The Casual Rule (22 page)

Dammit, this beer buzz and Carter’s puppy love jabbering are fucking with my head. I remind myself yet again, self-preservation is smart. Smart. No man will ever break me. I have work, good friends, and great sex with no drama or hurt feelings messing it up.

The Tri-fucking-fecta of perfect. Why would I want to screw that up?

Ben’s a friend. I know, I know, a friend with benefits, but he is still my friend. I do care about his well-being. I want him to have success with his book, and not just because I’m working on it. I want it for him. He’s worked hard. He deserves recognition for it.

Come to think of it, he’s worked hard training for that stupid marathon he’s running tomorrow. I can tell when he talks about it that it’s a big deal to him. He is my friend. I should go there and surprise him.

Yes. That’s what I’m going to do. It’s only a subway ride into Brooklyn. I can handle that. I’m going to freeze my ass off, but I’ve always prided myself on my loyalty to friends. Okay, I’m going.

Crap…Allie. If I tell her, I’ll get another “He’s not your boyfriend” speech. I’m really not up to listening to her lecturing me on how I’m supposed to behave. When it comes to Ben, she always reads more into my motives than I intend.

We’re friends. That’s all. I’m supporting my friend, just like I’d support Allie or Marcello. It’s absolutely no different. I grab my cell phone and open up my browser. After a quick search on the internet, I find the only marathon in Brooklyn tomorrow. It’s the only marathon running in the tri-state area. I know I’ve found the right one.

As I look around the website, I realize that this is a charity run for Alzheimer’s research. Ben never mentioned that to me. So, this race is more to him than reaching a target number… it’s about his grandfather too. That’s so sweet.

I’ll do myself a favor and avoid her lecture. I’ll tell her I’m meeting someone from work for coffee. With six beers in her, she should sleep pretty late; if I’m quiet I can make a quick escape and leave a note on the counter. I hate lying to her, but it’s easier to lie and run than listen to her go on and on about emotional bonding, blah, blah, blah. I’m not falling for him. He’s my friend and this is how friends act.

I’m going to Brooklyn.

Chapter 11

I hate waking up early on a Saturday. This is supposed to be my sleep-in day, but supporting my friend is the right thing to do. Running for recreation is bad enough, but running in December is insane.

I need my caffeine fix, but I don’t want to risk waking Allie before I leave. I’ll just grab a cup of coffee from a street vendor. I should only drink half a cup, which sucks because I really need that caffeine boost, but I know there’s rarely a public bathroom to be found. I don’t want to stand around in the freezing cold with a full bladder and nowhere to pee. I write a quick note to Allie, take a protein bar and quietly leave the apartment.

The blast of the December morning air hits my face. Damn, it’s cold, even with my hat and gloves. Who the hell willingly runs a marathon in this temperature?

Quickly, I walk over to the subway station, clasping the collar of my coat closed at the neckline. I always walk at a faster pace in the cold. The bitter winter chill cuts through my coat straight to my core. I hate this bone-chilling cold. After a ten minute wait, the train finally arrives and I’m on my way to Brooklyn. Once I reach my stop, I get off with a few other freezing souls and walk toward the race. Fortunately, there are enough idiotic spectators like myself to follow and find the correct route. It’s days like this that make me wish I owned a car.

I know I didn’t have to get here as early as this but I want a good spot at the finish line. I want to see him accomplish the goal he worked so hard for. That damn goal stole him away from me, greedily taking any potential orgasms along with it.  I take a quick peek at my watch to see how much time has passed since the race started. I laugh to myself; this watch brings me back to that one freakishly warm October day when I first laid eyes on Ben. I have to admit, a warm grassy park is infinitely better than the tundra I’m standing in now. I’m going to have to stand here for at least three long hours. I’ll probably lose my finger tips to frost bite. Okay, slight exaggeration there, but anything under sixty-five degrees is far too cold for one as delicate as I am.

I found a great spot near the finish line, right up front, directly behind the barricades. I keep a keen eye on the runners coming in. He said he was hoping to finish in about three and a half hours. I’m hoping he comes in under two, so I don’t freeze my tits off. The chilly air is permeating through my coat. As time goes by, the crowds get thicker and thicker. Some pushy jerk tried to weasel his way into my spot. He’s obviously not a native New Yorker because one ice-cold death glare from me and he cowered back into the crowd with his tail tucked between his legs.
Pfft…Amateur
. Don’t mess with me, you loser. I’m tired, my tits are cold, and there’s no way in hell I’m missing Ben’s first marathon finish.

Despite the cold, the race is fun to watch. The elite runners file in a little after the two-hour mark. I try my best to divert my eyes at some of their choices in running apparel. Their man-junk is bouncing around freely. There’s no guessing whether a guy is circumcised or uncircumcised; it’s all out there, outlined in multicolored spandex. It’s not a good look. Don’t they have cup support for runners? They have bras that keep breasts from bouncing around; can’t they do the same for men? Allie calls them Salami shorts, and naturally, she’s a huge fan. I hate them. Try as I might not to stare, my eyes go straight to their crotch. It’s like a horrific car accident; you don’t want to look, but you can’t stop yourself.

We’re at the three hour and fifteen minute mark when I see Ben mixed in with a small pack of runners. My heart jumps to my throat. He’s going to finish. I know how hard he worked for this moment. He looks sweaty, pained, exhausted and absolutely beautiful.

I enthusiastically clap and holler along with the other spectators as we watch the runners cross the finish line. I’m so excited for him; I can barely contain my glee.

“Yes!” I shout, thrusting my fist high up in the air as he crosses the finish line. He bends over, placing his hands on his knees as he catches his breath. A volunteer wraps a Mylar blanket around him. I’m bursting with pride. I know this was important to him. He worked so hard and he did it. He actually did it. He really can do anything.

I aggressively push my way through the crowds over to the finish line where the runners are filing in to congratulate him. I can’t wait to surprise him, share in his special moment. I’m about ten feet away when I stop dead in my tracks.

“Ben, Ben… over here!” I look to the opposite side of the finish line and see Cam-eel waving to him. He looks up, still panting, waves, and makes his way over to her on the side of the finish line. She wraps her arms around him with a big toothy grin. He’s grinning too. He doesn’t seem surprised in the least to see her here. Then it dawns on me… He knew she’d be here. He asked her to come, yet I was not invited to experience this important milestone with him.

Telling.

This is the bitter reminder of who I really am in Ben’s life, my pecking order.

 I’m the girl he fucks.

That’s all I am. Sure, we have some laughs and fun when we’re together, but in the end that’s all I am. I shouldn’t have come. I’m investing myself in his real life. I need to take a step back.

Slowly, I make my way out of the crowd, pulling my hat down halfway covering my face, wishing I were invisible. Defeated, I trudge my way back through the frigid streets of Brooklyn to catch a train home, hoping the earth opens up and swallows me.

I don’t know why I’m surprised. He’s always maintained that they are just friends. I know he’s completely blind to her real intentions, but they are still friends. Today. Who knows what the future will bring.

I shouldn’t feel this way. She’s not my competition. This isn’t a contest to see who gets Ben’s heart. The answer is easy.

No one.

Sure, he gives a girl a great time. I’m sure he likes me. But it’ll never be any more than that. Allie has told me this often enough and so has he, if I’m to be honest.

I’m an idiot. How many times have I reminded myself that I don’t want a relationship? Why am I reminding myself at all? There is no competition. When we move on, whatever he does, he does. Whatever she does, she does. If they do it together….so be it.

Although he deserves better.

The subway is so damn loud but the ride gives me more time to think. I realize that my feelings of doubt have nothing to do with the status of my relationship with Ben. We’re exactly where we said we wanted to be. My problem is that bitch and I need to get over her.

After the subway ride back to the Village, I grab my cell phone to see what Allie is up to. There’s a text waiting for me from Ben. I guess I didn’t hear my phone ping over the subway noise.

*Finished. Wish you were here to see it.*

My hand flies over my mouth in disbelief. I read the text two more times. He wishes I was there. I don’t want to appear like a stalker and tell him that I was at his race. Then left like a jealous coward when I saw him with Cam-eel.

*Congratulations! I knew you could do it!*

*Celebrate tonight? My place?*

*Aren’t you tired?*

*Exhausted. I’ll sleep this afternoon. Come.*

*Okay. 7:00?*

*Perfect. See you then.*

~o0o~

Celebratory sex should be epic. The guy ran twenty-six miles, it’s the least I can do. I’m about to give him sex that will be engrained in his memory forever, all because he ran a race to benefit those who have a disease that takes away their memories. The irony’s not lost on me. I wonder if that makes me an unofficial ambassador for the charity. Great sex is a much better memento than a T-shirt with a charity logo. Not all contributions are monetary. It’s my good deed, sure to earn me some heaven points.

I know he likes push-up bras and thongs. I rummage through the lingerie pile in my floordrobe and find my black satin push-up bra and matching thong.  Once again, I marvel at how spectacular my breasts look. They’re so high up, practically touching my chin. That ought to get his motor running.

I squeeze into my super tight skinny jeans. I have to jump up and down to shimmy them over my hips, suck in my stomach to zip them up and squat a few times to loosen up the denim. I need to lay off the cupcakes. I throw on a tight black T-shirt with a low-cut V neck. My breasts are peeking out. Correction, my breasts are bursting out. I look like a whore.

Perfect.

I call out to Allie who’s in her bedroom. “See you later, Al.”

She peeks her head out the door and shouts back. “Or tomorrow?”

“Maybe.”
If I’m lucky.

After stopping at the local liquor store for a bottle of chilled champagne that didn’t break my miniscule budget, I treat myself to a taxi ride to Ben’s place.

~o0o~

“Miss Conti, good to see you again. Mr. Martin already called down.” The doorman tips his hat as he opens the door for me.

“Oh, thank you.”

As the elevator climbs up to the twentieth floor, I turn into a jittery mess. I can’t wait to see his expression when he sees what I have on under this coat. I can’t wait to wrap my legs around him and feel him inside of me. I can’t wait to see him.

All the doubt I had earlier has dissipated. This is right. This is exactly how it should be: in the moment, spontaneous, carefree. I’m a fool for thinking otherwise.

I walk up to apartment 2012, suck in a few deep breaths to calm myself, and knock on the door. The anticipation is building. Sex has never been so exciting … or satisfying. I feel so alive. I watch the doorknob turn, wondering if I should pounce on him the second I see him or make him wait and seduce him. The door opens and he looks utterly… exhausted.

“Oh my God, Ben. You look awful. Have you slept at all?”

“A little, come in.” He waves me into the apartment and closes the door.

“I should leave,” I offer. He has dark circles under the darker circles under his eyes.

“No, I’m fine. Stay,” he insists.

“Okay, as long as you’re sure. I brought some champagne to celebrate.” I lift up the champagne bottle.

“Thank you, that was sweet. Let’s sit on the couch.”

We walk over to the couch together. I notice Ben wince as he walks.

“What’s wrong? You’re wincing,” I ask while placing the champagne bottle down on a coaster on the coffee table.

“My muscles are a little tight and fatigued. My feet are sore. It’s nothing.”

“Your legs should be elevated. Put your feet up on the coffee table.”

“Yeah, maybe for a little while.” In painfully slow motion, he lifts one leg at a time up onto the table in front of us. I’m horrified at what I see on his feet.

“Ben, your feet have blisters. Some are broken. Have you put any antibacterial ointment on them?”

“No, it hurt too much to walk over there.”

“I’ll get it. Is it in your bathroom?”

“Yes. Not the hallway bathroom, the bathroom in my bedroom. It’s okay. I’ll go.” He winces as he tries to get off the couch.

“Just stay there. I’ll go. Keep your legs up.”

“That’s something I’d say to you.”
The guy is half dead and he’s flirting with me.

I playfully punch his arm. “You’re an idiot. Don’t move.”

“I couldn’t if I wanted to.”

I walk into the private bathroom off his bedroom. It’s like a picture out of an architectural magazine. A jacuzzi tub with a separate glass enclosed shower. Double sink with black cabinets and soft toffee colored walls. Beautiful.

I open the medicine cabinet and find the tube of ointment immediately. I take the opportunity to spy through some of his medications. He knows I’m in his medicine cabinet, so it’s not truly snooping. Thank God, there’s only ordinary medicine cabinet finds, no red flags on the medications. I can cross off several possible diseases I don’t have to fear catching. Naturally everything is neatly lined up, in size order. Neat freak extraordinaire. I take the ointment and a box of bandages back to the living room.