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I do everything I can not to look directly at Benji because I can already see the huge, knowing grin on his face. Whether he heard Brie or not doesn’t matter, he knows what she was talking about with me out there.

“You know . . . I’ve been thinking.” His tone is plaintive, like he is getting ready to talk about a good game of golf or something.

I go for the kill. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

He smirks at me though, dodging my sarcasm with ease. “You’re missing something.” And when he points to the canvas, I feel pieces of myself shut up inside.
No, please don’t.

I swallow hard, trying to force out the right words instead of the ones I don’t want to say. “What am I missing?”

He scratches at his chin, still staring at the canvas wall but not with any scrutiny. “This part of the canvas, where you’ve already been working? There’s too much going on, not enough space for the things to flow together. It’s all jammed up, compacted.”

Instead of working small wormholes into my heart, his words open up something else entirely different. I look back at the swirls and shapes on the one side of the canvas, picturing it how Benji sees it. “Yeah? It’s supposed to be how time can crush us all. There’s a man . . . ”

He nods his head quickly. “The man’s underneath the rain of time? I don’t know how I see that, I just do, which is weird because I never paid attention to art history in college.”

I smile, unable to control myself. “You took art history?”

“Yeah . . . let’s just say I was trying to impress a girl. It didn’t exactly work and I hated the class, but I did learn a few things. I think you need to do something different on the side. I don’t know anything about art though, so don’t take my word for it.”

I don’t know how many times Benji has been able to pull off saying the right thing and shocking himself by doing so, but it’s enough for me to push aside all the uneasy resentment I have toward him and males in general and give him the biggest smile I have in the two months since we’ve started hanging out. Playing with my emotions is a terrible idea, but I absolutely hate messing with his. I know I’ve already gotten too close and it’s only a matter of time before I screw everything up.

Now my thoughts are on the way Benji’s mouth kind of hangs open, like he’s waiting for me. I want him, I want him so badly that it reverberates in every part of my body, echoing everywhere. If I don’t kiss him right now, roll my hips up against his right this minute, I think I’m going to burst.

And that’s when we hear it. Brie and her boyfriend, whatever his name is, going at it right on the other side of the canvas wall where our bedrooms meet. It’s awkward and instead of making us laugh together, it only silences us from saying anything else. Blood rushes to my cheeks, leaving them inflamed. Benji looks away nervously and we both avoid the elephant in the room. When he leaves, it’s without much fanfare and I don’t even get a hug this time, not like last time. I didn’t even try the tea.

It’s only a few minutes before my hand is down my pants, furiously trying to help relieve some of the ache that burns inside of me, wishing that it was him and not me doing it.

I think I’ve had it with all this bad timing.

B
enji

K
ick
, stop. Kick, stop. I zigzag inside and outside the orange cones, dribbling the ball in perfect lines. My toes are pointed down, feet arched the way they’re supposed to be. My eyes narrow and only see the end of the line of cones, twenty yards away from the goal. And when I get to it, instead of my usual flair with a scissor kick, I just connect the ball with my insole and send it sailing, making a perfect arc right into the net.

It’s too bad that my brain is all clouded as fuck and I can’t concentrate nearly as well on what I’m actually playing. I could play all day pretending like I don’t know why my focus is off, but I have to face the music. It’s Ramona. I’m not on my A game like I should be and fuck, isn’t this just the perfect timing to be slipping? Right as I’d make it on a pro team?

Coach hollers for us to meet back in the middle of the pitch, barking off orders left and right. I move to the next role, passing to one of my least favorite teammates, a seasoned pro, Josef Aduba. He’s a midfielder and someone who is well known for passing with the quickness, while I’m well known for being the asshat who doesn’t want to pass shit. I know it makes me look like a jerk, but it’s something that’s hard to rewire in my brain. I’ve always been good at doing my own thing, and even though soccer is obviously a team sport, that’s the part I’ve had the hardest time with.

What am I going to do about Ramona? It’s a question that constantly plagues me, especially now since a few nights ago when I brought dinner to her apartment. It was the first time I’d ever officially been inside, at least in her room, and I have to say I was mildly surprised. You think of someone who is as creative and thoughtful as Ramona is to have this crazy chaotic mind that lets loose all over the place. I pictured a million colors everywhere, things all over the floor all over everything, like an explosion of her mind. But it was quiet, settled in, clean. The only thing that marked something that resembled even a fraction of Ramona’s personality was that crazy piece of artwork she has on her wall. The one that she’s told me she’s been struggling with for months now.

I’ve been struggling with keeping it together, making sure I stay cool and collected around her but to be truthful, to be absolutely honest with myself . . . I’m fucking sprung. I’ll never tell anybody that, never, but it’s the damn truth. She’s got my mind whipped like fucking butter, man. It’s too late now to go back. I’m in too deep. I can’t go back to not being friends with her, I think we’ve both gotten too used to each other by now. Nope, now comes the next phase because I’m too committed.

I’m going to need to fuck her, and fuck her very,
very
well. It’s the only way I can get Ramona West out of my brain constantly. If I can just see everything for myself, touch everything, kiss everything, feel everything about her . . . then maybe I have a chance. Maybe I can go back to the way it was once she’s no longer this mysterious enigma to me.

Because she is, and because she’s not the kind of woman I fall in lust with, I’m saying fuck it this time. It doesn’t matter whatever I’ve done before, it only matters that I want her now. Sure, I’ve grown up around all the cute little Southern girls with their tans, their skin and hair all sweet as tea. None of them have ever held a candle to the kind of person Ramona is though. If that’s what I like about her, then fine. But make no mistake, I won’t get all mushy about it, I just want to fuck her brains out. That’s the way it has to be now.

After I finish up on the pitch, I throw my towel around the back of my neck, wiping the rest of my sweat off my face. I pull out my phone from my gym bag and text Ramona.

Hey. Let’s hang out 2night. My apartment.

It only takes a matter of minutes before my phone buzzes in my pocket, and her reply message scrolls across my screen.

Okay, good. I wanted to talk to you anyway.

Wasn’t exactly the reply I was expecting, but I’ll take it. Now that that’s all set . . . we can get the sex out of the way, although I’ll enjoy every amazing second of it, I’m sure. Maybe now I’ll be able to go sleep with the next easy lay after her and get back to partying with the team like I should’ve been doing this whole time instead of turning into some weird recluse who only wants to think about a girl who wears dark clothes all the time.

When those stupid, dumbass thoughts about hurting Ramona enter my brain while I’m showering, I work hard to push it down. Fuck all that noise. I don’t want to hear it, quite honestly. I’m not going to hurt her, she’s a grown ass woman and she can handle herself. I’ll make it quite plain and clear that I only want sex out of her, no meaningful relationship where we’re holding hands and kissing in the parking lot—weird shit like that. Nope, no sir. I’m in it for the ass, and I will make no qualms about telling her so. Once I have my head back in the game, we’ll be able to go back to being friends afterward, I’m sure. She’s too cool of a girl not to hang out with me once it’s all said and done. Piece of cake, really.

I try to play it out my head, what it might be like if she says yes to the whole thing. Would she immediately want to fuck me right then? Maybe she’ll start off slow, sucking my dick off while I finger her. It’s a nice thought to be sure. So nice that I start jerking off in the shower, biting my lip as I think about how her warm mouth would taste. I bet the rest of her tastes even better.

* * *

T
he fact
that I’m nervous when there’s a knock at my front door tells me that I’m just being a scared little bitch and I need to chill the fuck out. There’s no need for all this crazy build up or anything. Either she says yes or she says no. I’m sure it’ll go fine either way.

“Hello, hello. Welcome back to Chez Lundgren,” I say, immediately wanting to punch the shit out of my own face for sounding so stupid and cheesy. How the hell will she want to have sex if I can’t stop being such a damn dork? I mean when my dorkiness is rivaling my good looks, we know we have a problem.

But Ramona takes it in stride and hands me her jacket to hang up for her. “Hello yourself.”

I had been pacing back and forth for the past hour, trying to figure out what exactly I’m going to say and how I can propose the idea of us being fuck buddies for the night, but Ramona is standing there, looking at me all expectantly. Did I miss something?

“Everything all right?”

She pulls her hair out of her ponytail and crosses her arms, looking suddenly bigger, more powerful for some reason. I don’t know what she just did, but it was almost like a goddamn magic trick. Now I’m seeing her in a completely different light the way she’s looking at me, her lips full and red. She’s wearing makeup?

“This is going to sound sort of out of nowhere, but I just need to talk to you about something,” I begin, gesturing for her to take a seat. She doesn’t move and instead narrows her eyes at me. Well, now.

“First, I need to say something. I am a firm believer that you have screwed me up,” she says and just as I’m getting ready to protest whatever the fuck is about come out of her mouth, she holds up her hand and I’m instantly silenced just like that. “I’m not saying in a bad way, just not in a way that is conducive for my artwork. I’ve been pulling my hair out trying to figure out what’s going on and why I can’t concentrate on painting. It’s never been an issue before but suddenly . . . it’s a big issue. I figured out what it is. It’s you. It’s the first night we met and how . . . unresolved things are.”

This sounds oddly similar to what I was about to say, but okay. “All right. I’m listening.”

“Benji, I need to sleep with you.”

Even though my mind has processed the words, my mouth cannot react to them just yet. “Uh . . .”

“And before you ask, no, I don’t mean in the sleep in a bed and actually sleep-way, and yes I mean in the
your penis in my vagina
way.”

At some point I find my voice again and my eyes go wide, still not believing she just said what she just said to me. “We
um
, we need to sleep together?”

She nods at me curtly, and I am surprised to see just how clinical she’s being about the whole thing. “Yep, I say we
need
to because I’ve been completely unable to focus and you’ve mentioned not being able to keep up like you want to. Could this perhaps be a part of the reason why?”

The fact that she’s picked up on it before I have, I don’t know what to think. She’s throwing this whole thing off for me. “Right. I suppose. So you’re telling me you want to have sex with me, that’s it.” I don’t know why I keep repeating what she’s already said, but maybe it helps make sense if we put it out there in the world. Because this can’t really be happening this easily, even my luck isn’t
that
good.

“Yes,” she says, a small smile on her face. “I mean, if you want to obviously. You’re by no means under pressure to say yes. I won’t get upset or anything like that if you say no, I just figured we’d both be helping each other out, then we can stay friends afterward . . . pretend none of it happened, keep on keeping on like we have been this whole time. What do you think?”

I don’t know about the pretend nothing ever happened part because hot damn, I don’t think I’d ever be able to forget fucking Ramona. All the rest of it I could definitely get down with. “Count me in. So just to be on the same page . . . fucking. No feelings, no drama afterwards. Stay friends, everything stays cool, right? I didn’t miss anything, did I?”

It’s the second smile she gives me that sends me over the edge, making it so that I would not be able to come back from this no matter what. “I don’t think you’re missing anything. Look, I don’t want to sound callous, but I just want to get this done so I can move on and do the things I need to do with my art, you know what I mean? You’re my friend, you understand the way I think.”

She’s right to an extent, but even though she says it and it should free me of any responsibility toward her feelings, I can’t help but think that maybe this might mean something different for her than it does for me. If she’s even attracted to me in the same way? I don’t know, but I’m not about to jeopardize this whole having sex with her thing just to ask some stupid question like that. No way in hell.

Even if it’s just us scratching an itch here, and it feels kind of weird to go about it this way, talking about it straightforward like we’re just going to a concert together or something, something very small sinks inside me. This is all it should be after all, right? “I’m in. You?” I ask.

I don’t know what I’m expecting, whether it’s for her to start immediately undressing right now or for us to plan it out , but when Ramona looks me up and down slowly, languidly letting her eyes travel every part of me, it sends a shiver down my spine.

Yep, this is going to end spectacularly for me.