Chapter Five

Harper

I stretch my arms over my head and my hands run into the headboard. Not the familiar wicker headboard from my apartment or the cool steel of Marcus’. My eyes pop open and I roll over and slap Ben in the face. “Sorry. Sorry!” I whisper shout into the dark bedroom. “Ben! What are you doing in here?”

“It’s my bed. What are you doing in here? That’s the question,” Ben says, voice hoarse and drowsy—utterly mouthwatering. Let’s be honest, here. Everything about him does things to my body that I work hard to deny. It’s harder when he’s next to me. In bed. When I’m wearing…wait. What am I wearing? A crop top and a pair of lacy white underwear. Perfect. I’m barely awake and I already feel like the whore of Babylon.

One of his arms juts out and he pulls me against his body. “I left all my clothes on. I know your prude sensibilities, but the sofa wasn’t long enough to hold me.”

There’s no use struggling against his snuggle, so I go willingly, letting his cozy body heat envelop mine. He smells like Ben. A hint of his signature scent mixed with the indiscernible smell that is him—home.

“This is so inappropriate. I’m going to hell,” I groan, trying to think of the last time I called Marcus. I can’t be sure, but I’m almost positive I win the award for world’s worst girlfriend. Guilt lies heavily on my chest as the whole scenario of my time here is realized.

Ben cuddles me closer, his lips at my ear. “Do you think I’d do anything untoward while you were blitz faced drunk? Come on. You know I like my ladies willing participants.”

I cringe. “You’re such a dog, Ben. I have a boyfriend.” His body stiffens. Not his penis. No, that’s been hard since the moment he woke up. “One who would cast me to the dogs if he saw me right now. Best friend or not, a hard dick this close to my ass has to be a deal breaker for most people.”

He laughs. “Fine. Fine.” He slides away, and I roll to face him. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, Harper. I thought we were closer than that.” Sighing, I contemplate every single word I’m about to say and the many ways in which they can be misinterpreted.

“It got weird. Too much time had passed; I fibbed once and it kind of snowballed.” My purse is sitting on the nightstand and my eyes widen as I make a grab for it and pull out my birth control pills. I swallow the one meant for last night without water and realize how dry my mouth is. It’s a desert, California in the middle of drought, death. “I need water,” I croak.

Ben watches the whole thing, and pain flickers across his face. I have to physically remove myself from him before I comfort him. That would be inappropriate. “You’re sleeping with him?” His eyes crinkle as he asks. It’s almost humorous, because how in the world could I not be sleeping with my boyfriend? Ben will always see me as ten years younger than I actually am.

Sighing, I run a hand across my forehead. This isn’t a conversation I’d have with anyone, let alone Ben. Though, maybe he can help me figure out if Marcus is jealous. Best friends do that a lot, right? “I live with him. Sex is sort of a given. I’m twenty-one, not fifteen. Sometimes I think you forget that I grew up the same time you did, with you.”

Ben folds his arms behind his head and he looks so damn hot I have to stand and turn away from the bed. The first time I slept with Marcus I was completely uncomfortable. I didn’t really want to do it, but he was persuasive and I knew it was time to let my old dreams die hard. “I picture you at school, at class, and going to your clubs and study groups. I never thought you’d live with a dude. Fuck another dude.”

“Was I supposed to wait for you?” I ask, swallowing down broken dreams. “You know what? Never mind. Want breakfast?” I ask, desperate to change the subject. Jealous Ben isn’t fun. He never has been. Turning, I hit him with my biggest smile. I’ve never quite been sure where his jealousy stems from. He doesn’t want me romantically, I don’t think. It’s more of a claim thing. He claimed me as his, and because he’s male and they bang on their chests, jealousy is akin to breathing.

We’re both aware he doesn’t answer my question, but unlike him, I’m not going to force him to say anything. That answer isn’t good for either of us. “Yeah. Let’s go eat. I need to erase the images flashing through my brain.” Ben runs both hands through his hair, back and forth several times.

I know how to stop the flood of images, but I can’t fix it for him. Not right now, not at this stage in our lives. His cell phone rings, he mumbles something under his breath, and walks into the bathroom. Digging through my suitcase, I find a pair of sleep shorts and pull them on. It takes longer than it should because I’m lost in my thoughts of Ben and me in bed, in my underwear, and all it implies. All I wish it meant. A flash of a future so muddied by life lights my senses and then promptly turns to dust.

He clears his throat. “We didn’t do anything, Harper,” Ben hisses from the bathroom doorway, body propped against the frame, startling me from my daydream.

Glancing over my shoulder, I catch sight of him. He’s shirtless now, because that’s his natural state. I have to remind myself he’s always walked around shirtless after he transformed into a perfect male specimen. He truly did wear a shirt to bed because of my prude sensibilities. I wish I wasn’t that kind of girl. The meek, do what you’re told, type. Old habits die hard, and I should praise Ben for realizing as much as things change about me, that one facet never will.

“You wouldn’t tell me if we did. Don’t lie. You perv.” I knock him off balance on my way out of the room and into the kitchen. I duck out of his grasp as he tries to catch me around the waist. My cracked cell phone sits on the counter, a glaring reminder of the person inside of it.

“If you get everything out for me, I’ll make breakfast. I need to make a quick phone call.” It’s so late in the morning that it’s already an acceptable time to call the East Coast. Marcus will be up, sipping his morning tea and watching the news, a text book sitting next to him.

“Make it fast. We have big plans today,” Ben growls, laughing. Our uncomfortable exchange is already buried. In record time, no less. We’re able to hide almost anything inside the confines of our friendship. It wasn’t until recently that I realized that’s not always a good thing. He’s still thinking about me and Marcus together, and I’m still thinking about how I wish it were him.

Savagery.

I hit speed dial number two and Marcus answers on the second ring. “There you are. Are you okay? You had me worried last night.” His words are mashed together in one long wind. To his credit, he does sound worried. His text messages were so rude and unlike him that I was afraid to call him at first.

I close my eyes. All this guilt. I didn’t do anything to feel guilty about and yet I feel it all the same. My heart is a traitor. “I’m so sorry, Marcus. We did have so much fun, though. My screen is cracked. I’ll take it in to get fixed today, so I may be unreachable for a while.” I listen to him breathing for a moment or two, then continue, “What are you up to today?”

“That’s all?” he asks after a few more silent seconds. For me, those seconds are loud and unbearable. What will he ask next? Can he see his imprint on my soul? Does he have that unquantifiable sense I don’t? I’m always a step behind, socially.

“Yeah. The concert was awesome. Then we came home and went to sleep.”

“Hmm,” Marcus replies. He doesn’t believe me. I want to scream out all of the truths. Ben is watching me over the rim of his drink. When I catch him looking, he looks away and pretends to be busy.

I yank on the hem of my short shorts self-consciously.

“I miss you, Harper. I know how much you like that band. I’m glad you got to see them while you were there. I, uh, wish I were the one who took you.” Jealousy. It seeps in enough even a dull wit like me can recognize it through a phone call.

“Maybe we can go together when they’re on the East Coast,” I offer. “I’d see them a million times. You spoke with Ben last night?” I edge, while he seems to be engulfed with missing me. Ben is banging a frying pan around on the stove. I cover the ear not holding a cell phone and glare in his direction.

“I did. He seems like a…nice guy.”

I breathe out a sigh of a relief. I didn’t hear what was said last night, mostly because I was drunk and in a candy haze, but Ben was upset after the conversation, so I couldn’t be sure.

“I won’t pretend to know your relationship with him because it seems complicated. I didn’t know that a male-female relationship could ever function platonically into adulthood, but I’m going to trust you, Harper. I’m an intelligent man. I know he’s in your life to stay. I hope I am, too.”

I smile. This is the charismatic man I fell in love with. “Of course you are. How was your last exam?” I ask. Flopping down onto the couch, I listen to his story about the exam and how he had to guess on the last question. I reassure him by giving a statistic on what his chances are of selecting the right answer. He laughs a little and as I lie back on the arm of the couch I find myself smiling at the ceiling.

I tell him about seeing my parents and although I wait for it, he doesn’t ask about my sleeping arrangement at Ben’s. I end the call with a good feeling about Marcus—all hesitation erased. I walk into the kitchen warily. “Over medium with toast?” I ask.

He clears his throat and nods. “Marcus makes you happy,” Ben says.

If he’d asked me this question ten minutes ago, I’d have a different answer, but I have to tell him the truth. Ben is a hero. He lives and breathes in a world that’s equal parts destroyed and perfect. I live in the perfect version, and he’s not my superhero. Ben can’t be. “I’m happy, Ben. I need to be a good girlfriend for him. Give him a chance, yeah?” I nudge him with my shoulder.

He shoulders me back, his bare arm sliding against mine. “You leave me no option. Now cook, Suzy homemaker. Man is hungry.”

“Oh, piss off, Benny,” I squawk, laughing at his stupid joke he knows will offend me. “I’ll poison your food.”

“Tahoe is on his way over to pick up my bag.”

I crack a couple eggs on the side of the pan and listen to the fizzle and pops. “He reminds me of Arnold Schwarzenegger in that movie where half of his face is a robot. He’s scary.”

Ben laughs, tells me to flip the eggs because he’s micromanaging, and says, “Tahoe is solid. A lot of these guys have been doing this job for such a long time. They teach me a lot. They were SEALs before the attack. Can you imagine? Just normal SEALs.”

I laugh. “As opposed to what? Hybrid SEALs?”

He sighs. “Nah. Just less…risk.” At the tenor of his voice, I turn to face him.

I raise one brow. “How much risk are you in on a normal work day, exactly?”

He cranes his neck to look at the eggs in the pan. “Less risk than those poor eggs are currently enduring.”

Rolling my eyes, I scoop the eggs out and onto a waiting plate, but I can’t shake the uneasy feeling. “Seriously. Be honest with me.”

“Ah. Ah. Ah. We’re not completely honest with each other anymore. Remember?”

“Touché. Fair point, but I need to know how much danger you’re in. For my own sanity.”

The doorbell rings and Ben escapes my glare. Tahoe ambles in, his large frame hiding the sunlight. “What’s for breakfast?” he quips, flicking his gaze my way.

“Eggs?” I ask, holding up Ben’s plate.

“No, that’s mine!” Ben says, reaching over the counter to take the plate from my hands. “I’ll cook you something if you want, man,” Ben says, nodding at Tahoe.

“Nah. I’m going to meet a girl at Hash House,” he replies, a predatory smile stretching across his face. “What are you two kids getting up to today?”

I drink a sip of Ben’s orange juice and skirt around the corner, self-conscious about my shorts. It was fine to sleep in my underwear with Ben, but a strange man can’t see me in my pajamas. I realize the twisted hypocrisy. “He won’t tell me. Evidently they’re pretty terrific, though.” I laugh a little. “You don’t strike me as a man who brunches,” I add on.

“I’m getting my greens in. Their Bloody Mary counts as vegetables, and they serve beer in brown bags. So, yes, I do brunch.”

“And I’m sure her tits are dessert,” Ben adds, butting in.

Cringing, I shoot him a dirty look. “Don’t be crass, Ben. It doesn’t suit you. It reeks of desperation.”

Tahoe laughs as he looks between us. “Ben didn’t lie then,” Tahoe remarks. Then to Ben he says, “Where’s your bag, dude? I’ll get it packed up when I drop my stuff off later. You got that new Kevlar in there? Don’t want you getting any holes in your pretty, perfect body.”

Ben looks at me, eyes wide. “He’s joking. Of course he’s joking,” he says, glaring at Tahoe for a second before turning his gaze back to me and my gaping mouth. “I’ll throw it in your truck, dude.” Tahoe looks taken aback and he realizes what he’s said.

“Sorry. I’m not used to filtering. You understand?” he says, eyes softening. “Ben’s body repels bullets. He can’t get shot even when he tries.”

“Oh my God, Tahoe. Shut the fuck up, dude!”

“Did you almost get shot?” I nearly yell. It’s one thing to suspect things given his job description, but it’s quite another to hear them spoken about as truth. My heart hammers.

“Which time?” Tahoe laughs.

Ben punches Tahoe’s arm. It’s lighthearted because they’re laughing, but I feel like someone signed my death sentence. Ben’s death sentence. I’m still breathing heavy when Ben returns from bringing his huge bag outside. Tahoe’s loud truck pulls away.

I’m standing in the same spot. Tahoe said his goodbyes and I must have mumbled through them, but I don’t recall just what I said. Visions of Ben bleeding out, bullet holes peppered throughout his body, overtake all sane, rational thoughts. My perfect life has never been more glaring than right now, when I realize that while I’m worrying about exams and jealous boyfriends, Ben is dodging bullets and praying he escapes with his life. The attacks changed everything in our world, but in my universe, they damaged the one thing I hold dearest.

Ben and I aren’t the same anymore.

The door slams behind him, pulling me from my nightmare. He’s breathing heavy from toting his huge bag and his abs flex and cave as he breathes. “Get dressed. First up is the comic book store. Then the beach and ice cream,” he says, waggling his brows.

Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I throw myself into his arms. “Maybe we can do some Jazzercise first?” I whisper through ragged breaths.

He chuckles under his breath. “Sure thing, geek. I’ll dig out my sweat band.”