What I Need

“Sorry.” I shrug. “I just . . . I didn’t know I was even in the squad.”

Really. I had no idea. This isn’t just me making up excuses.

Tessa laughs a little, while Mia whispers, “I just love her,” and Beth squeezes my wrist.

“Well, you are now,” Tessa states, keeping her smile. “So, spill it. How’s the big bull ride, anyway?”

I hesitate answering, looking from Mia to Beth—both of whom appear to be just as interested in what I have to say as Tessa. Great. Then I place my hands flat on the table, meet Tessa’s eyes, and lean closer to ask, “You aren’t going to mention this to Reed, are you?”

I need to make sure whatever I say stays here, at this table.

“What?” Tessa laughs, looking almost offended at the question. “Are you crazy? No, I’m not going to tell Reed. None of us are. What is said amongst the squad, stays within the squad. This is like Fight Club. You don’t talk about it.”

“She’s right,” Mia adds, looking at me with trust in her eyes. “Whatever you tell us, Riley, stays between us. Unless you say different.”

I believe Mia, and I know the girls won’t say anything now. I feel good about this.

“Okay.” I nod before leaning back and settling in my seat. “Um, well, I’m not sleeping with him anymore,” I announce, looking back to Tessa. “I’m just living with him. But I don’t want Reed to know that either. Not yet.”

Tessa shrugs. “Hey, to each their own. But you were sleeping with him.” She gives me a knowing look.

“Just the weekend of the wedding,” I clarify. And I wish we were still doing it, I don’t share. “I, uh, thought I was single. And CJ and I hit it off at the bar and just, kept hitting it off. Then I got home and found out I was still with Richard, so, I asked CJ if we could be friends. We’re just friends now.”

“But you like him, right?” Mia asks.

I nod, looking between the three sets of gossip-absorbing eyes. “Yes. I do. I like him. I’ve always liked him, but . . .”

“But?”

I swear, they all say that in unison.

“But now I’m just helping him heal. That’s it.”

A strange tightness forms in my chest. I just told them the truth—I am only helping CJ heal. That’s why he asked me to move in. That was all he wanted.

It’s just not all I want. Not anymore.

“Oh, I bet you’re healing him, all right,” Tessa teases.

“Tessa,” Mia scolds, mouth tight. She shakes her head.

“What?” Tessa gives her a look. “We are all curious here, Mia. Not just me. CJ is as big as Ben, and I’m wondering how well his stamina holds up.” She drops her chin on her fist and looks at me expectantly. “So, spill it. What’s it like?”

“Nobody is as big as Ben,” Mia claims, saving me from having to give an answer. She makes a face at Tessa, and I get the feeling there is a hidden meaning behind her statement, one I’m not privy to.

“That is yet to be determined,” Tessa argues, looking to me then. “Riley,” she prompts.

“Yes?”

“Care to share? Is CJ bigger than nine?”

“Nine what?”

“Inches.”

My eyes widen. I nearly swallow my tongue. “Ben is nine inches?” I ask, mouth agape at Mia. “Wow. That’s . . . good for you. Congratulations.”

She giggles, hand to her mouth and cheeks blushing pink. Beth joins in on the laughter as well, back to her happy, blissfully married self and no longer stressing about her big reveal. And seeing that, I smile.

Tessa looks across the table at me, and when she has my attention, holds her arms out in a welcoming gestures and grins.

“Welcome to the squad, Riley Girl.”

Hours of conversation later, where I reveal little information about CJ’s bedroom habits and instead share how well he’s doing in his recovery, information Tessa pretends to care nothing about—but I know better—I arrive home, eyes sleep heavy and yawns on repeat. I’m desperate for a shower, my bed, and my new favorite hoodie.

I’m also anxious to see CJ. And to talk to him. And to just . . . be around him. Laugh and play the way we do. I feel like we haven’t really spoken to each other since yesterday at the range. Hopefully he’s done working out and fully clothed now. I don’t hear any music when I reach the porch so I should be in the clear, but if not, I’ll just sprint past his doorway with my eyes closed.

Using my house key, I unlock the front door and push it open. When I step inside the house and lift my head, turning it toward the living room, I smile.

CJ is asleep in his go-to spot, head at one end of the couch and feet at the other, wearing a shirt now—thank God—with one hand curling around the X-Box remote he has resting on his chest and the other tucked behind him. The football game he was playing is paused.

I drop my book bag onto a stool and empty out my pockets at the island, then I walk around the back of the couch and place my hand on top of his.

“CJ,” I whisper.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t pause in his breathing. His chest rises and falls slowly, evenly. I look at his messy auburn hair and his dark jaw. He skipped shaving today. But even with the rugged stubble and giant body, CJ still looks gentle when he sleeps. He always does. He’s like a big, sexy, muscular teddy bear.

This isn’t my first time catching him on the couch.