Friends with Benefits - Nicole Blanchard Page 0,13

the kids and I’m not up for a big crowd right now. Sry. Maybe next week.

Plus, I wasn’t able to face Charlie and Layla yet. They’d been telling me for a long time that Chris wasn’t worth the trouble. I hadn’t wanted to listen. The last thing I needed to hear was I told you so.

However, a healthy dose of tequila sounded like heaven.

Less than a minute later, I received another text.

TRIPP: Just you and me and the kids. I’ll get the shit for virgin daiquiris for them. You have the stuff for tacos? Participation isn’t optional, angel.

Was this taking advantage of him? It felt like I was flirting with the line of propriety. I knew how he felt about me, and I valued him as a friend. Now more than ever, I didn’t want to lose him.

I typed out a text to alleviate my guilt somewhat.

ME: You really don’t have to do that.

I was more relieved than I should have been when I got his next text. It was really selfish of me to accept his generosity, but a huge part of me didn’t want to be alone now, either. And Tripp was always so good at cheering me up. I’d just need to be careful to make sure we kept everything platonic.

TRIPP: All I heard was ‘Yes Tripp.’ I’ll see you at six.

I snorted and texted him my excuses again, but he didn’t answer—and likely wouldn’t. There was no talking Tripp out of something once he’d made up his mind. Locking him out wouldn’t work either. He had a key for emergencies.

ME: Fine. I’ll make tacos. But I’m putting guacamole on every single one of them to spite you.

He sent kissy faces in return to let me know he didn’t take me seriously. While the girls played quietly—a miracle in and of itself—I pushed myself to my feet and retrieved the things I’d need to make tacos. I always had the ingredients on hand because they were my favorite. I liked to pin it on the girls, but I’d eat them all day every day if it were up to me.

As the meat sizzled in the pan, I grated cheese and chopped up tomatoes, avocados, and lettuce for the toppings. This simple routine, like going to the park, kept me from thinking too deeply about my problems. Tripp’s text had come at the perfect time and had kept me from sinking into a world-class sulk.

If my heart thrilled a little when he knocked on the door, it was only because I was excited for tacos, not because I was excited to see him in any way other than as a friend.

Tillie and Molly squealed in excitement, launched themselves from their place on the floor, and threw their arms around Tripp’s middle.

“Tripp!” they shouted in unison.

“You’d think I was chopped liver,” I muttered as I wiped my hands and joined them in the living room.

“Oh no,” Trip said, overhearing my comment. “You’ve already perfected the art of mom guilt.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny. You two go wash your hands. It’s time for dinner.”

“What are we having?” asked Molly.

“Tacos,” I answered.

They shrieked again and ran down the hall, their footsteps echoing behind them.

“They don’t take after you at all,” Tripp said.

“Shut up. How was practice?”

He brought the bags into the kitchen and started mixing the ingredients for the drinks as I plated the tacos and toppings on the table. Lifting a shoulder, he said, “It wasn’t too bad. They released the schedule for this year. First game is in February, a double-header against Maine.”

Tripp didn’t like to talk about baseball with me too much. I didn’t mind. It wasn’t exactly my milieu, but I was always a little curious about that side of his life. The side where he traveled across the U.S. pitching for a championship team, being fawned over by stick-thin coeds with lives as apple pie as his.

I knew he went undrafted out of high school, and that he was now one of the top picks for professional ball after graduation. I had to admit it made me a little sad to think of him leaving in a few months for the big time. Not because I was jealous of the fame and fortune, but because I’d grown so accustomed to having him as a part of my life.

I wished it hadn’t taken me until now to figure that out. I was quiet during dinner, but Tripp was kept busy enough helping me wrangle the twins.

Yeah, I was