Friends with Benefits - Nicole Blanchard Page 0,51

been each other’s best friend, I guess. Comfortable with each other.”

“He’s always touching her. Have you noticed that? Maybe not, because you’re used to it. Maybe he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it.” I sipped from my coffee contemplatively.

“What do you mean?” Trip asked.

“Hugging her or kissing her on the forehead. She also does this thing where she’ll put her feet in his lap, and he’ll automatically start rubbing them. Little habits, I guess.”

He didn’t have to ask if my parents had ever done that. I wasn’t even sure I’d ever heard them say a kind word to each other, let alone show any sort of affection. They were the definition of a toxic, codependent relationship.

I finished my coffee to fill the void in the conversation. Too sensitive a topic. I didn’t know why, but thinking about it made me sad. I glanced at my watch. “We’d better get a move on, or we’ll be late. Especially you.”

Tripp wrapped a hand around my waist. “Hold on there, angel.” He tugged me back into his lap. “Is this you saying you want me to be more affectionate? Should I add that to the rules?”

I laughed and tried to push him away. “Don’t be silly. C’mon, we’ve got to go.”

“We’ve got enough time for this.”

He arranged me comfortably over his legs and brought my mouth to his. My hand held his wrist as though I was afraid to have him too close. I was, I’d admit it. Thinking about the differences between our parents made my heart ache with an emotion that was a little too close to the surface. I wanted what his parents had, but I thought a part of me was afraid I’d sour it simply because of where I’d come from.

I didn’t know how to have a happy relationship. I’d simply never seen one. All I knew was fighting and manipulation and pain. How would that ever translate to a fiftieth wedding anniversary, unless it was one steeped in unhappiness?

Sorrow pricked inside me. That’s why this arrangement with Tripp was so perfect. It kept me safe. Protected. But more than that, it kept Tripp safe. I couldn’t break his heart if there were no feelings involved. I wouldn’t have to show him the real me, the true me, if what we had wasn’t serious. Sure, he saw my crazy, fucked-up life, but he didn’t see how twisted it made me inside.

“Where’d you go?” he asked, pulling back a little and searching my eyes for an answer.

“Nowhere,” I lied. “I’m right here.”

He didn’t seem convinced, and he could probably tell I was lying. Thankfully, he didn’t push it. The alarm that signaled five minutes until the bus blared on my phone, but I let him kiss me, erasing my worries.

My next twenty-four-hour shift was a mentally exhausting rigamarole of drama and heartbreak. A family had argued for forty-five minutes about riding in the ambulance with their pregnant relative, despite the fact that she was half-naked in the back of the truck, screaming through contractions. Finally, I had to slam the doors, nearly taking off a finger of the concerned auntie, and signal for my partner to hit the road.

Then we’d had back-to-back transfers and emergency calls throughout the night. I didn’t think we had more than an hour of sleep the whole night. At three in the morning, we had been called to the apartment of a family whose two-week-old baby was blue and unresponsive. We had taken them to the nearest NICU, but the baby never came back. All I could think of was the twins and how they’d been born prematurely because my mother had smoked a pack a day.

To say I was thankful to be home and looking forward to seeing the girls was an understatement. I was tired, but I needed to see them. To play dolls and a million games of Candyland, even though it was the most boring board game ever created. They were due any minute from the bus, and no doubt they’d have stories from their latest stay with Tripp’s parents. They were like the grandparents they never had.

A knock came at the door, and I opened it, expecting to see Timothy, the young boy who sometimes helped the girls into the apartment after they got off the school bus. Instead, my mother stood there, one hand on her hip and a cigarette clamped in her red-slicked lips. She wore a pair of jeans newer than anything I’d ever owned, and