Page 28 of Love Beyond Repair
Her words surprise me. Bex is no more interested in soccer than swimming the channel. I raise an eyebrow, and she laughs, deep and throaty, her head thrown back, accentuating her shape.
“That was crap small talk. I don’t care.” She smiles and winks.
I snigger, then we both settle down with our eyes on the TV, but neither of us is watching it. There is electricity, a buzz in the air. I’m not sure what is happening, but it feels like something has changed between us. The attraction is mutual. That both excites me and terrifies me. But I also know it’s not a path I can follow to find out.
We’ve all been friends for too long. Dating within the circle is messy. Dating someone’s best friend after breaking her heart? That’s the move of an asshole.
***
There’s nothing sexier than a radiant woman. The past few weeks have proven it to me. Every day, Bex emerges from her room dressed in a new figure-hugging outfit and heels. She leaves for work with her head held high.
At night, when the three of us sit on the sofas, her phone is constantly vibrating with calls from her seemingly unending stream of admirers. Each time she gets herself dolled up to leave for a date, my jealousy increases a notch. Today was the day that my worst fear from the past few weeks was realized.
Walking into our living room, I find a dark-haired man sitting on my sofa. He’s only wearing an extremely small pair of boxer shorts. The strain on his crotch tells me he is well-endowed. I mentally smack myself for even noticing.Is checking out another man’s junk normal? He looks up and sees me.
“Who the fuck are you?” I snap, feeling completely thrown to have a random man in the flat. His eyes widen, taken aback by my outburst. Then, I hear her voice.
“It’s okay, Ben. He’s with me.” Bex appears in the living room, carrying two mugs of tea. “Ben, this is Eric.” She smiles, thinking I will be polite.
Jealousy claws at my chest. My temperature skyrockets. I’m livid. How dare this idiot be in my flat with my…
No, she’s not mine. Not even close. And she can’t be. But the idea of her with someone else makes something snap inside. A possessiveness I’ve never felt before. Not even with Kelsey.
I spin to face her. And before I can stop myself, the words spill out. Filled with cruelty, pure venom.
“Is this what you have become, Bex? The local bike? Bringing random guys home because you’ve learned how to put a bit of makeup on?”
The silence is deafening. My words hang in the air. I want to take them back, but I can’t. The room disappears within the bitterness. She places the mugs on the table in slow motion.
Her eyes harden; anger flashes mixed with disbelief. Then it bursts through the barrier of her self-control. She slaps me hard across the face, and I deserve it.
“How fucking dare you? You asshole,” she spits.
I don’t even flinch. She’s right. I went too far. The slap didn’t hurt nearly as much as the shame will.
Eric looks between us, completely confused by the outburst. Bex turns and grabs his hand. She leads him to her bedroom without a backward glance. Their two cups of tea sit untouched on the coffee table. I sit back on the sofa. My hands run through my hair. It feels slick with sweat, and a few beads trickle down my forehead. My muscles are taut, as if ready to fight.
I stare at the TV for a while, contemplating what to do next. I’m utterly bewildered.
Normally, I’m an in-control person; feelings and emotions don’t tend to get in my way. I’m good at compartmentalizing situations, popping them on the shelf until I have time to deal with them. Or never dealing with them at all, if that’s easier.
But this situation is living with me every day, in the home that I share with my friends. I go to bed every night alone, but my mind is with the woman two doors down.
Suddenly, I’m aware I’m being watched. Amy is standing at the door. She’s dressed in her gym gear, ready to head out for a run. She’s quiet, arms folded across her chest. No teasing, no playful jab. Just hostile.
“What the hell was all that?” she asks. Not a hint of sarcasm, just steel.
“Nothing,” I mutter.
“Ben.” Her voice hardens. “Don’t bullshit me. I heard every fucking word.”
I rub my face, ashamed. “It just slipped out. I didn’t mean it.”
“She’s my sister,” Amy snarls. “And she’s finally happy. Confident. Finding herself after years of playing backup.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t. Because if you did, you wouldn’t have said that. She didn’t deserve it.”
