Friends with Benefits - Nicole Blanchard Page 0,18
think we're a couple.” The horrified tone in my voice was shrill and made my brain pound in protest. “They saw us in here together and woke me up this morning. God, Tripp, what were we thinking?”
Why did I think those last couple of drinks were a good idea?
His smile was way too relaxed. Why wasn’t he freaking out? “Well, we did sleep together.”
“Yes—literally. As in, just sleeping!” I tried not to remember how good it felt to wake up in his arms.
Tripp cocked his head to the side. “I’m wondering if your horror should insult me.”
My brain stuttered. “I—what? No!”
“I enjoyed sleeping with you.” He said it so sincerely, I could only blink.
Then I frowned. “You’re finding this far too funny, Tripp.”
He reached out and twisted a lock of hair around his fingers. “Maybe I’m just flattered.”
I pushed his hand away. He was only touching my hair, but I felt the responding tingles shoot up and down my arms. What was happening?
“Don’t be stupid. We probably shouldn’t drink like that with the girls around. I don’t want to confuse them.” More like I didn’t want to confuse me.
Tripp got to his feet and covered the glory of his bare chest with an FSU baseball shirt. “They’re fine. But I’ll make sure to tuck you into bed next time.”
I decided not to touch that comment with a ten-foot pole. “Don’t you have practice this morning?”
He whipped around, muttering under his breath. After a frantic scramble for his phone, he sighed in relief. “I’ve still got thirty minutes until I have to be at the field. I guess there’s a first time for being grateful the monsters get up early.”
“I guess we overindulged a bit,” I said.
“No such thing, angel.”
Giggling sounded from the entrance of the hallway, and we both turned to find the twins watching us with broad smiles. They were haphazardly dressed, with mismatching skirts and shirts, and four different kinds of shoes.
I crossed the room and knelt in front of them. “What are you two laughing at? Did you dress each other?”
“She picked my clothes, and I picked hers,” said Molly, and her gaze kept flitting to Tripp, then back to me.
“Don’t we look pretty?” Tillie asked.
“Gorgeous,” I said. “Do you want me to help you with your shoes?”
They nodded, and I retrieved the correct mates for their shoes and helped them dress. The giggling and looking at Tripp continued until they were properly dressed. He, of course, didn’t help matters and kept wiggling his eyebrows and winking at them. I tried giving him stern looks, but that only made the girls laugh harder. Finally, I threw my hands up, got myself dressed, and started a pot of coffee.
The only thing I knew I could do was to keep myself busy and hope whatever weirdness the night before had inspired would disappear. I failed miserably as Tripp appeared out of nowhere behind me and quipped, “Is that coffee?”
I jumped about a mile high and spun around, coffee sloshing everywhere. The screech that burst forth from my chest sounded like a bird on crack.
His eyebrows lifted. “You okay there?”
“Shut up,” I snapped, which made him laugh. I made him a cup of coffee in the hopes that it would inspire him to give me some space. I didn’t know what had happened, but I couldn’t seem to get enough space. “Here.”
In return, he handed me a couple of tablets of ibuprofen, and I swallowed them back. Maybe they would magically turn everything back to normal.
“Thanks.” My hands were cupped around my mug, which I held in front of me like a shield. “Sorry, this is…”
“Weird,” he finished for me.
“A little,” I admitted. Keep busy. I retrieved cereal from the cabinet and fixed the twins their bowls at the table. The food distracted them, and they no longer made gooey eyes at Tripp and me.
Thank God for small favors.
“You don’t have to look at me any differently, Em. You know how much I care about you, and I’d never do anything to jeopardize that.”
If I were the type of girl who cried at the drop of a hat, and if I hadn’t already leaked out a river of tears, his comment would have softened that rock-solid place where my heart should have been. “I don’t look at you differently,” I protested. “It’s just a lot of change. I’m being silly.”
He rinsed out his cup in the sink and put it on the rack to dry. I tried to remember if