Just Friends by Roxanne Riley

Chapter Eight

Lizzy

“Come on, cheer up,” River coaxed, holding yet another dress from her closet in front of me, “Can you at least pretend like you’re happy to see me?”

“I am happy to see you,” I told her, sincerely, “It’s just the whole-”

“The whole situation with Mason and Trent,” she finished for me, “Ok, run this by me one more time, I’m a little bit confused, so you had crushes on both Mason and Trent back in college, correct?”

I nod.

“And Trent had a thing for you?”

“I guess so?”

“But you didn’t make a move on him because Mason had a thing for him, too?” she asks.

“That’s about the size of it,” I nod.

“I swear, you should be a soap opera,” River mutters, shaking her head, “Girl, how in the world did you get into all of this?”

“I don’t know,” I moan, “Maybe I should have just said no when he asked me and the three of us could just be friends and go back to shoving all of those feelings deep, deep, deep down.”

River hands me a dress on a hanger. “Absolutely not. Repressed feelings are bad for the skin, and they shorten your lifespan.”

“Is that true?” I ask her.

She ignores me. “Go get dressed. Come on, I want to take you someplace special tonight.”

I duck into her bathroom to change into the dress she’s given me. Her flight had gotten delayed, and she hadn’t gotten in until late Saturday night, so instead we’d agreed to let her spend the day power-napping before meeting me at my new place, and once I’m dolled up to her liking, she’s going to drag me “out on the town.”

The little black dress is a snug fit, but a glance in the mirror reveals that it clings nicely in all the right places. I can wear it for the night to appease her mania.

I step out of the bathroom and she lets out a crow of delight. “Perfect! All right, let me just get changed and then we can head out,” she says, rummaging in her closet until she finds what she has in mind, something in a deep burgundy.

She dips into the bathroom to change, and while I wait, I glance in the full-length mirror behind her door, wiping a little smudge of mascara from under my eye and adjusting my hair.

River steps out, the burgundy sheath dress snug around her curvy figure.

“What do you think?” she asks.

“You look great. So, what’s this ‘someplace special’ you’re taking me tonight?” I ask her as she leads me down to her car.

“It’s this nightclub called Ecstasia,” she informs me.

I frown. I’d heard the name before the club had been around a long time. “Isn’t that place super sketchy?” I ask as I slip into the passenger seat of her Mazda, “I remember hearing that it was kind of high on the creep factor.”

River slips into the seat beside me and buckles her seat belt. “It used to be kind of on the seedy side, but it’s under new management and it’s not what it used to be. They kept the fun and freaky aspects,” she wiggles her eyebrows pointedly at me, “But they cleaned up some of the sketch.”

I nod. I’ll take River’s word for it, although I wonder if we aren’t a little old for the nightclub scene. But I’ll humor her for the evening, she’s hell-bent and I know full well that she’s unstoppable when she’s like this.

“I’m only dancing with you, though,” I warn her, “I’m not exactly looking to get tangled up with potentially even more baggage.”

“That’s fine,” she agrees, “I’m not trying to play wing woman or have you disappear with some guy anyway.”

We arrive at the club shortly after, and true to her word, it doesn’t look particularly seedy or untoward, at least from the outside. It just looks like your average nightclub.

We show our IDs at the door in what feels like a show of flattery from the bouncer. Not that either of us looks bad for our ages or anything, but neither one of us looks like we might be underage.

But we’re given the 21+ wristbands and not the black stamps being marked on the backs of the hands of 18–20-year-olds. Apparently the club is 18 and up for dancing and fun, but the bartenders keep a careful watch on who’s downing the alcohol.

I notice right away that the vibe isn’t like that of a typical nightclub. It’s loud, sure, but not so obnoxiously pounding that you can feel the bass rattling your bones. And the lighting is fun and colorful over the dance floor, but there’s no headache-inducing strobe throbbing along with the beat.

Around the walls, however, the lighting is significantly dimmer, and there are plush couches set all around, some in slightly inset “rooms” within the larger room.

And on those sofas seemed to be primarily couples. Well, not couples, exactly, groups. At first, I just thought they were maybe clusters of friends or something with a handful of amorous couples, but when I saw one girl switch from kissing a tall, redheaded woman to kissing a man with a mop of dark curls, I realized that maybe these weren’t “couples” at all.

“River…why did you bring me here, exactly?” I ask.

“Because I thought you needed to see this,” she replies, looking completely at ease with the scene around us.

The more I look around, the more groups like this I see, threesomes, foursomes, fivesomes…it’s enough to make my head spin.

“Ecstasia is all about celebrating love,” River explains, “Whether you’re part of the LGBTQ, straight, monogamous, polyamorous-”

“Polyamorous?”

She nods. “Like some of these people,” she says, gesturing to the clusters on the couches, “Basically means you’re open to loving more than one person at once.”

Suddenly I realize exactly why she’s brought me here. “So that’s what you think I am? Polyamorous? Because I have feelings for both Mason and Trent?”

“I don’t know, maybe. It’s possible.”

“Well, that’s all well and good, but I don’t think that solves my problem,” I sigh, “That just makes things even more complicated.”

“Maybe, but maybe not. You and Mason both love Trent, right?”

“Right.”

“And you love Mason?”

“Yeah?”

“So…maybe you could find some way to share Trent with him. Clearly it’s not impossible.”

I look around. “Well yeah, but I don’t even know if Trent’s into him that way. He’s never said anything about being bi.”

“He hasn’t said he isn’t, though, either,” she reminds me, “And the fact that they still live together, even though they’re almost 30 and both of them have well-paying jobs? Sounds like maybe there’s some…attachment.”

I hadn’t thought about it like that, but it’s an interesting point. Was it really a possibility?

It seemed like a holy grail, a scrap of hope to cling to, but at the same time, I was afraid it was just as legendary as the grail, a scenario too far-fetched to work in real life.

“Look, I’m not making any promises or anything, I’m just opening your eyes to another option,” River says, “Give it some thought, maybe talk to them about it.”

Sharing Trent with Mason. It was an interesting thought, and when I glimpsed a pair of men kissing on the dance floor later that evening, my mind replaced their faces with those of my best friends and I realized just how attractive the prospect really was to me.

Maybe it was impossible, but was it worth a try?