The big wigs leave an hour before the office starts to shut down for the day, and the air is immediately less tense. I go back and forth between my work and Facebook, messaging some of my online friends to chat about random things.
I do twenty minutes of actual work, then switch back to Facebook to creep on Ben’s profile. He accepted my friend request not long after we met, and rarely updates anything. Lame. I need to creep, mister. He gets tagged in events and by other galleries, but nothing that sheds light on his social life. He does post a lot of his art to Instagram, and has an impressive amount of followers.
I’m about to switch to Pinterest when the little friend icon notifies me I have a request. I click on it and almost shit my pants.
Mindy fucking Abraham.
My mouse hovers over “delete request” but I stop myself. I’d rather just ignore it, or not let her know friending me on Facebook is a big deal. Because it shouldn’t be. It’s fucking Facebook and I’m a fucking adult.
Like an evil force has taken over my body, I accept her request. But it’s not because I want to creep through yet another profile. Everything was set to private before, though it isn’t hard to get around that. I click on her profile then close my eyes.
Nope. Not doing it. I already know how she will come across. Picture perfect. So picture perfect that it will make me wallow inside, wishing my teeth were that white, or my skin that clear. I’ll be jealous of her fake breasts, even though my real ones are better than hers. Just heavier, sweatier I’m sure, and slightly saggier.
But they felt better?
Yeah, sure. I can go with that. Instead of looking at her perfectly posed pictures of her perfect family, I unfollow her and exit out of the Internet. I should work. I’m at work, after all, and the day is almost over.
*
“So, give me deets,” Cameron says as we munch on chips and drink margaritas.
“We did dinner Friday night, saw a movie Saturday afternoon, then spend that night and Sunday just hanging out, playing video games and watching TV. Super laid back, but super enjoyable. And we fucked several times, of course.”
One of Cameron’s eyebrows goes up. He looks at his drink and grabs another chip, dipping it in salsa.
“What?” I ask.
“Oh nothing,” he says and flicks his wrist.
“Bullshit. What?”
He lets out a breath and looks at me, expression soft like he’s going to break bad news. “Nothing is exclusive yet, right?”
“Nothing’s been said.”
“And he still dates other women?”
“Not that I know of, but I mean, if we haven’t voiced the whole only see each other thing, then he can, right?”
Cameron nods. “Honey, I love you. You know that. I don’t want to see you to get hurt. I’m saying this out of love.”
My heart sinks into my stomach. Good thing there is a decent amount of tequila in there for it to float in. “Saying what?”
“You stay in. Play video games. Drink beer and eat pizza. You’re one of the guys.”
My eyebrows go together. “But we have sex. Frequently.”
“All men would fuck their best friend if they had a vagina.”
“You think I’m just friend material?”
“I’m not saying that’s all you can be. I’m just saying it sounds like that’s what Ben is doing. He still hasn’t taken you to his fancy art shows?”
“No, but—” I clamp my mouth shut. I’m not making excuses for Ben. If that really is the case and he’s using me for fuck-able guy time, then I feel more violated than a cucumber at an all-women’s prison. I gulp my margarita. “So, what do I do?”
“I’m not sure. Straight men confuse the hell out of me. Maybe just ask him?”
“No. If I don’t like the answer, I’d rather not know. Ignorance is bliss, after all.”
He pats my hand. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. Look, it’s early. You’ve been seeing each other for what, three weeks? Give it time.”
“Right.” Three weeks isn’t that long. Not at all. But shouldn’t it be enough time to decide if someone wants to be with you or not? I knew after our first date that Ben is someone I want a relationship with. I’m not talking marriage here, but something a bit more serious than just casual dating. Though, if Ben were seeing other women … when? We spent a lot of time together over the last three weeks, especially the last two weekends.
“Anyway,” Cameron says and I know he feels bad. But not as bad as I’m feeling. Fuck. Fuck life. Fuck love. Fuck it all.
I take a deep breath and pick up my drink. No need to jump to conclusions. Nothing has changed between Ben and me, and I was super-freaking-happy just hours ago. I always knew being friends with your boss was bad news.
“Got plans for the Fourth?” he asks.
“Probably going home. My parents do this huge party on the lake. It’s one of those invite your friend and their friends and anyone they’ve ever met—as long as they bring food or drinks—kind of parties They have boats and jet skis for their cabin rental business so it’s actually fun.”
“Did you invite your boy toy?”
I shake my head. “Not yet, at least. I’ll mention it to him. Maybe if I promise hunting and fishing, and, uh, other manly things, he’ll want to come.”
“Liss,” Cameron says sharply. “I’m sorry, okay? Don’t make me feel bad.”
“I’m not trying to make you feel bad. Just trying to give myself a reality check.”
He looks at me sympathetically. “No need for that. Just keep realistic expectations. That’s what I did, what I still do. It keeps this from breaking.” He puts his hand over his heart. “It’s a harsh world out there.”
“Fuck, yes it is.” I finish my drink and feel my head spin. I’m about to order another and drown my pretty much entirely imagined woes when Ben calls. My heart flutters like it did before. “Hello?” I say, not sure what I should feel.
Why do I let people get in my head so much?
“Hey,” he says. “What are you doing?”
“Getting drunk with my boss,” I answer, eyeing Cameron. “You?”
He lets out a breath. “Just got done talking with a pain-in-the-ass client. I don’t do completely custom work, ya know? Don’t tell me what to paint then have me paint it. I don’t work like that.”
“Yeah,” I say then fall silent.
“I was going to ask you out to dinner, but I guess if you’re already out I won’t. I miss you.”
And just like that my heart melts.
“Want to join us?” I ask without giving Cam the chance to object.
“Your boss won’t mind? And you don’t mind? I don’t want to bother you.”
“Not at all. I’d love for you to join us. I’m kinda drunk, and could use a DD.”
“Are you drunk and frisky?”
I laugh. “Always.” I tell him where we are and hang up. “You don’t mind, do you?” I ask Cameron.
“Actually, I’m really curious to meet this guy. So no, not at all.”
“Good.”
*
“You should call in sick tomorrow,” Ben says, hands going under my shirt. He pushes me back on my bed. We got back from the restaurant a while ago, and I successfully convinced Ben to watch the first episode of Game of Thrones with me. Now he’s hooked.
Mission complete.
“Cam would know I’m faking for sure.”
“Nah, say you got food poisoning.”
“We had the same thing.” Ben puts himself between my legs. “But no one questions explosive diarrhea.”
“Hah, so true. Is being hungover a good enough excuse?” He lowers his head and kisses my neck. “Or losing control over the lower half of your body after I fuck you so hard you can’t walk?”
Hot damn. My lips press together and curve into a smile. My eyes widen and my vagina quivers. “I’ve never thought there would be any words I’m unable to say to my boss, but those might be it.”