In Ruins (13 page)

I appreciate his words, and they do help me relax a little. I give him a half-earnest smile. “Okay,” I agree.

Ben isn't just talk. He's careful not to make me uncomfortable, chatting amicably throughout dinner just like an old friend would. There are no first-date, getting-to-know-you questions or anything like that, and by the time we've finished our appetizers, I've managed to drop my guard and enjoy myself. There's absolutely no attraction or romantic chemistry, but that's fine. I don't have to get over Tucker in one fell swoop. Even just going out and enjoying myself with a new friend is a step forward from drowning in guilt and heartache, and I give myself a figurative pat on the back.

We both agree to skip dessert and I insist on splitting the bill.

“Just to be clear, I'm going along with this because we're not on a date. But if we were, I would not be letting you pay. Just for the record,” Ben says through a brilliant, playful smirk.

“Duly noted.” I laugh. “I will spread word that you are nothing if not a gentleman.”

Ben's smirk widens. “You do that. Be sure to tell all your freshmen girlfriends,” he teases.

“You got it, buddy.”

“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

And who knows? Maybe it is.

We get our coats and Ben hands his ticket to the valet.

My phone buzzes with a message, and I swipe the screen on. But there's no new text, so I check my e-mail app instead, expecting to find one from some online store I shopped on all of once, probably advertising some sale
exclusive
to me and its million other customers. But the sender isn't an anonymous marketing distribution service. It's Zayne.

The subject reads:
Checking in,
and I blink at my inbox, my brows knitted together in thought. It isn't the unexpected e-mail that takes me aback. What surprises me is the barely discernible spark of excitement that flickers in my belly, and I stare down at the screen, wondering where it came from.

A glance to my left confirms that Ben is still busy waiting for the parking attendant to make his change, so I open the e-mail.

“Ready?” I'm still staring at the words when Ben's voice startles me. I hadn't heard him approach and I jump, hastily shoving my phone out of sight like I was looking at porn or something. And I don't know why; Zayne's e-mail was perfectly innocent.

“Yep,” I reply, finding myself. “Let's go.”

Ben and I resume our easy company, chatting comfortably as we drive back toward campus.

“Do you want to come chill at the house for a little?” he asks.

This takes me aback. I don't want to be presumptuous or anything, but then, how many reasons are there for a guy to invite you back to his place after dinner?

Ben narrows his eyes playfully. “Get your head outta the gutter, young lady. There are a bunch of people hanging out there tonight and I thought you'd like to come make some more new friends.”

My relief must be written all over my face.

He shakes his head. “God, you freshmen and your filthy minds.”

I laugh. He's funny. And it's not that late and I would like to socialize a little more tonight. But there's one massive reason why I probably shouldn't do that at the lacrosse house. “I don't know if I should.”

Ben frowns. “Why not?”

I shrug, not quite meeting his gaze.

“Let me guess—something to do with Tucker Green?”

My eyes flash to his. How could he know that? Has Tucker said something? “What do you mean?” I ask hesitantly.

“Come
on
. I see how he stares at you. But then, I can't really blame him for that. And you did tell me you went to high school together.”

Right. I forgot about that.

“And anyway, he mentioned you two had some history. But he said it's over and done with, and he didn't seem to have an issue with it. You've partied at the house before; what's the big deal?”

Over and done with
. I try to numb myself to the sting of his words. Maybe he's not
acting
over us, he really
is
over us. And if he doesn't care, then why should I?

“I guess I could come by for a little bit.”

Present Day

Ben and I walk inside the lax house and some eyes turn to us, but mostly people just continue their drinking and socializing.

“Just tell me when you want to go, and I'll drive you home,” Ben whispers, and I smile in gratitude.

Two girls I know from my dorm are here, and they immediately call me over to chat. I do end up meeting some new people, and I'm in a good mood until Red Skank walks in and sits down next to one of my new friends, joining our conversation as if she has every right to be a part of it.

The worst part is—she's nice. She's not especially intelligent or witty, but she's not the raving bitch I've concocted in my mind, and I'm ashamed that this disappoints me.

I know Tucker is in the other room playing video games—someone mentioned it earlier and I've heard his loud booming voice sporadically cheer at his apparently victorious digital exploits—and so I haven't dared venture off the living room couch for the two hours I've been here. But now my throat is suddenly desert dry, and I need a bottle of water or something. Or maybe I just need to get away from Red Skank—whom I now can't even insult in my head without feeling like a pathetic, bitter bitch.

I smile when I hear Ben's voice from outside the kitchen, but stop dead in my tracks when I hear who he's talking to.

“You kick Vance's ass again?” Ben asks breezily.

“Obviously,” Tucker says with patented cockiness. If he knows I'm here tonight, he doesn't seem to care one iota.

“Courtney's here,” Ben says suggestively.

“I know.” Tucker's tone gives nothing away, and I try to ignore the swirl of jealousy stirring in the pit of my stomach. “How was your—uh, dinner?”

“Fine. She's a cool girl. Made it clear she's only looking for friends, though.”

I don't know who the long exhale comes from—if it signifies Tucker's relief or Ben's frustration, or nothing at all.

“She's here, too, you know,” Ben says cautiously.

There's a pause, then, “Yeah. I know.”

“You're not, like, friends or anything?” Ben asks, presumably trying to get to the bottom of the
history
Tucker mentioned.

“I don't know,” Tucker replies. “We're not anything really.”

It's nothing new, but that doesn't lessen the sting of his words.

“You want to go say hello?” Ben presses.

Another pause, and then, “You know what? Yeah, I think I will go say hello.”

Tucker wants to say hello to me?
Surprise instantly gives way to excitement, and I scurry off before I can be caught eavesdropping. I rejoin the conversation on the couch, my chest practically bursting with foolish hope, even as somewhere in my mind I vaguely register that Tucker's tone wasn't exactly friendly.

I keep my gaze trained on the girl talking, not hearing a word she says as he approaches. I'm careful not to look like I'm expecting him, and only when someone says “hey” do I even turn in his direction.

“Wanted to say hi,” he murmurs with practiced nonchalance, and my mouth battles a small smile as I finally look up.

But Tucker doesn't come over to me at all. Instead, he detours to my left, to Courtney, and wraps her up in a hug. He leans into her ear, and my throat tightens so viciously I can hardly even breathe as his whispers pull a smile from her lips.

“Come play with me,” he says, loud enough for me to hear. He holds his palm out to her and she takes it eagerly, greedily, as nausea rises in my stomach, making me want to gag.

Red Skank doesn't hesitate, and I can't even blame her. And that's the worst part. As they leave the living room I find myself wishing I could sincerely hate her—silently call her even worse names and curse her to hell. But I can't even do that. Because she's just as helpless against Tucker's charm and masculine perfection as I've been my entire life. Instead, it's myself I blame. For letting hope drown out reason, and setting myself up for yet another round of heartache.

Tonight was supposed to be about
getting over
Tucker. About
moving on
.

I am so disgusted by my pitiful self that I realize it isn't even Courtney I should be hating or calling names. It's me. And I won't be that girl for another moment. I fucking
refuse
.

I leap to my feet and go look for Ben—the guy who actually
wanted
to spend time with me. I find him still in the kitchen, leaning casually back against the countertop, sipping a beer straight from the bottle as he chats with one of their teammates whose name I've forgotten.

“Hey,” he says. “You ready to leave?”

Yes
. But I'm on a mission to move on from my old, destructive relationship, and running away isn't the way to do that. So I shake my head instead. I nod at his beer. “Can I have one of those?”

Ben's mouth lifts in a pleased smile, but before he can respond, his friend opens his mouth. “Free alcohol at all times for hot bitches—house rules,” he slurs. Apparently that beer is far from his first of the night.

Ben grimaces his disapproval, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Dude.”

The guy raises his eyebrows, utterly clueless.

Ben seems to realize it's a lost cause. “Get lost,” he orders, and the fool simply shrugs and walks away.

I watch the entire exchange with quiet interest, until Ben and I are alone in the kitchen, and the moment we lock eyes, we both burst into laughter.

“Sorry…” Ben chokes out through more full-body chuckles, “he's kind of a clown, even sober.”

“Clearly.” I laugh. “Your friends are pretty misogynistic drunks,” I point out.

Ben snorts. “They're misogynists all the time, Carleigh,” he admits. “They just forget to hide it when they're drunk.” He opens the fridge and grabs me a beer, slamming it against the countertop at the right angle to pop the bottle top like a pro.

Someone calls Ben's name from the hall, and then Ricky walks into the kitchen, pausing when he sees me. “Oh, hi, Carleigh.”

“
Ricky fucking Vance
,” I greet him with a smirk, reminding him of the crude way he introduced himself that first night in the bar.

Ricky smiles sheepishly, his cheeks heating with obvious shame. “I'm never gonna live that down, am I?”

“Not likely,” Ben agrees, and we all share a laugh at Ricky's expense, himself included.

Ricky tells Ben it's his turn to play whatever video game they've all been busy with, and Ben tries to take a pass, but I insist I'm fine and that he should go. I tell myself it isn't because I know Tucker and Courtney are in that room, and if Ben is there, too, then they won't be alone.

God, it's like I can't escape Tucker. Or…

Or I haven't really been trying to.

It strikes me that I've been lying to myself. That I haven't actually been trying to move on from Tucker at all. It's the only explanation. Otherwise I wouldn't have opted to go shopping for new friends on his lacrosse team in the first place. I wouldn't choose to socialize in his own house.

Clarity is sudden and harsh, and the walls of the house start closing in without warning, chasing me into finally finding that escape after all. I hurriedly slip out the front door and onto the porch, before sitting on the top step and sucking in a deep breath. I shouldn't be here. Not if I want to move on with my life.

But the last thing I want to do is walk back into that house of breakup horrors to ask Ben for a ride back to my dorm. I don't really want to see Ben right now at all, in fact. He's as much a connection to Tucker as the house itself. And I know it's unfair to Ben, and I'm not going to drop a friend, newly made or otherwise, because of an ex who no longer even cares enough to hate me. But I just need away from it all right now—everything that currently links me to the boy who is apparently my kryptonite, with the power to render me unrecognizable to the capable woman Zayne spoke of in his e-mail.

Zayne's e-mail
.

I slip out my phone and open it, rereading the thoughtful words, and I don't know if it's those words themselves or the thought of their author that reignites that strange spark, but it flickers excitedly in my belly as I try to think of a response. I'm not as eloquent as Zayne, so I simply write the truth.

I'm not expecting him to respond, at least not tonight, so I'm surprised when my phone announces a new e-mail, and I don't hesitate to read it.

I did it because I care.
It makes me smile. But I feel vaguely guilty. Because Zayne has been nothing but forthcoming and honest, even confiding about his parents' divorce, and here I am, true to my old form, pretending everything is just fine when I feel anything but. But that's the behavior that lost me Tucker. That got me
here
. It's the influence of my mother, and if there's anyone I don't want to emulate, it's Nicole Stanger.

Maybe it was too much information, too personal to share with a man who is, first and foremost, my professor. And I suppose technically I'm not waiting for Ben to be ready to drive me home so much as I'm giving myself a reprieve before seeing him, and inevitably being reminded of Tucker, yet again. But my e-mail was honest and real, and I can at least feel good about that.

This time I'm not surprised to receive a quick reply, but it doesn't make me smile any less.

Though the speed of the reply didn't surprise me, two things do. The first is the sad-face emoji, which makes my smile stretch wider. But what makes that excitable little spark flare in my tummy is his offer to drive me home. It shouldn't, of course. I know it doesn't mean anything. But a small voice in my head whispers that maybe it's more than just innate generosity. Maybe he actually wants to spend time with me. Even for just a five-minute drive. And that thought makes the spark ignite into a low flame.

It's not romantic, or sexual, or anything inappropriate. It's just the longing to connect with another human being, someone I feel an affinity for, and the vague thrill of thinking he might return it in kind.

His response is almost instant.

Nothing else.

My heart beats wildly with anxiety and that same spark of thrill. I don't know why I'm nervous. Or excited, for that matter. But I am, and as the image of his clear blue eyes floats through my mind, I can't help but smile.

The roar of Zayne's engine announces his arrival several blocks before he reaches me, and I'm waiting on the curb when he pulls up, not wanting to give Tucker a chance to see me climb into Zayne's car. I'm not doing anything wrong, and neither is Zayne, but whether Tucker still cares or not, I don't want to give him any fuel for his ridiculous suspicions.

Zayne greets me with kind eyes and a knowing smile. “Eager to escape?” he asks when I all but leap into the passenger seat.

I force a laugh. “Something like that,” I admit.

Zayne takes off toward campus.

“How was your dinner party?” I ask. “Was it really that bad?”

Zayne shoots me a look that says not to doubt him. “Carleigh, I wish I could say it was the single most boring evening of my existence, but unfortunately almost every party hosted by my department head has been equally dull.”

I laugh. “Sorry to hear that.”

“Let's be glad boredom isn't fatal.” He sighs, shooting me a glance as he turns right onto Washington. “Can I assume your night wasn't the best?”

I chew my bottom lip, considering how much to say. “
The best
is definitely not how I would describe it,” I agree.

Zayne nods thoughtfully. “So here's the deal, Carleigh. You have a choice. I can drop you at your dorm right now so you can end your
not the best
night…”

I blink at him.