Chapter 17

Jake

I was halfway home, when I made the decision. Pulling over on the side of the road, I got out of my phone.

Staring into the dark blank screen didn’t do much. Back there at DQ, I’d promised Brooke that I’d try to make things up with Mark. And when we were leaving, I hadn’t so much as given the guy a friendly nod. And now what was I doing? Racing home while I thought about how much of a dick the guy was. I mean, the guy literally had leagues and leagues of women to choose from—and chosen he had. But out of all these women, over all these years, he has to go for the one I like? He of all people knew how much Alicia’s leaving had gutted me. How could he do this to me?

I’d been absently drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. Now I stopped, and stretched out my arms.

What if Mark hadn’t been full-of-shit, though? What if—as inconvenient and shitty as it was—he really did have feelings for Brooke, and not just because I’d slept with her too? I exhaled, starting to dial Mark’s number. Whatever the truth was, I had to at least try to make things up with him. And not just because Brooke had urged us to make up. At the end of the day, business partner or not, Mark was my best friend. I’d meant every word I’d said to him back in the coffee shop there. He was like a brother to me, and I wasn’t about to let any woman—even one as wonderful as Brooke—come between us.

He picked up on the first ring.

“Hey,” Mark said.

“Want to meet up? I know we just kinda saw each other—but you know what I mean.”

Mark paused.

“What—trying to earn brownie points with Brooke?” he finally scoffed.

“No,” I said. “Trying to earn my best friend back.”

A sigh.

“You sentimental bastard. Alright, let’s meet at the Marble Room.”

“Why do we keep coming here, when half the time we hate it?” Mark asked, as he sat down at the bar beside me.

“Because we never learn,” I said, raising the pitcher I’d ordered us in salute.

He grinned.

“I see you’ve procured the usual supplies.”

I shrugged.

“It’s not really a drinking night without drinks—or my drinking buddy.”

Pouring himself a cup of beer, Mark nodded thoughtfully.

“Yeah, to be honest, I found that myself. Tried doing the whole drinking thing without you—it didn’t go that well.”

“I miss you,” I said impulsively.

Mark smirked.

“Don’t get all homo on me.”

“Seriously though, Mark. Come on,” I said. “We used to be so close. What happened?”

Mark’s face darkened.

“You know what happened.”

I nodded somberly. As much as I hated to admit it—he was right. The eternal conflict—a woman—had come between us.

“But that doesn’t mean that we can’t be friends,” I said.

“Doesn’t it?” Mark asked, dubiously.

Seeing my disheartened expression, he put his glass down and waved his hand.

“Sorry, that was a bit of a dick thing to say. But you know me, I’m a dick.”

He tried his usual devil-may-care smirk, but it didn’t come off right this time for some reason. He frowned.

“I’m taking it hard, okay? That’s all. I never expected that when I actually liked a girl, that it would be like this. Hell, I never expected I’d like a girl at all. I thought love was just fairy-tale bullshit they tell kids, like Santa or the Tooth Fairy.”

“Just because they didn’t come to you, doesn’t mean they weren’t real,” I said softly.

Now Mark put his glass down on the counter with a loud smack.

“So, what the fuck are you saying?”

“What I’m saying is—maybe instead of running away from your past—and your fucked-up parents, maybe you should face it. Maybe if you had, we wouldn’t be in this situation—where you’re actually liking a woman for the first time in what, 34 years.”

“Fuck you,” Mark snapped, “Don’t tell me how to live my life. You ever consider that maybe this is just because Brooke is an extraordinary woman?”

“Yeah,” I said softly, “I have.”

I could almost picture her now, on the stool beside me, her fingers entwining mine, her lips ruby-red, and smiling. But at who? Who was she going to choose?

“So, what does this mean?” I said finally, “That we can’t be friends until this is figured out? And what about whoever she doesn’t choose, will they be okay with the other two being in a relationship?”

“Hell, I sure hope so,” Mark said, taking a long swig of his drink.

“You didn’t answer the question,” I said, quietly.

Mark ran his fingers through his sandy blond hair.

“I don’t know what to tell you, okay Jake? I didn’t expect to feel this way about Brooke or about her being with you. All I know is, when I see you touch her, I feel sick.”

“Seeing you flirt with her isn’t exactly all puppies and rainbows for me either,” I retorted.

“I’ll drink to that,” Mark said, raising his glass. “To fighting over a girl with my best friend.”

I eyed him uncertainly.

“I’m kidding,” he grumbled, “Just fucking clink my glass so that we can pretend it’s just like old times.”

I obliged and then we drank deeply.

“In the meantime,” Mark said, nudging me, “That hot blonde at the other end of the bar has been eyeing you since you got here.”

My gaze went to the end of the black-countered bar. The woman was undeniably stunning, with her close-cropped white-blonde hair and black sheath dress. And yet, looking at her was like looking at a nice painting, I could enjoy its beauty and yet, I felt nothing.

“Nice try,” I said, nudging Mark back, “She’s clearly got eyes for you.”

He said the obvious line out loud at the same time I thought of it myself, “Maybe she wants both of us.”

We sighed.

“Can I show you something?” I asked him.

“Why not?” he said.

So, I took out my phone, pulled up the picture and extended my phone in front of him.

“I made this a few days ago. Just got home, and I thought of her and then—I don’t know magic happened.”

Mark scanned it with narrowed eyes, before nodding.

“It’s good,” he said, gruffly.

“That’s not why I was showing it to you,” I said, quietly.

“Okay, Jake, my very best friend,” Mark snapped sardonically, “Why were you showing it to me?”

The ponytailed bartender passing us by shot us a ‘you good?’ look, but I ignored it.

“I was showing it to you, to show you just how much I meant what I said. I really like this woman. She’s the first thing I think of when I wake up, and the last thing I think of when I go to sleep. I know it’s cliché, but it’s true. After Alicia, I thought I’d never love again—heaven knows I tried. But Brooke, there’s just—”

“Something about her,” Mark said, glumly, “Like when she listens, she really hears you. Like when she’s around you, you’re all that’s on her mind.”

We eyed each other sullenly, then took another drink of our beers.

“I have something to show you too,” Mark said, getting out his own phone.

He took a minute to flick to what he was looking for, then passed his phone to me. When I saw the picture, my voice caught in my throat.

It was a picture of Brooke sleeping. But it wasn’t just her sleeping—it was, undoubtedly, a picture of her sleeping—after that. She had a post-sex glow to her, while her beautifully rosy face looked utterly serene. She looked happy, plain and simple, perfectly happy. Happy in a way I’d kill to make her every day.

“I took that the morning after,” Mark said, “Right after, I rolled over, fell asleep and forgot about it until a few days ago, when I stumbled on it on my phone. It’s just—that’s how she looks like when she’s with me, and that’s how I feel when I’m with her, man, no joke. Just—I know it sounds stupid, but it’s true—happy.”

I smiled bitterly at him.

“I believe you. And I won’t say that seeing that picture doesn’t hurt. But here’s the thing—that’s what it’s like when we’re together too. She cares deeply about me and I care deeply about her, and we make each other happy, too. I’m sorry.”

Mark shook his head, putting his phone away.

“Don’t be sorry,” he cracked a broken smile. “Unless she chooses you.”

“Who do you think she’ll choose?” I asked.

Mark shrugged.

“If she’s smart? You. If she’s horny, well—”

I elbowed him.

“Don’t talk about her like that.”

“Why not?” he asked, “She was a freak in bed, was she not? Or was that just for me?”

“Seriously,” I said angrily, “if you actually cared about her, you wouldn’t talk about her this way.”

“Go seriously fuck yourself,” Mark snapped back, “Stop presuming to know what I would or wouldn’t do if I actually cared about a woman, okay? How about that?”

He took a big swig of his beer, until there was none left in his glass.

“Sounds like you’re pissed because she was freakier with me anyway.”

I clenched my glass tightly.

“I’m warning you, Mark.”

“Or what?” he challenged me, “You’ll fuck the woman I have a crush on? Oh wait, you already did.”

“Everything alright here?” the bartender asked, poking his frowning face over the bar.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mark snapped, “I was just leaving.”

He walked a few paces, paused, then said “Guess you didn’t get your best friend back after all.”

And then he was gone, leaving me with the dregs of the beer at the bottom of the pitcher.

When I looked up, I found that the blonde woman was staring at me. I got up, paid the bill and walked away, out into the night.

As I walked down the street, I didn’t pay much attention to where I was going. I walked for the act of it itself. To move my legs while I moved my mind. To think.

She’d looked so sad back there, in the Dairy Queen. She’d eaten her chocolate part of the banana split like she couldn’t even taste it, like everything would be determined by the results of her conversation with us. And after she’d gotten our answers, after the blow had been dealt, she’d looked hollowed-out, like a shadow of her former self. It made me sick to think about. And that was nothing on Mark. The only time I’d seen him like this—this angry and bitter—was when his grandma had died. For a few weeks, every other thing enraged him and sent him storming off cursing. He’d visited her grave every day for those few weeks. I’d tried to be there for him how he’d been there for me. I’d brought him ice cream by the tubs, sent him porn vids by the dozens, I’d even considered hiring a notorious escort. But then, one day, he’d gotten better. Just like that —he’d told me he’d just decided to. But this time was different—this time, if Brooke chose me, she wouldn’t just be poof-disappearing from his life. He’d have to live with her choice, each and every day. It would be in every look she gave me, every smile, in every movement of her body.

And if she chose him? I shook my head. The thought was unbearable. Of never having those soft lips on mine again, never seeing her eyes fill with arousal and longing—of never having her again. God, I couldn’t even bear considering it.

And yet, when I found myself back in the DQ parking lot, when I got back in my car and started up the engine, it occurred to me that I didn’t know what I wanted, really. It was a lose-lose situation. I didn’t want Brooke to hurt Mark, and I didn’t want to lose her either. I cared deeply for Mark and I cared deeply her. And, I hated myself for it, but I wanted Brooke. With everything that I was, I wanted her.