Page 59 of Friends with Benefits

“What?”

“We could’ve won! But then I got overzealous and ran into the brick wall that isyouand—”

“Evelyn. If you think I care about the game right now…” His voice trails off as he wraps gauze around her knee. “I don’t.”

“Okay.”

They’re quiet while he wraps the other knee, then the swollen, bloodied knuckles of her hand that kissed asphalt. Once she’s settled in the passenger seat of his car, he jogs back to the court to let Ms. Connors know that they’re going to head out.

On their way home, Evelyn speaks first. “I’m sorry about Violet.”

“Ev.”

“What?”

“Stop. Please.”

Theo cannot bear it, Evelyn apologizing when she’s the one in pain. Those were her first two words to him a decade ago, when she woke up from the surgery that meant she’d never dance again—at least not at a competitive, professional level.I’m sorry.Because they didn’t place in a regional dance competition. Because she fell. No. Because Theo, so wrapped up in his feelings to the point of distraction, didn’t catch her. It’s his fault. He’sfuriouswith himself. He swore nothing would change, only for this marriage to reignite feelings that cannot differentiate between fact and fiction and he’s so mortified, so ashamed that those stupid, reckless feelings hurt her.

Again.

THE BUNGALOW, THE SUMMER BEFORE HIGH SCHOOL

Theo

They’re fourteen the first time Theo almost confesses three words to Evelyn that have the potential to change everything.

I like you.

He’s at the bungalow, lying next to her on the cool linoleum floor of the shed that Mo, a carpenter, finished and converted into a dance space for them. They’re recovering from a contemporary routine to a bummer of a Sondheim ballad: “Send in the Clowns.” Theohatesclowns. Theo feels like a clown. Staring up at the whirring ceiling fan, their chests heaving exhausted breaths in unison, those three words punctuate every thought.I like you.He tilts his head toward her.I like you.Her cheeks are flushed, a sheen of sweat coating her upper lip.I like you.It becomes all-consuming, the impulse to say those words out loud.

I like you.

I like you.

I like you.

“Again.”

Evelyn stands, then reaches both hands out to him,completely oblivious. From pinkie to thumb, each nail is a different color—cerulean, lavender, mauve, sunshine, and mint—because without polish she’ll bite them until they bleed. He takes those colorful fingers and she pulls him to his feet. He anticipates the release, but she just shifts her grip, pressing her palms against his and twining their fingers together.

“We have to tap into theemotionof the song,” Evelyn says, her voice soft and serious. “You need to pretend you’re in love with me, Theodore.”

His brow furrows.

Her lips split into a smile, a laugh bubbling up from her throat because it’s ridiculous, obviously, the idea of him being in love with her. In reality, his furrowed brow is a reflex because…seriously? He almost says it. But then she lets go of his hands and jetés across the shed to the stereo, restarts the song, and launches herself into his arms. It’s their first duet with choreographed lifts. At first the pressure stressed him out. He started lifting weights, using the garage that Jacob converted into a home gym, considering his protein intake. Now? Theo loves lifts. He loves that every biceps curl, chest press, and protein shake consumed in the name of dance gets to be afuck youto his dad. He loves the challenge of learning a new lift and the trust required to execute it.

He loves that they have that.

The song ends.

Theo and Evelyn are frozen in the final embrace, her legs wrapped around his torso.

It’s so much.

I like you so much.

“Better. Again?”

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