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Something is wrong.

No,
everything
is wrong.

Not just with the scene, although, if I’m honest, the scene definitely isn’t doing it for me.

Which makes no sense. The girl in my lap is hot, and even if she wasn’t, the four others in the room are good-looking. She’s not even totally annoying, although for the life of me I can’t remember one damn thing we talked about.

The beer’s free-flowing, the music’s good…

And I can’t get into it. Any of it.

But I’m less worried about me and the fact that I’m suddenly indifferent to something that used to work like a charm, and more worried about my best friend.

I feel eyes on me and look over to see John giving me a weird look. He holds up the drink Parker shoved at him and lifts his eyebrows in question.

I shake my head.
Dunno
.

Then his gaze shifts to Cora—the girl in my lap—and his brows lift again. I realize way too late that Cora’s kissing my neck, and not only am I not getting into it—

Hell, I didn’t even
notice
it.

This is not a good sign.

There’s no good way to do this, so I grit my teeth and put both hands on Cora’s waist, shifting her to the right as I ease to the left.

She gives me a startled look, but an apologetic smile is all I can manage. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say I’ll be right back, except…

I don’t know that I will.

I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, only that I need to find Parker. Figure out why she’s home instead of getting laid by Brendon or Brandon or whatever.

I pause by Jason on my way toward the stairs. “Get rid of them. But nicely. Send the booze with them to ease the blow.”

“You got it,” he says, pushing to his feet.

I feel kind of crappy about the fact that I’m going to throw, like, ten people’s Friday night off its game, but hell…they’re all mostly drunk anyway. They can always relocate to Joe’s house; he’s a three-minute walk away.

I take the stairs two at a time, not surprised to see that Parker’s door is shut.

I
am
surprised to find it locked.

I didn’t even know she had a lock.

My chest feels tight.

“Parks?”

I knock with one knuckle.

Nothing.

I pound the door louder, this time with my palm, telling myself that maybe she can’t hear over the still-thumping music.

Still nothing.

Well…fine.

I’m not a younger brother for nothing. I know just how to handle a locked door.

I head toward my own room, yank a shirt off a wire hanger, and then unbend the hanger into proper lock-picking position as I head back to her room.

Only to find that the door’s open by the time I get there.

Parker’s standing there, dressed only in lingerie—
wow
lingerie—as she stares down at the hanger in my hand.

“Really?” she asks, when her eyes come back to mine.

But all I can think is…
thank God.

I don’t know thank God for what, whether it’s the fact that she’s not crying like I thought she might be, or that she’s looking really fucking amazing, or if it’s just pure gratitude that she opened the door to me.

I don’t ever want her to shut the door to me.

“You locked me out,” I say.

“I didn’t lock
you
out,” she says. But her eyes shift away and I’m not entirely sure I believe her. “Your friend Joe was giving me weird looks.”

“So you dressed in your laciest, skimpiest bra and panties?” I ask, unable to tear my eyes away from her perfect figure.

“That wasn’t for Joe. Or you,” she’s quick to add. “I thought—”

“Brandon,” I say, crossing my arms.

Parker bites her lip, then looks over my shoulder toward the stairs. “What are you doing up here? Did you need something?”

I’m a little stung by what seems to be a dismissal. “You seemed upset. I came to check on you.”

“Seems to me like you were looking to invade my privacy,” she says, with a chin nod at the hanger still in my hand.

Her voice is even, but her words are a little snippy, and it dawns on me that I should leave her to her bad mood and go back downstairs, where at least one girl will actually be happy to see me.

She starts to shut the door again, and I hold up a single finger. “Parker Blanton, do not close that door in my face.”

“But—”

I run back into my room, dig through my dresser until I find a T-shirt, do a quick sniff test to make sure it’s clean, then run back to where she’s still standing in the doorway.

“What are you—”

Her words are muffled as I unceremoniously yank the T-shirt over her head, not bothering with the armholes, but tugging it downward until she’s covered to upper thigh.

She blinks up at me and I push her back into her bedroom and close the door.

“I can’t think when you’re half-naked,” I say.

She slowly pushes her arms through the armholes. “You’ve shoved a T-shirt over my head before,” she says. “That night when Lance dumped me and I was hurling my clothes around, you put a T-shirt on me then, too. I just now remembered.”

“Yeah, and I did it then for the same reason. I don’t feel right looking at pretty lingerie that isn’t meant for me.”

Except back then, the fact that her lacy undergarments had been for Lance hadn’t bothered me in the least.

But tonight? Knowing that she got all dolled up for a guy she doesn’t even know?

That
bothers me.

Even though I told her to do it.

I run a hand over my face.

“What happened?” I ask. “With the Brandon guy? Did he say something or was he—”

“No,” she says, holding up a hand and sounding so weary my chest squeezes. “He was perfectly nice. I may even see him again. I just wasn’t feeling it tonight.”

She looks down at the floor and crosses one foot over the other. “Sorry.” Her voice is quieter now. “I know that was part of our deal. Me hooking up with him, and you with…”

She waves a hand toward the door, I’m assuming to indicate Cora downstairs.

Then her head lifts. “Hey, the music stopped.”

I nod. “I had Jason clear everyone out.”

She stares at me. “Why?”

The easy answer would be to tell her that I thought she was upset about something, and that I cleared them out on her behalf. And that’s the truth. But only half of it.

So I tell her the other half. “I guess I wasn’t feeling like holding up my part of the bargain, either.”

Her eyes search my face. “Didn’t look that way from where I was sitting.”

“You mean where you were sitting for all of thirty seconds,” I correct.

Because had you stayed you’d have seen that I wasn’t even remotely into that girl.

Parker licks her lips nervously. “So are you going to, like, go out again? Find another girl?”

I take a step nearer to her, relieved when she doesn’t step away. Those few moments of weirdness between us seem to have faded, as though we’re back to normal. Or, at least, our new normal. The normal that involves us seeing each other naked.

“I’m not going to find another girl,” I answer quietly, lifting a hand to her face. “Not tonight, anyway.”

My other hand comes up to cup the back of her neck, and her fingers wrap around my wrists as she looks up at me.

“What about your crippling fear that your cock’s going to fall off if you have sex with only one person for more than two weeks?” she says quietly.

I grin. “Well, at least I’ll rest easy knowing that I’ll be in the company of my best friend when it happens.”

I lean my head down for a kiss, but she pulls back just slightly, her gaze worried. “We’re still not going to let this get weird, right? We’ll still be able to go back to how we were when this is over?”

I pause. “I’m not going to do anything that would jeopardize our friendship. So if you want to use the safe word…”

She opens her mouth, and for a heart-stopping moment I’m afraid that that’s exactly what she’s going to do, and for the life of me I don’t know how I’d feel about it.

Then she smiles. “Nah.”

She lifts to her toes and I meet her halfway, and the second our lips meet, I realize that
this
is the reason I couldn’t get into Cora.

Because the only person I want to be kissing is right in front of me.

One of these days, sex with Ben is going to get old.

I’m sure of it.

Eventually we’ll know each other’s bodies so well that there will be nothing left to discover and we’ll be able to chalk this whole arrangement up as an experimental time in our friendship and go back to how we were before.

But today is not that day. Tonight is not that night.

The kiss is a little hesitant at first. Both of us testing to make sure that this is really okay—that we’re totally fine with the evening’s carefully laid plans going up in flames.

Then his tongue touches mine and it becomes rapidly clear that we’re both fine with it.

More than fine.

Ben’s hand slips under the ugly T-shirt he pulled over me—bet he’s regretting that now—and his palm is hot against the small of my back as he pulls me closer.

I mimic the motion on him, sliding my hands up and under his shirt until they’re against his back, taking in his warmth, pulling him to me.

And it’s perfect.

But the longer the kiss goes on, the longer it’s not enough, not nearly enough, and when he tugs impatiently at the hem of my shirt, I lift my arms and allow him to pull it over my head with a lot more ease than when he put it on.

He groans in gratification at the sight of my admittedly pretty bra, and somewhere in the back of my brain, I wonder if I actually put this on for Brandon, or if I hoped all along that it would be
Ben
who’d be appreciating that I spent way too much on the navy bra with adorable pink bows.

Ben’s mouth dips to my neck and I think I hear him say my name, but then I get kind of preoccupied with his lips on my neck and the delicious goosebumps that result.

I need him naked.

My fingers are clumsy, all but tearing at the buttons of his shirt, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Only once I finally get the buttons undone, I find him wearing a stupid undershirt underneath, and I pull at it with a little growl of frustration.

He gives me a quick grin and a kiss before peeling off the last remaining layer between me and his bare chest.

Gratified, I lay my hands against his shoulders and lean forward, kissing him softly just for a moment, before my hands and lips go crazy, touching every part of his warm skin that I can reach.

He laughs a little at my urgency when my fingers move to his jeans. “Jesus, Parks.”

In response, I give him what I hope is a
Hurry up and get your clothes off
look before walking toward the bed, giving an extra little sway of my hips before I put one knee on the bed.

A quick glance over my shoulder confirms that he’s watching me, and the hungry expression on his face makes me feel bold.

On my hands and knees, I slowly move toward the middle of the bed, then look once more over my shoulder.

Ben needs no further invitation. He’s naked in seconds, then he’s on the bed behind me, his hands moving slowly over my hips, his thumb slipping under my panty line just barely.

“Christ,” he mutters.

His hands roam over my back, then my front, before he slowly unhooks the bra, letting the straps slide over my shoulders.

His hands are on my breasts before I even can toss the bra aside. I moan in satisfaction as he touches me just right, knowing that I prefer teasing touches over rough ones, knowing exactly when to circle, when to flick, and when to lightly pinch.

“Ben.”
It’s a plea.

One he answers by sliding a hand down over my stomach, unhesitatingly moving under my panties until one finger slicks all the way inside me. His breathing is as harsh as mine as he adds another finger, and my back arches upward in a desperate attempt to get closer.

He fingers me for several torturous minutes until neither of us can take it anymore. He pulls a condom out of my nightstand drawer in record time, and then he doesn’t even take my thong off, he merely pulls it to one side and pushes forward.

I’m beyond ready for him, and he slides in in one smooth stroke.

One hand fists my hair, pulling my head back just roughly enough so that I gasp as his other hand holds my hips steady while he plunges into me again and again.

My fingers slide down, too turned on to be embarrassed as I touch myself.

“Yes. Parker,
yes.
”

And then he cries out with a sharp yell and I’m right there with him, sinking down onto my elbows as shudders rock through me.

I feel both of his hands splay over my back, his fingers against my rib cage, and his breathing is hot and heavy against the damp skin of my back.

A few moments later, he disappears (I’ve trained him to throw away the condom in the bathroom), and while he’s gone I somehow drag myself up the bed so that my head finds the pillow, although I lack the energy to pull the covers up all the way.

He comes back in and surprises me by crawling into bed behind me.

Not that we haven’t slept together in the past couple weeks, but usually that’s more of a pass-out-from-sex kind of situation, whereas this feels…different.

Deliberate.

The sheet comes up around me as he pulls me back against him, and I have the strangest awareness that Ben is spooning me….

And I like it.

“Night, Parks,” he says, his voice sleepy.

I smile, feeling, for the first time today, like all is right in the world.

But as I drift off to sleep, my last thought is a worried one.

We dodged a bullet tonight, obviously.

But we’re going to have to handle the other person sleeping with someone else
eventually.

Won’t we?

Parker’s parents are big on regular weekend trips to the Oregon coast. They’ve gone a couple times a year since Parker was a little kid. They always rent the same place, play the same games, eat at the same restaurants.

It’s like a Blanton family
thing.

I’ve tagged along a couple times, but not since college.

Like Blanton family dinners, I sort of stopped participating in family things once Lance and Parker got serious.

But when Parker asks if I want to go with her and her parents the weekend after our failed “have sex with other people” experiment, I jump at the chance.

Mostly because I’m dying to get away from Portland.

Things at work have been more hectic since the promotion, and since I’ve been feeling kind of itchy and bored with the whole bar scene, I’m not really sure what to do with myself.

I’ve got this weird restless feeling, like change is on the horizon, and I don’t really know how I feel about it.

I need a break.

“So. Ben.”

Parker’s mom snags a carrot off the cutting board where I’ve been assigned to chop vegetables for the salad, and nibbles it as she leans back against the kitchen counter and studies me.

I continue to slice the carrots in careful, even rounds and don’t look at her, hoping like crazy that she’s not going to ask me about my intentions toward her daughter.

Parker says she hasn’t told her parents about the fact that we’ve gotten all sexy-times, but Sandra Blanton’s always struck me as the type of parent who knows things.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” she says.

My knife falters. Surely she doesn’t mean…

“On your promotion,” she continues, grabbing another carrot.

Oh. That.

“Yeah, thanks.”

She laughs. “Oh, come on! You sound like it’s a punishment.”

I shrug. “It’s just…not that big a deal is all.”

“Well, Parker seems to think it’s a pretty big deal. She talked about it for, like, thirty minutes straight when she called to tell us about it.”

I glance up to look out the window to where Parker and her father are manning the barbecue.

It’s cold and dreary, seeing as we’re at the beach in almost-winter, and she looks adorable in one of my oversized gray UO sweatshirts with the hood drawn up and the sleeves hanging several inches below the tips of her fingers.

“Your parents must have been so excited,” Mrs. Blanton is saying.

I glance back down at the cutting board and reach for the cucumber.

“Ben…” Her voice has that warning, maternal thing going on. “You
did
tell your parents?”

“Not really,” I mutter.

“But why? Parents live to hear news like this about their children.”

Parents like you, maybe.

And it’s not that my parents don’t like hearing good news about their kids; it’s just that I don’t think my title change from product manager to senior product manager would even register with them, much less be deemed worthy of congratulations.

Not when my brother just made partner in his hotshot law firm, or when my sister’s just announced that she’s adding a Yale PhD in addition to her Harvard law degree.

Mrs. Blanton apparently senses that I don’t want to talk about my parents—or my promotion—and I’m grateful when she changes the subject.

“How’s she doing?” she asks.

“Who, Parker?” I ask.

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Who else?”

Chop. Chop. Chop.
I carefully slice the cucumber. “Why ask me?”

Mrs. Blanton gives me a funny look. “Um, maybe because you’ve been her best friend for a good six years now? Maybe because you live with her. Or, wait, I know, because you came on our family vacation…”

No mention of the sex. The excellent, amazing, mind-blowing sex.

I don’t say this last part out loud. Obviously.

“She’s good,” I say.

Parker’s mom absently grabs a cucumber slice from the board and turns to face the window, her eyes on her daughter. “I’ve been worried about her.”

I glance over. “Yeah?”

“I’m worried she’s not dealing with her pain. Not even
acknowledging
it.”

Pain? Parker’s in pain? I swear to God, I’ll hurt whomever—

Sandra keeps talking, oblivious to my flash of rage. “I’m
all for
her embracing this single-girl phase in her life, but it’s just, well…did Parker ever tell you she thought she was going to marry Lance?”

My hand jerks then, and I have to take a deep breath before continuing. Then, on second thought, I put the knife down. We have plenty of fucking vegetables.

I reach for my beer, which will better prepare me for this conversation than carrots.

The thought of Parker marrying Lance…
blech.

“She seems to be doing okay with the breakup,” I say, dodging the marriage reference altogether.

“Yeah, but that’s just the thing,” Mrs. Blanton says, pursing her lips. “Doesn’t that seem odd to you? They dated for four years, almost five years, and toward the end there, she started talking about how he was
the one.
”

My beer doesn’t seem be settling well in my stomach so I put it aside. “Do you think Lance was…the one, or whatever?”

She hesitates. “Well, it’s not up to me, is it? But he seemed like a good enough sort. Made her happy.”

Did he?

I think back, trying to ignore the last two months in which Lance had all but ignored Parker.

I guess Mrs. Blanton’s right.

Parker
had
been happy with the guy. Or at least, pretty damn content. The two of them had never fought much, he’d taken her on date nights…they’d been completely compatible, in a sort of boring, rigid kind of way.

It’s strange, but after that first night, when Parker cried her eyes out and I wanted to gouge Lance’s eyes in revenge, I realize that I haven’t done much thinking about her ex.

For that matter, it doesn’t seem like
Parker
has done much thinking about her ex, but maybe Mrs. Blanton’s right.

Maybe that’s a problem.

“She’ll find someone new,” I say. “Someone better.”

“She will. And I don’t want her to rush it. It’s just…I want her to have someone who’s
there
for her.”

I glance at Sandra.

It’s an odd sort of thing to say about an independent twenty-something woman with a solid job and a thriving social life, but maybe it has something to do with the whole surviving-cancer thing.

I sometimes forget that the woman beside me stared death in the face. It makes sense that she’d have done some thinking about what life for her only child might be like without her.

“She has me,” I say quietly.

Sandra gives me a surprised look. “Oh, Ben, sweetie. I know that!” She reaches over and squeezes my arm. “It’s just…Parker’s your number one girl now, and you’ll always be there for her, but as a mom, I can’t help but thinkthinking about the day when you and Parker meet your true loves, and things change.”

My brain rebels against this. “They won’t.”

“But they have to,” she says, her voice gentle as she turns to face me. “I know you’ve got your whole bachelor thing right now, and that’s great, but you’ll fall in love someday. You’re too good of a guy not to. And how do you think that woman’s going to feel about being number two in your life?”

I open my mouth. Then shut it. I can’t imagine another girl replacing Parker.

But then, neither can I imagine my future eventual girlfriend, or wife, or whatever, being completely thrilled if I tell her that Parker comes first.

“Exactly,” Sandra says kindly, seeing the second I put the pieces together. “Your friendship with Parker won’t fade, per say, but it
will
change. I want her to have that perfect guy for whom she’ll
always
be number one. The one who will drop everything for her. Who will die for her.”

I open my mouth, but for the life of me, I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know what I
feel.

“Oh God,” she says, putting a hand over her mouth and letting out a little laugh. A gesture that makes her look just like her daughter. “Sorry. Sorry, Ben. I don’t mean to get…I bet you’re thinking I sound like a fuddy-duddy old person.”

I force a smile.

“It’s a mom thing,” she says, patting my arm in apology. “We fret. I don’t mean for a single second to imply that you’ve been anything but a wonderful friend to my daughter and that you won’t
always
be that friend for her.”

I pick up my beer again, tilting it back as I wait for my thoughts to sort themselves out into something that I can at least half-comprehend.

They don’t.

She claps her hands together. “Now, what did I do with those oven mitts? I think those baked potatoes are just about done, don’t you?”

The back door opens, and Parker steps through holding a foil-covered plate. “Steaks are ready, girls!”

She grins at me, but her smile slips just slightly when she sees me, and she tilts her head as though to say
You okay?

I mentally shake myself and force a grin in response.
I’m good.

Except I’m not good. Not at all.

I can’t help but think about that moment that Mrs. Blanton is talking about.

The one where Parker and I have found people more important to us than each other.

And I don’t like it at all.