Page 7 of The Destined SEAL
“I can Uber it tomorrow morning,” I say, trying to change the subject.
“I’ll bring you,” he replies, looking at me over his shoulder.
Smiling, I nod. “Is the movie over? I nemessaed to finish packing.”
“It’s paused. Go pack. We can finish watching it later,” he says.
I go into the bedroom and slide my phone out of my pocket, hitting the vibrate button before setting it on the dresser. I open the leather weekender and toss in a bottle of perfume.
Marcus saunters in a few seconds later, and his eyes land on my cell phone. I swallow hard and a chill hits me. “Say goodbye to me properly?” I offer. “What do you say?” With a soft hand, I graze the side of my body and unbutton and unzip my jeans. His eyes follow my red fingernails.
He crosses to me, wraps his arms around my waist, and pulls me to his chest. When his lips hit my neck, the rush of fear is disguised by the pretense of lust. I can’t describe what he’s making me feel, but the way my nerves are frayed, I’d call it a near miss. Ben is joking, but his texts would seem like something more sinister to Marcus. It’s because I lied about my feelings for Ben, and no one knows it but me. A dirty secret that will torture me for the rest of my life. It affects me even when I take away its power and call it friendship instead.
It’s the only logical explanation.
Marcus makes love to me slowly, languidly, and completely. I forget why I was uneasy in the first place. Still, after Marcus fallsasleep, I go to the gym and chassé step and jazz square until I can’t breathe.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat as the pilot tells us we’ll be landing soon. Marcus’s words as he bid me farewell still linger in my mind. He told me not to do anything he wouldn’t do. I’m not even sure what that means, so I called my friend Heidi to ask. Heidi is a serial dater, she’s Harvard pre-med, and she knows men. Some people are born with the gift, and others struggle to cobble together the man formula. Unfortunately, I fall into the latter category. We spoke until I had to board my flight, and she told me Marcus has a typical, nothing-to-worry-about case of jealousy.
I’m also seeing my parents while I’m back west, and she thinks that factors into why he’s upset about me going without him. He hasn’t met them. I’m not sure I want him to. That would make our relationship something I’m not sure I’m mentally ready for. One thing is for sure: boyfriends should respect the best friend status. Heck, they should respect their girlfriend enough to trust their decisions at the very least.
It’s almost a shame classes are out and I have more time to worry about stupid, trivial things like this. The fact that women have these worries on a daily basis shocks me. Maybe it’s because boys were never on my radar growing up. Maybe it’s because my best friend is the opposite sex, but I’ve never given relationship issues the ability to worry me.
Now that it’s here, I wonder if it’s because Marcus means more to me than past flings. The realization sends my heart into a mass exodus of beats and pounds. That’s the other thing aboutme. I’m not in the habit of letting people get close to me. That guard definitely came from being bullied while growing up. It’s not a flaw, though. Quite the opposite. It’s made my skin so thick nothing can penetrate into the fortress of my heart. Once there, you’ll never leave.
Shaking my head as I toss my pretzel bag into the flight attendant’s trash bag, I vow to push Marcus and relationship issues from my mind in favor of enjoying myself with my time away from school. My classes are paused, and I’m finally free from tedious obligations. I help head the Naturalists Club, and I’m a part of the yearbook staff at Harvard. When you pair classes and my part-time job at the cafeteria, my time is rarely my own. This is the first real break since Christmas vacation. I enjoy being busy, filling my days with things and people I enjoy, but there’s nothing like going home.
Home for me is both people and a place. You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to have my schedule jive with Ben’s. It’s why it’s been a year since I last saw him, and as difficult as that’s been, I know as soon as I see him it will be like no time has passed at all. That’s when you know you have something that will last forever. It’s as if that little piece inside you that’s reserved for that person, and that person only, recognizes the little piece inside them, and they acknowledge each other. You become whole.
I pick my cuticles and wonder how much he’s changed this time. I’ve seen photos of him and via video chat, but Ben changed almost completely when he became a SEAL. His physical appearance morphed into what you’d expect and something he’d never in his wildest dreams thought possible. He had LASIK done almost immediately, so his face isn’t hidden by a pair of dirty glasses sliding down his nose. That was the easiest change to swallow. His long, lean muscles grew and grew until I accused him of using steroids one day while we were chatting viavideo. He laughed and flexed a bicep and then told me steroid use is illegal for SEALs.
I guess blaming medical enhancers was easier for me than acknowledging he’d become an entirely different person. Ben looks the part, he isn’t an impostor any longer, and that, on some subconscious level, distanced him from our friendship…and me more than the 3,040 miles of space.
The plane’s wheels touch down, and the pilot begins taxiing to the gate. My nerves strum along because I’m finally here—in the non-stop sunshine of Southern California. I switch my cell off airplane mode and stare at it, waiting for my missed texts and emails to bubble up.
I tap out a quick message to Ben. Landed, and send it quickly. My thumb hovers over Marcus’s name, but I don’t tap it. I’ll call him later when I’m settled. After six and a half hours, I’m still not sure what I’m feeling about Marcus or why I’m feeling anything other than normal. Time away from the situation is exactly what I need.
The aircraft comes to a stop at our gate, and then I hear the resounding clicks of seat belts unfastening even though the fasten seat belt light is still illuminated. Mine stays snugly wrapped around my waist. I send a text message to my mother to let her know I arrived safely and I’ll see her soon, and then reply to an email from a potential club member.
Ben’s text slides down from the top of my cell phone.
What are you wearing?
Shaking my head, I reply,
Tanning oil and a bathing suit. SUNSHINE!
I’d never admit I prefer the seasons of the East Coast. Not out loud, at least, but the tumultuous weather suits my personality. The snowstorms are fun, and when the leaves change color in the fall, I can’t stop staring. After living in Southern California all of my life, with one season, the sun season, I was surprised to find how much I missed out on. I text again quickly.
A black tank top and jeans.
What color is your sweater? I know you aren’t sitting bare armed on an airplane seat.
Standing from my seat, I grab my bag and make my way, like cattle herding, to exit the plane. I laugh to myself as I think about Ben’s message. I tuck my phone into the oversized beige sweater and readjust my leather weekender on my shoulder. Ben would find me first even if I dyed my hair pink and gave a false description of my outfit, so there’s no need to respond.
A lightness takes over as I head toward baggage claim, where I’m meeting Ben. I pass people wheeling heavy suitcases and families toting tired children, and by the time I step foot on the down escalator, I’m vibrating with excitement.
“Harper,” Ben calls. I don’t have to look far. He’s standing at the bottom of the escalator holding up traffic, holding a huge pink balloon that says “Happy Birthday,” and he’s written my name at the bottom. Well, it says Harpee, a name he hasn’t called me in a long time. The fear and anticipation turn to dust the second I throw myself into his strong, familiar arms.
