palms to get sweaty, for my nipples to tighten—anything.
Only none of that happens.
As I pull back and meet his eyes, Andy smiles.
He’s a nice guy. But nice doesn’t set my skin on fire, doesn’t make my belly fill with butterflies like Justin does. I don’t feel like I’m going to die if he doesn’t get his hands on me in the next four seconds.
And none of that is Andy’s fault, but fuck. I hate this.
I’m pretty sure Justin’s dick broke me, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be fixed.
