Their Freefall At Last by Julie Olivia

20

Ruby

By the time I’m back in our hotel room, curled under a blanket that is as thin as a napkin while the air-conditioning moans and Quinn’s chain-saw snores keep me awake, I’m still thinking about Bennett.

But when am I not thinking about Bennett?

I close my eyes and there he is. Wild hair. Clenched jaw. The heat in his brown eyes, blown out by the rum coursing through his veins. Suddenly, all those old clinch covers on romance novels make sense. I could see me getting swept away by a pirate like Bennett.

“You’re the only redhead for me.”

No, not a man like Bennett.

Bennett himself.

I shake my head.

No, it meant nothing when he said that, and that’s what I want. That’s how we stay best friends—by not complicating a good thing.

I look down at my wrist and the pink string on it. Frayed, just like our years of friendship with the push and pull of college and laughter. Our promise means nothing but happiness. Trust. Friendship.

I have everything I could ever want. I’m happy. Truly happy.

I’ve spent a weekend surrounded by my very best, very drunk friends. Quinn’s leg is hanging over the side of the bed she shares with Lorelei. Theo is on the ground, halfway in the bathroom. And my best friend of all is sleeping on the other side of this wall.

My anchor.

My phone buzzes, and I smile at the name staring back. I swear he just knows when I’m thinking of him.

Bennett:I can hear Quinn’s snores through the walls.

Ruby:She’s in the walls!

Bennett:Oh good. So, you are awake.

Ruby:I wonder if her snores are a mating call.

Bennett:You might be right. I could have sworn I heard male snoring down the hall.

Ruby:They must find each other.

Bennett:How’s Theo’s stomach?

I glance at Theo with her open mouth drooling on the bathroom’s tiled floor. Holding back her curls while she leaned over the toilet was a job I wrapped up one hour ago.

Ruby:Empty. :(

Bennett:Poor girl.

Ruby:I hope she doesn’t remember dancing on the bar top.

Bennett:I hope she doesn’t remember getting us kicked out because of it.

Ruby:Ah, good times. Good night, Pirate.

Bennett:Night, Parrot.

I close my eyes and hold my phone to my chest, feeling good about my decision to end the conversation. I can go to bed now. I can stop fantasizing about my best friend. It’s all gravy.

Except I toss and turn under the thin blanket that does nothing to keep me warm.

Left.

Right.

Left again.

One minute passes, or maybe ten, and I’m freezing cold, and I can’t stop picturing that hand on the brick wall, the way he caged me in …

I text him again.

Ruby:Still awake?

Bennett:Sure am.

Ruby:I’m coming over. This room is frigid.

Bennett:Fair warning: mine isn’t much better.

Ruby:But you’re there. Nothing puts me to sleep faster than our late-night conversations.

Bennett:LOL. Rude.

Ruby:Your voice is nice, I mean!

Bennett:Not as rude.

Ruby:Is your door unlocked?

Bennett:It will be.

I step over Theo and sneak out. When I enter the hallway, the door next to ours creaks open.

Bennett stands in the doorway. He’s removed the heavy pirate eyeliner, and his hair is tied up in a wet bun. He’s wearing a Honeywood shirt that pulls across his chest in the most gorgeous way, tightening over every hill and valley of his muscles. He looks more tired than he let on through text, but he’s still smiling that smile of his. Lazy with the small line next to his lips.

He smells like strawberries and toothpaste. He must have taken a shower.

“Still drunk?” I ask.

“Nah,” he says, shaking his head and rubbing a palm over his face. “Just regretting that last shot.”

I smile, patting his bulky shoulder as he clears the way for me to enter his room. It’s a mirror image of ours. Though notably less destroyed from the presence of four girls and our collective makeup bags and outfit changes.

I fall backward on the bed, hands stretched above my head, closing my eyes and exhaling into the comfy mattress. But when I open my eyes again, Bennett’s gaze is stuck to me. I look down and realize my shirt has ridden up, leaving part of my stomach exposed. His hands are in the pockets of his gym shorts, and I think I see him swallow.

I sit up and pull my knees to my chest. He walks over to the armchair in the corner, stretching out, resting an ankle on the other knee. Bennett’s figure overflows in the chair, looking like a king on a throne. His tattooed arm has fresh plastic, encasing his newest ink—an anchor.

Quinn said it was an homage to this wonderful weekend.

I know better.

“Does it itch yet?” I ask, tipping my chin to the tattoo.

He looks down at it and shakes his head. “Not yet.”

“I’ve never really asked. Why do you get tattoos?” I ask. “What’s the appeal?”

He shrugs. “I like the memories.”

“Yeah, okay …” I say with a laugh. “But all your tattoos are basically things from our childhood.”

“My favorite memories are of you.”

My heart slams on the brakes, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. His barreling laugh breaks the tension.

“You’re my best friend, Rubes. Of course I have great memories with you.”

“Right,” I agree. “Uh-huh.”

I don’t know why I’m so flustered. Maybe it’s the way he’s sitting with his wide, muscular thighs spread or how his slightly scruffy chin rests casually on his fist. Or maybe it’s because he’s looking at me in a way that makes me feel like he’s the predator and I’m prey.

I like it. Too much.

“Well, and you’re mine too,” I admit. “My best friend.”

“That’s right. I’m yours.”

He accepts it like the truth is as simple as breathing. Everything he does is with confidence. I’ve always admired that about Bennett—his capacity for being in charge of any room he walks in.

“Do you ever get scared?” I ask.

“Of what?”

“Anything. Life. The world. Getting tattoos on a whim.”

The sureness slides off his face, and his lips twitch into a sad smile.

“I’m scared of seeing my dad tomorrow.”

My heart sinks.

“Oh, yeah?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

His eyes trail to the floor, jaw grinding.

“What do you think will happen?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I really don’t. But it kind of feels …” He pauses, tipping his head to the side, twisting a thumb through the string on his wrist, running it up and down. “It feels like I’m finally meeting the boogeyman or something, y’know? The unknown entity haunting my life for so long.” He blows out air and meets my gaze. His eyebrows are pulled in. His lips tip into a half-smile that doesn’t seem happy at all. “It’s like I’m standing outside the gates of hell, knocking on the door. Who does that?”

“Someone brave,” I answer.

Bennett’s half-smile turns into a full one, and this time, it does look genuine.

I don’t know what makes me do it, but I reach out and take his hand in mine. He freezes for only a moment before running his rough fingers along mine, tucking themselves beneath my string.

“I’ll be there the whole time,” I whisper.

“I know you will be.”

“Good.”

There’s a second between us, a moment where his thumb is tracing over my blue veins, up to my palm. I watch the motion, how slow it is, how big and rough his hand is in comparison to mine.

There’s a loud pop, I jump, and the air-conditioning starts to whir.

“Great.” I give a nervous laugh, pulling my hand away from his. “Cold again.”

He chuckles with me, scratching behind his head. “Want me to turn it down?”

“No. We should go to sleep anyway,” I say. “I’ll power through.”

“Extra blankets are in the closet if you need them.”

I slide open the closet doors, grab all the blankets and sheets I can find, and lower down to sit cross-legged on the carpet.

Bennett blinks down at me. “What are you doing?”

“Going to sleep?”

“Are you kidding, Ruby?”

“What?”

He laughs. “You’re not sleeping on the floor.”

“It’s your room that you paid good money for. I won’t take the bed.”

“You’re getting the bed,” he says, standing from the recliner, grabbing the pile of blankets from my arms, and tossing them onto the comforter. “Hop up.”

“Let’s rock, paper, scissors for it.”

“No, because it’s not up for discussion.”

“It’s your room.”

“Right. And I choose the floor.”

“Bennett—”

“Get on the bed, Ruby.”

And the sentence—the demand—halts me in my tracks. It feels like a hammer against my chest, pounding on the anvil inside me. Just as I’m told, I stand up and plop my butt right down on that mattress, as if forced by his words.

I think I see his jaw twitching back and forth as his eyes scour over me. A few strands have fallen from the leather cord holding his hair up.

“Okay,” I say. It comes out quieter than I would have liked.

“Okay,” he echoes. His voice is also hushed.

But then I see him getting to the floor and the coolness of the room rushes in and I don’t like it.

Maybe I’m a little high from tonight, from his little whisper of yours, or maybe I just don’t want my friend sleeping on the floor. Either way, I close my eyes, inhale, and say, “Let’s just share the bed?”

I didn’t mean for it to be a question, but it is what it is.

I peek one eye open, and Bennett stares at me. His chest is rising and falling.

He quickly shakes his head. “No, I don’t think—”

“I’d feel horrible if you were on the floor.”

“It’s just the floor, Rubes.”

“Please?”

There’s a beat of silence.

He narrows his eyes.

“Come on,” I say, a laugh bubbling out of me. “It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve slept in the same bed.”

What I don’t say is that the last time we had a sleepover was probably when we both wore matching sheep pajamas and definitely before we were conscious of our adult limbs and didn’t have sexual tension you could slice with Bennett’s fake pirate sword.

But it’s not a big deal.

We’re simply two friends who have known each other forever.

Sleeping in the same bed.

Next to each other.

Alone.

Easy-peasy.