JENNIE
In one ear, out the other. That’s what’s happening right
now. To be fair, Mom’s been on about Olivia’s baby shower plans for forty minutes now. She’s surpassed overthinking territory, so I’ve resorted to staring out the coffee shop window.
Fat snowflakes fall slowly, turning downtown Vancouver into a winter wonderland. It’s pretty to watch, mesmerizing, even if I’m counting down the days to spring. Sleet and snow bring dangerous driving conditions, along with a lot of unnecessary anxiety, and the fleeting daylight hours are depressing.
“Jennie? Are you listening? I don’t want to disappoint Olivia.”
I leave the bleak, gray day on the other side of the window and look at my mom. Her wide-eyed expression is half-annoyed, half-worried.
“Please, Mom. Olivia’s already reached maximum disappointment levels; she married your son.”
“Jennifer. I swear, the teasing between you and your brother is ridiculous.”
Beside me, Hank sips his coffee. “Teasing is the love language of siblings, Holly.”
Truth, but Carter’s love can, on occasion, be a touch suffocating. Like right now as I check my phone.
World’s Best Bro: dance practice done @ 5? i’ll pick u up.
World’s Best Bro: u can have dinner with me n ollie
One guess at who named his phone contact.
Me: Taking the bus home.
World’s Best Bro: don’t think so. it’ll be starting to get dark.
World’s Best Bro: or u could take one of my cars. have 5.
Me: Thanks, but no.
World’s Best Bro: thx, but ya. pizza? or indian?
With a sigh, I flip my phone upside down and give my mom a look. “Your son doesn’t take no for an answer.”
“He didn’t get that from me.”
My phone dings again, and I’m ready to tell my brother where he can shove all five of his cars. Instead, my cheeks heat at the bear emoji lighting my phone.
Bear: Play tonight? We fly out in the morning for a few days.
Telling him I can’t makes me sadder than seems reasonable. For years I’ve been happy with my personal satisfaction and growing toy collection. In a few measly days, Garrett’s managed to throw that all out the window.
I tack on something about Carter being a demanding shit with his insistence to kidnap me for dinner. Otherwise, the answer would be a resounding yes, and one of us would be on our knees within thirty seconds of being behind closed doors.
Bear: I’ll pick u up. Tell him u got a ride with a friend.
Garrett must sense the incoming argument when he sees those three dots jumping around—mostly because Carter knows my only friends are his friends and Simon, and he’d have a shitfit and burst a carotid if Simon were driving me home—because another text comes in before I can finish mine.
Bear: Give me attitude and I’ll give it right back, ur choice.
Me: Don’t threaten me with a good time.
Bear: I’ll be out front at 5, sunshine.
I don’t know much about Garrett, but I do know a switch has been flipped, one I don’t want him to turn off.
“Gosh, you know, I really hope this baby doesn’t take after Carter in the size department,” Mom’s busy saying, jotting down notes in her planning journal as I sip my drink and rejoin the conversation. “Poor Ollie will be split right in half.”
My cappuccino slides down the wrong tube, scorching my windpipe. I slap a hand over my mouth to catch the sputtering liquid.
“I think that’s exactly what Carter’s hoping will happen,” Hank supplies. “Nothing would make him prouder than making a monster-sized baby to match his monster- sized—” Hank cuts himself off, skin around his eyes wrinkling as he tries not to laugh. “Sorry, sorry. That boy’s really rubbed off on me after all these years. My Ireland would be washin’ my mouth out with soap for that kind of language.”
I snicker, breaking off a piece of my apple pie muffin. “Wow, Jennie, are you having lunch with your
grandparents?”
My skin prickles at the voice I’ve come to know well over the last four years. Krissy stares down at me with the
same self-absorbed grin she always wears, along with her two blonde lackeys, the Ashley’s. Yeah, they’re both named Ashley. Well, technically, one is Ashlee, two E’s.
“That’s so cute,” she continues. “My grandparents used to be my best friends, too, when I was a kid, but I’m older now.”
I sling one leg over the other. “And now that they’ve gotten to know you, they realize they don’t like you all that much?”
Krissy gives me a smile nearly as tight as the ridiculous buns on either side of her head. “You’re so funny, Jennie. We should hang out sometime.”
I hate the way my face lights with intrigue. If I can feel it, she can see it, and I don’t understand my reaction. No part of me desires being part of this clique. Every compliment is backhanded, every conversation a whisper while they’re tucked in the corner of the dance studio, a secret I’m not in on. And yet all these years I’ve struggled with envy for the relationship they share.
Because they have each other, and I have no one.
I don’t need the negativity people like them would undoubtedly bring, but I wouldn’t mind having some people in my life that haven’t come via my brother, ones that’ll take me for me.
Mom’s gaze follows as Krissy and A² sashay away. She blinks at me in silence, several times over, before her expression morphs into outrage. “Did she just call me a grandma?”
“You’re about to be a grandma,” I point out.
“To a baby, Jennie, not a twenty-four-year-old woman!” She swivels in her seat, and I hide my face in my cappuccino. She’s about to demonstrate that she can be as embarrassing as Carter, though she claims he didn’t get it from her. “Hey! Yeah, you there, with the Princess Leia buns! I’m young, okay? I still get my period!” She stands, sweeping both hands down her body. “You wish you could
look this good when you’re my age!” She plops back down, slicing an aggressive hand through the air. “Pfft. Grandma.” “They thought Holly and I were married?” Hank’s grin is
so wide as he dusts off his shoulder. “I always knew I was hot stuff.”
And, you see, I’d rather have a thousand Moms and Hanks than one Krissy and two Ashleys.
“Missed you last week, Jennie. Glad you’re back.”
My fingers trail down Simon’s arm to his hand, where he takes mine as I spin away before he pulls me back in.
“C’mon.” He grips my waist, lifting me into the air. The landing feels all wrong, but I push through it. I’m desperate for this to end so I can go home and make Garrett flick my bean. I’m also hoping for snacks. “You really not gonna talk to me?”
I’m really not gonna talk to him.
“No, no, no, no. Stop. Stop the music.” Mikhail, our dance coach, buries his face behind the wad of papers in his hand as silence fills the studio. Eyes closed, he holds one hand up, waiting, and I stand with my hands on my hips, trying to catch my breath. With a heavy sigh, he flings his arms wide, tossing the papers in the process. “What is happening? What is going on? I call you two my diamond dazzlers for a reason. You were born to dance together, and when you do it right, you—” clap, “both—” clap, “dazzle—” clap. “I don’t know what that was, but it was not dazzling.”
Mikhail expects perfection; it’s what he always gave. Born in Russia some fifty-odd years ago, the man’s been dancing since he could walk, and on stage at a professional level for forty-two of those years. He’s magical and terrifying all at once, like a mythical creature, and when he walks through the hall, every voice falls silent. Most people
stay in his good graces by simply keeping their mouths shut and doing what they’re told. I’m one of the few that gets to work my charm on him every now and then, but whether it works is a crapshoot I never know the answer to until I’ve given it my best shot.
“Jennie, your ankle looks great, but you’re stiff out there. You’re like a…” He lifts his arms, waving them awkwardly. “Like a damn puppet. It’s horrifying, utterly horrifying. It’s like you’re not comfortable with Simon.”
Correct.
He drums his fingers against his pursed lips, then shrugs. “Should we increase hours this week? Maybe the two of you can book the studio and do some after-hours bonding.”
“I think that’s a great idea, Mik,” Simon eagerly supplies.
“Uh, no.” Oops, meant to think that one, not say it. “I’m just not feeling my best today.” Hand on my stomach, I pull a sick face. “Went to this sketchy sushi place last night and
—”
Mikhail holds his hand up. “Was it Sushi Paradise? On Mainland? I swear, that place is the worst.” He claps twice. “Say no more. Let’s call it an early night. Jennie, go home, hydrate, and get an early sleep. Take it easy, you hear? Let someone else do all the work tonight.”
“Can I get that in writing?” I joke, then wave off my own laughter at his expression. Today’s not the day. Garrett would’ve laughed though. I can probably still convince him to do all the work anyway. He likes a full to-do list. I scoop up my things before Simon can say anything that might get him kneed in the nuts, and wave over my shoulder. “Night!”
We’re done a half hour early, so I text Garrett, letting him know I’ll grab the bus. I get a photo of the front of the building from behind a wet windshield, and the words already here, so I make a beeline there, ignoring my name as Simon hollers it.
The snow is heavy and wet, the kind that melts and turns to slush as soon as it hits the ground. My feet slip through it as I make my way to Garrett’s car, and I roll my eyes as Simon bursts out the doors behind me.
“Jennie! C’mon! You can’t ignore me!”
“You know, when people tell me I can’t do something, it only makes me wanna do it harder.” I turn, jabbing him in the chest with my finger. “I’m gonna ignore the fuck outta you, you twat-waffle.”
“Oh come on! Your ankle’s all better. No permanent damage.”
“Yes, thank goodness I didn’t permanently damage my ankle when I was running away from you. Not only did I manage to avoid any lasting damage that might’ve jeopardized everything I’ve worked so hard for my entire life, I also managed to avoid a venereal disease!”
Simon rolls his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. I’m clean, and you didn’t need to run.”
“Really? No didn’t seem to be working. Or is that word just not in your vocabulary?” I turn my back on him, continuing my trek through the snow. The ground is slick and wet, my UGGs have zero traction, and I can barely see.
“Look, Jennie, I’m sorry. I thought you were into it. You’re always flirting with me. Maybe stop sending me mixed signals.”
Every muscle in my body tenses, locking me in spot.
“Pardon me?” I ask lowly, taking one step toward him, then another. Another, as he backs up, and on my fourth supposed-to-be-threatening step in his direction, my boot goes sliding through gray slush, legs splitting. I start falling backward after a shitty attempt at regaining my balance by grabbing onto air, which, by the way, doesn’t work. I’m less pissed about the slush I’m about to wear and more pissed I’ve lost the fear dancing in Simon’s eyes.
A thick arm wraps around my waist, quickly righting me on my feet, and Garrett’s blue-green eyes peer down at me.
The confusion and anger marring his forehead is an expression I haven’t seen before, one that stops my breath. With a hand on my lower back, he guides me forcefully to his car, all but stuffing me into the passenger seat.
“The fuck’s he talking about?” Garrett demands, gaze raking over me. “He hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” I grumble.
“Did. He. Hurt. You?” His gravelly, harsh tone has my mouth gaping and butterflies erupting. Bossy looks so, so good on this man.
I gesture haphazardly toward my previously injured ankle. Garrett’s gaze hardens before he stalks off.
Garrett’s not a fighter. He’s a carefree, laid-back guy, that east coast twang making his words languid and happy. It takes a lot to rattle his cage. Judging by the way he looms over Simon, forcing him backward, I’d wager this is one of those times.
I watch as Simon nods repeatedly at whatever Garrett’s saying, hands coming up between them like a shield before he finally scrambles back inside the building.
When the normally shy, awkward man slides into the driver’s seat without a word, I’m equally turned on and annoyed.
“What did you do, Garrett?” “Nothing.”
“Bullshit. Why did you get involved? I can handle Simon.”
Garrett glances over his shoulder before pulling into traffic. “Carter would kill me if he found out you hurt your ankle after that douchebag tried to kiss you, and I didn’t do anything about it.”
“Right. Carter.” Because it always goes back to him, every fucking time.
Silence and anger drench the air between us like a heavy fog. My skin crawls.
“I don’t need a boyfriend,” I snap, shoving a finger into his shoulder. “And I certainly don’t need a chaperone who thinks I can’t take care of myself and only looks out for me because of some ridiculously misplaced sense of duty to my brother.”
Garrett nabs my finger, wrapping his hand tightly around mine in an effort to control my violence. For the most part, I strive to be controlled by no man. But I kinda like the way he controls me, you know, physically, and while naked. Slightly messed up.
“I didn’t ask to be your boyfriend. I asked to— respectfully, I might add—wreck your body in a way that both of us enjoy immensely, based on the way I can’t keep my tongue out of there and you keep trying to detach my hair from my scalp. But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna sit by and let someone disrespect you or your boundaries just because we aren’t dating. I’m still gonna have your back.”
Okay, not exactly the response I was expecting. Still, I yank my hand back and cross my arms over my chest, grumbling quietly, “I don’t need protecting.”
“I’ll keep that in mind for the future. But if, in the future, I happen to accidentally punch Simon Syphilis in his smart- ass mouth, don’t think of it as protection. Think of it as karma.”
The corner of my mouth twitches. “I call him Simon Syphilis.”
Garrett graces me with a lopsided smile. “For the record, I didn’t do that just because of your brother. I’m sorry it came out that way. This thing between you and me has nothing to do with him. And I know you can take care of yourself, Jennie, trust me. I’ve been on the receiving end of your wrath many times. But from what I gather—since you won’t come out right and tell me—you told him no. And nobody fucking touches you. Except me,” he adds with a wink. “With your permission, of course, because I don’t have a death wish.”
I giggle quietly as my anger dials down to a simmer.
Garrett clears his throat, gesturing at the Starbucks cup in the middle console. “I, uh, got you a drink. Figured ’cause it was cold and snowy, plus you’re probably tired.”
“Oh. Thanks.” I bring the warm drink to my nose, inhaling the scent. It smells delicious, like Christmas, robust and heavenly, with hints of cinnamon and nutmeg.
“I didn’t, uh…” He shoves his fingers beneath his toque and scratches his head. “I didn’t know what you like, but you always smell like cinnamon and coffee, so…yeah.”
I smile against the lid. “It’s perfect, Garrett. Thank you.”
The car rolls to a stop at a red light, and Garrett’s eyes flit between me and the road, fingers drumming the steering wheel. On the fourth look, I face him, prepared to tell him to spit whatever the fuck it is out already.
But he leans over the console, pressing a quick kiss to my lips.
“Uh, hi,” he says, as if we haven’t been together for the last several minutes.
“Hi,” I laugh. “You don’t have to kiss me when we say hello or good-bye. We aren’t dating.”
“I guess, but I like kissing you, so it’s not a big deal as long as you’re cool with it. Unless you’re not cool with it. If you’re uncomfortable, then I will…stop.” He stares straight ahead, eyes wide like he has no clue what he’s doing.
I don’t know, either, to be honest. I haven’t been in a relationship since my senior year in high school, and it wasn’t particularly healthy. So friends with benefits? Not only do I have no idea where the lines are drawn, I have no clue how normal people in consenting relationships act ever. I guess I can think of this thing between us as my test run.
“I don’t mind,” I finally say as Garrett pulls into his parking spot. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do boyfriend crap because we’re getting naked together.”
“I don’t mind doing boyfriend crap, like picking you up and getting you coffee. If it makes you feel better, we can call it committed friends crap.” Garrett takes my bag and my hand, helping me out of the car. “Besides, if you were my girlfriend, I’d tell you to carry your own shit.”
“As if. You’re a sap.”
“Nope.” He directs the elevator to the penthouse as his eyes glide over me, heating on the way. “Then you’d yell at me for making you carry it, and I’d tell you to get over it and stop acting like a princess.” He steps into me, lips sweeping my jaw, pausing at my ear as he slips a hand below my top. “Just to push your buttons a little further, get you all riled up.” He grabs my hand and tows me out of the elevator, down the hall, and inside his condo. “Couch or bedroom?”
“Couch,” I answer breathlessly as he pulls his shirt over his head.
He yanks my leggings down and I fumble out of them, gripping his forearms while he walks me backward, wearing that self-righteous smirk I love/hate.
Garrett spins me around and shoves me over the arm of the couch, his chest against my bare back when he tugs my shirt off. “And when you were good and angry, I’d bend you over the couch, just like this.” Pushing my panties aside, he swipes two fingers along my slit. I’m embarrassingly drenched from a few simple words, and God, I fucking want him. “And I’d fuck you right…here.”
I shoot forward with a gasp, clawing at the leather as his fingers pierce my entrance, and Garrett spends the next hour showing me exactly what I’m missing with my no-s*x rule, and how lucky his future girlfriend is going to be when she’s on the receiving end of his body, his attention.
Garrett steps out of the bathroom, shaking his shaggy hair out in a towel while I pull my panties on. “You hungry?”
“I should go, no?” I’m starving, but I’ll order in when I get home. I don’t want to overstay my welcome now that the naked fun is done.
“Nah. Why? There’s a game on, and we’re playing the home team this week.” He tosses a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants at me. “Let’s order pizza and watch.” He strolls from the bedroom, where we wound up somewhere between the third Big O and the shower, right out to the living room, not sticking around to let me overthink the simple invite.
So I’ll overthink something else, like his clothes in my hands. I should put on my own. But he offered, didn’t he? So it’s not weird, right?
His sweats swallow me whole, engulfing me in warmth. They smell like him, this homey, comforting scent, like fresh laundry and cedarwood. It’s nice, and I make my way down the hall, pulling the strings at my waist tight.
Garrett’s still shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, showing off those dips right above his perfect hockey butt as he roots through his pantry. “Pizza will be here in forty,” he mumbles around a mouthful of food as he turns toward me. “But I couldn’t wait.” He holds up a blue box and swallows. “Want one?”
“What the hell are those?”
His expression is a perfect mix of confusion and disgust. “Pop-Tarts?”
“No, I know they’re Pop-Tarts, but…” I take the box from him. “Cinnamon Sugar Pretzel? I’ve never seen these ones before.” I yank another package from his other hand. “And Dunkaroos? I haven’t had these since I was a kid! I didn’t think they even made these in Canada anymore.”
“They don’t. Bev gets them for me.” “Bev?”
“Yeah, Beverly; Adam’s mom. She lives in Denver. She’s my snack dealer.”
“You get your friend’s mom to send you snacks from the States?”
“Fuck yeah, I do! They got the best shit.” He gestures at his pantry. “Check out my stash.”
I root through the bags and boxes of foreign cereals, special edition cookies, candy I’ve never heard of, stopping when I get to a yellow bag. “Flamin’ Hot Funyuns…” I wrinkle my nose. “These sound horrendous.”
Garrett tosses his head back, moaning. “They’re fucking amazing.” When I gag, he grins. “Don’t knock ’em ’til you try ’em.
I nab a package each of Pop-Tarts and Dunkaroos, and Garrett follows me to the couch. “New rule: no Funyuns before we make out.”
“Fine, but they’re free game after I’ve rocked your world, sunshine.”
He stretches out on the couch, pulling me down between his legs as he turns on the hockey game. I unwrap my Dunkaroos, and Garrett sneaks a cookie, dipping it into my frosting.
“Hey, can you tickle my back?” I ask. “Tickle your back?”
“Please.” I hand him the snacks, place a pillow on his chest, and flop onto my belly. I lift his hoodie up my back and guide his free hand there. “It feels nice and helps me relax before bed. My mom used to do it when I was little.”
Garrett bites down on a Pop-Tart, pops a frosting-covered cookie into my mouth, and entwines his legs with mine. He starts running his fingertips up and down my spine, tracing around my shoulder blades. “How’s that?” “Perfect,” I sigh, nuzzling my cheek into the pillow as I…
wrap my arms around him.
“Look at us,” he boasts. “Killing the whole friends-with- benefits thing. Knew we would.”
I hold my fist up, and he bumps his against mine.
“Nailed it!”
