Page 93 of Friends with Benefits

“No.” She rolls her eyes, then takes another pointed sip. “Seriously? I’m sad as fuck, but I’m not a fucking idiot.”

“Sorry I care.”

Careisn’t a strong enough word.

Her expression softens, then her eyes shift to the box now in his hands. “Open it.”

He doesn’t want to open the present. He has to open the present. Decides to save the card for later, wanting to read it alone. Inside the box is a crochet blanket in shades of blue and white. Columbia blue. His mom’s last gift to Theo before she died is one of, if notthemost common first gifts after someone is born. He isjustdrunk enough to appreciate the symbolism, the irony, the whatever it is.

“She asked me to finish it.” Evelyn points to the spot where her hands took over, his mom’s last stitch marked with the tiniest embroidered initials. “I hate weaving in the ends. Lori’s lucky I love her more.” Her eyes are wet. Shimmery. Beautiful. She reaches toward him to wipe his cheeks. When did Theo start crying? “She’s so proud of you.”

“Was.”

“Is.”

His eyes shift toward the door. “I don’t want to go back out there.”

Outside, Theo must perform grief in a way that is palatable, stoic, strong.

He doesn’t want to be strong.

He wants to drink his mom’s favorite liqueur without her and be super fucking sad about it.

“Then don’t.”

“Stay with me?”

Evelyn nods. She’s slept over every night for the last two weeks. Says good night to Jacob after dinner, then a few hours later slips back in through the side door and sneaks into Theo’s bedroom. Curls herself around his body and holds him until he falls asleep. Theo is certain she’s the only reason he’s been able to sleep at all. Now her palm stays pressed against his cheek, her touch so tender it hurts.

Theo wants this hurt.

So he turns his mouth toward her hand. Presses his lips to her palm. Allows his grief, his want, thealcoholto touch her skin with his lips. Her breath hitches as her fingers curl and her nails drag across his cheek. Theo buzzes from this gentle pressure that he feels even when she pulls away. When her wide eyes meet his, he wonders if she aches for him, too. If it’s becoming as unbearable for her as it’s always been for him.

“Theo.”

His name is a whisper on her lips.

Lips that answer his unspoken question by pressing against his mouth in the softest, most tentative way. His response is not soft. Not at all tentative. Theo deepens the kiss. Their second kiss. Her first time climbing onto his lap as she brushes her tongue across his bottom lip. His first time unbuttoning her blouse and pressing his mouth against her collarbone. In this moment, Theo allows his grief and pain and desire to meld into one fucked-up feeling that fuels this confession, this revelation, this mistake in the making. Evelyn allows him to slip the black silk off her shoulders, then wraps her arms around his neck and pulls his lips back to hers. She tastes like salt, like peppermint—

Like peppermint.

Theo pulls away. He’s wanted this for so long. Her.Evelyn.

But not now.

Not likethis.

“I don’t… You… I don’t want this. Like.You.”

I don’t want you like this.

Theo’s drunk.

His words are jumbled.

All wrong.

“Fuck,” she says. “I’m so…Fuck.”

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