My Favorite Hal-Night Stand - Christina Lauren Page 0,77
in Elly’s tiny little guest room. I had to go. Reid didn’t know what was happening, but he could see something was wrong as soon as I knocked at his door. I told him I’d had a bad day, and he drove us here. To watch the dogs, he’d said, because who can have a bad day while watching puppies run free and frolic in the ocean?
He was right. We’d rolled up our pants and found a spot on the beach and spent the next two hours just sitting in silence. Eventually, we talked about work and life. He told me about a date he’d been on while I was away, and how they made out in his car for an hour after he dropped her off, too wound up to say goodbye, but not wound up enough to have sex on the first date. There was an imperceptible ringing in my ears, a low-level hum of annoyance that seemed to grow with every detail that he shared. I watched his lips as he talked, imagined him doing the things he was explaining, and sort of . . . hated it.
When I look back on moments like that, it’s hard to convince myself that things between us have ever been one hundred percent platonic. The glances, the casual touches in the car, the subtle flirting—I wrote it off as us being comfortable with each other, but, holy shit, I am an idiot. I’d spent that afternoon stretched out in the sand with my head on his stomach, eyes closed while I matched my breaths to his and listened to the ocean. Would I do that with Ed? With Chris? Alex?
Not a chance.
I glance out over the horizon to where the sun is melting into the sea. The tide has come in, breaking against the shore and leaving clumps of seaweed behind as it recedes. I scrunch my toes, just out of reach of the foamy water as it inches closer and closer. I think I’ve always been jealous where Reid is concerned. Even then, I didn’t necessarily want to kiss him, but I didn’t really want him kissing someone else, either.
This makes me a really shitty person . . . a reoccurring theme as of late.
My friendship with Reid has been the easiest of my life. I’d never had a best friend before—never mind four of them—because I think I honestly don’t know how to do it. A summary of my last ten years would show a boring list of acquaintances and mild romantic serial monogamy. Nothing dramatic ever happens to me.
By design, I guess.
I didn’t even tell my sister when I moved in with Dustin. I wasn’t hiding it, exactly, but it didn’t seem like that big a change in our status. We were still together, not getting married. Living together sounds like such a huge leap, but it was still us, day to day. He still irritated me when he sucked his teeth after eating. I still irritated him by leaving my laundry on the floor. We weren’t ready to say forever; we were just being frugal and splitting rent.
I explained that to Reid once and he laughed for about fifteen minutes before kissing me on top of the head.
“What?” I said.
“You crack me up.”
“Because I’m smart about money?”
He shook his head. “Because you’re dumb about love.”
It didn’t even land in any aware spot in my brain. Like most of Reid’s teasing jabs, it just sort of rolled over me. I probably laughed and said, “I know, right?”
But I imagine living with Reid, and a small burst detonates in my belly. It would change everything, every first inhale and every last exhausted exhale of my day. It would influence every mood in between. I imagine shuffling sleepily around each other at the kitchen counter, waiting for the coffee maker to finish brewing. He’s wearing his soft, worn gray shirt and I can slide my hands up under it, warming them on his stomach. I imagine complaining about his morning breath, and him chasing me for a stinky kiss. I imagine grading papers on the couch together, my feet in his lap, him grumbling that I’m making it hard for him to work. I imagine the relief of sliding under the blankets with him—not just a warm body, but his warm body—every night.
I want every single one of these things flashing through my head.
I close my eyes, breathing in the salty air. I know people are more complicated than