Page 30 of The Destined SEAL
I do my best to search the racks, running my hands over the fabrics. The store clerk tells me she has a dress she just got in and hasn’t had a chance to put out on the racks yet. It’s the perfect excuse to wander from Norah’s side and disappear on the other side of the store. By any person’s standards, this would be weird. She’s shopping for my date with her boyfriend. Somehow, it’s not. It is two friends who share a best friend.
I see what Ben likes about Norah and know why he’s drawn to her.
The emerald-green dress she presents is gorgeous. “I need to try that on right now,” I say, running my fingers along the hem.
“Of course. The color will look beautiful with your hair color.” She leads the way to the back, where large billowing curtains are hiding small dressing rooms. I enter with one other dress and the green one I know I’ll probably buy.
The mark on my cheek is almost gone and is hidden completely by makeup the heavy-handed artist brushed on my face an hour before. Marcus hasn’t tried to contact me since his brother arrived in San Diego from the East Coast. He left the apartment so I could clear out the rest of my things. Most of which reside in a storage unit on Fifth Street.
My parents can never know the true extent of the demise of my relationship. I did have to do a little creative concocting to produce a story believable enough. It was a lot of time spent curating a relationship to toss away all willy-nilly. Or so my father said.
Leaving Marcus was easy. Living without the security blanket he provided is more difficult than I’d ever imagined. If I were with him, then I wouldn’t have to worry about men or dating or my true feelings. Marcus simplified an area of my life that needed an easy fix. I’d feel guilty for the realization if my cheek didn’t still throb in the shower. When I told my mother, she smiled to herself, like she was in on some secret, and told me it would get easier in time.
The green dress is stunning. I don’t come out of the dressing room to show Norah even though I know she’s there, chatting on the phone. I think it’s one of the other veterinarians now because she’s asking about an animal and giving directions on care. My cell chimes with a text.
Ben
I’m home. Are you coming home soon?
Home. My stomach rolls in anticipation. The word never sounded so good. I tap back.
I’m naked right now, but I’ll be on my way back soon.
Ben
Uniform or suit? He ignores my cheeky joke.
Pressing my lips together, I decide on the option that will draw the least amount of attention.
Suit.
Ben
Are you still naked?
There it is.
Peeking out from the curtain, I spy Norah wrapped up in her conversation, talking with one hand moving furiously. It’s harmless banter. Ben and I have always joked like this. Why does it feel different? Because my security blanket is gone.
No. But I will be later on tonight.
Ben
I’ll be there. When?
I’ll have to shower. Duh. You’re such a perv, Benny.
I laugh and toss my phone in my purse. I purchase the dress and a pair of earrings that remind me of pearls, except they’re silver and shiny, like alien spaceships about to infiltrate my brain by way of my ear canal.
I wait for Norah to buy a top after she ends her call, and we meet outside.
“Thanks for coming with me today,” she says, sighing as she adjusts her huge purse from one shoulder to the other. “I wanted to get to know you better. You seem so familiar to me, but it must be because you and Ben are so close.”
“Or we were meant to be friends.” I laugh. “Those aren’t easy to come by for me. I had a nice time today.” A car horn honks somewhere, and our gazes dart in that direction. We’ll always be on guard at the slightest disturbance in the world we live in nowadays.
She looks down at the pavement as her smile fades. Like it would be a criminal act if she showed me any side of her personality that wasn’t flawless. I wish she would. Give me the ammunition I need to put my silent jealousy to use. “We’re taking a break, Harper. Ben and I.”
My stomach flips, and I break out into a cold sweat. “Since when?” I blurt out. “It’s not my fault,” I say, holding out my hands. “Don’t tell me it’s my fault.”
