Their Freefall At Last by Julie Olivia

18

Ruby

I think I can hear pirate music. Or maybe it’s a bass line to a popular song. Or a sea shanty.

Someone yarrs.

Someone else woos for no reason.

Then, right in my face, there’re bouncing boobs with red, white, and blue tassels.

“This place rules,” Theo says from beside me, a wide, sloppy grin on her face. “You know, one time, I …”

But I don’t hear the rest.

“What?” I ask, but I know my voice isn’t loud enough for her to hear my confusion.

I can barely pick out anything through the crowd, even people who are usually loud enough to cut through the haze. The interior of the musty, packed bar is only a loud hum of conversations I’m getting bits and pieces of that form nothing more than just a cacophony of sound.

A familiar hand lands on my lower back.

“Say something, Parrot?” Bennett asks.

That’s better.

My best friend, leaning in to hear me, is a mix of good smells. There’s his usual strawberry scent, but it’s combined in a cocktail of rum and sweat, but the pleasant kind of sweat that lingers on Bennett and Bennett alone.

“Yarr,” I answer.

Bennett throws his head back and laughs. He has a louder, booming laugh when he’s full of alcohol, and I adore it. He’s not entirely drunk yet. I’ve seen Bennett drunk before, and this is the type of tipsy that keeps him merry and happy. He only gets sad drunk when he’s had too much, and the last time I saw that version of Bennett was when we were watching the Honeywood movie, which, for all intents and purposes, is not a great movie.

But his bottom lip was wobbling because, and I quote, “Queen Bee is such a good leader of Honeywood Forest.”

Bennett is the cutest drunk.

“Soda water with lime?” he offers.

I nod because, of course, he knows my order by heart.

Bennett squeezes my side before heading toward the bar. I shamelessly—well, maybe with a tiny bit of shame—watch him walk away. I’d be stupid not to. Not when he’s dressed the way he is with the loose, swashbuckling white shirt, exposing his chest hair—Christ, my best friend has chest hair—the thick belts slung every which way, the heavy boots that kick beneath him, hiked over those tight leather pants that curve over his toned butt.

I tilt my head to the side.

I didn’t think I was a leather kind of girl, but you learn something new about yourself every day, I suppose. Plus, it’s Bennett in leather. It’s the fact that he’s a teddy bear inside that makes the badass leather all the more alluring.

I wish I could commit this version of Bennett to memory forever. The mysterious kohl eyeliner around his eyes, the coarseness of his dark hair—how I made sure to fluff it up and hair-spray it into a messy position.

I made my best friend look like sex.

And, boy, does he.

Bennett knocks his knuckles on the bar, leaning his weight on his tattooed forearm, peering out to the crowd like he owns the whole dang place. Drawn to whatever pheromones he’s putting out in the world, a redheaded woman in a low-cut flowing white dress touches his arm. She just shimmies on in there with some type of confidence and grace I could never have.

She slides next to my Bennett.

My heart hammers in my chest, and I know what that feeling is. The gut clench, the way my nerves light on fire, and how, for two seconds, I feel like I should go over there and shimmy between them.

It’s jealousy. Raging hot.

But Bennett is my best friend, not my boyfriend, so what do I have to be jealous of? She’s gorgeous and probably very sweet. And I’m just an evil, green-eyed monster.

“Whatcha looking at, lady?”

Quinn’s breath smells like rum as she slings an arm over my shoulders. She’s not normally a cuddly person, but alcohol seems to sway her. Quinn’s eyes follow mine to the bar, where the beautiful woman is now arching her chest into Bennett.

God, they look like the most perfect little pirate couple.

Crap, crap, crap.

Quinn sips her drink. “Ooh, Benny boy’s getting some.”

I curl my bottom lip in. “Mmhmm. Good for him.”

It comes off so disingenuous that I instantly feel guilty.

Quinn side-eyes me. “What about you? Want me to play wingman?”

I laugh and shake my head, shifting my boot across the wood plank floor. “I’m not a one-night-stand kinda person.”

“Fair. You’re probably into super-weird stuff anyway.”

“Quinn!”

“What’s Quinn doing now?” Lorelei asks, also slinging an arm around the other side of me.

It’s too hot in here for touching, but when you’ve got one friend who’s a hugger and the other who’s too drunk to care that she normally isn’t, I guess I have no choice.

A third arm wraps around my waist, and it’s Theo. Now, we’re in some form of a group hug, and I’ve ended up in the middle.

“Love y’all,” Lorelei mumbles, her chin resting on the top of my head.

“Love youuu,” Quinn murmurs back.

“Let’s never stop hugging,” Theo says, nuzzling her head deeper into my neck.

It’s starting to feel too stuffy, and I’m tangled in too many limbs.

“Um, guys …” I say, but my protest is drowned out by the sea shanty music.

Bennett comes up with a drink in each hand. “Oh, are we group hugging?”

“Get in here, big dog!” Theo calls, and Bennett wraps his large arms around the four of us, gathering us close.

I think I feel a small drip from one of the drinks. But then I can smell his breath, full of rum. Feel his large chest breathing. His warm air rushing against my ear, like a whisper of heat.

It’s suddenly unbearable.

Stifling.

I might pass out.

“I’m gonna get some fresh air real quick,” I say, pushing as light as I can against Lorelei’s arms.

I’m released, immediately rushing out to the side patio and leaning against the brick wall.

I close my eyes, breathing in the not-so-fresh night air that’s muddled with smoke. I’m not sure if it’s from cigarettes, vapes, or cannonball fire from off the pier.

I’m surrounded by pirates, but none as hot as Bennett. And that’s a problem. A real big problem. Because I’m not supposed to be imagining how to discreetly pinch my best friend’s leather-clad ass, am I?

But suddenly, in the midst of thinking about Bennett’s tush, I hear a loud call of, “Red?”

Wait a second.

I know that nickname.

Crap on a freaking stick.

My eyes pop open, and I’m greeted by the demanding gaze of icy-blue eyes. The same ones that haunted me as a teen.

“Michael?” I breathe.

Michael Waters’s arm is already wrapping around me, holding my waist, dipping around to the spot that Bennett normally touches. He’s laughing as he gathers me into a hug, and I can smell the booze on his breath.

I think he kisses the side of my head, but I’m not sure because he’s already pulling apart with a, “Hey, you!”

What the heck is happening?

His palms clutch my shoulders as he scans me up and down. I feel like I’ve been put on display in front of him, and my silly little wench dress with the off-the-shoulder sleeves and very busty corset now feels very inappropriate.

Though, on the flip side, it’s also weirdly empowering.

Michael looks at me different. He’s different. Happier maybe with less of the sly smile he used to offer. His black hair is trimmed shorter on the sides. The length up top looks like it was once gelled, but is now flopped over from the Florida heat and a night of carousing. He has a beard with bits of gray scattered within. It works on him. Really works on him.

“You look great,” he says.

“I’m fine.”

He squints with a crooked smile.

Right. He didn’t ask how I was.

“I mean, thanks,” I correct.

He laughs, and it’s light and pure and … very, very attractive. How can this man pull off everything from broody teen to happy man? He’s aged like a fine wine. Or rum, I suppose, considering our location.

“Do you live down here now?” I ask.

“No. Just here for the festival.”

“Same.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah.” The word fades off, and he swallows. “Really, you do look great,” he repeats.

“You already said that.”

A slow smile trails onto his cheeks. “I did, didn’t I?”

My face is on fire.

Michael is telling me I look great, and I feel like I’ve been transported back in time. Back to that closet. Back to teenage insecurities that I thought I’d left behind—though I am still wearing a padded bra, aren’t I? I suppose they’ve never truly left me.

Michael is looking at me with icy eyes, and I’m still melting underneath their gaze, just like I did at fifteen. And just like I did back then, I’ve still got the thought of Bennett lingering in the back of my mind.

He’d be so angry if he saw Michael.

But who cares?

Michael clicks his tongue against his teeth. “So, you here with anyone or …”

Bennett has that one girl at the bar, doesn’t he? The redhead who isn’t me?

I give a slow smile toward Michael, but before I can open my mouth, a large hand with a pink string on its veiny wrist falls over my shoulder. That same hand trails down my spine, all the way to its rightful place on my lower back.