Blurred Lines (Love Unexpectedly #1)(21)

His mom is nice, too, in a controlling, intense kind of way.

But my parents? My parents are awesome. My house was totally the house where other kids wanted to come over to do homework, and where my volleyball team always wanted to do their slumber parties. Not because they were lax, Do whatever you want, kids! parents, but because they talked to me and my friends like we were people, not children.

And none of my friends benefited quite so much from their coolness as Ben. From the day I took him home my first month of college for a home-cooked meal and to do laundry (dorm laundry rooms are the worst), Ben had taken to my parents, and they to him.

I’m an only child, and though they never once indicated that they wanted more kids, I definitely got the impression that if they had a son, they’d want him to be like Ben.

He never tries to kiss their ass or impress them, and that only impresses them all the more.

And they’d never, ever admit it—again, because they’re cool like that—but I’m pretty sure they preferred Ben to Lance.

Just slightly.

They were never anything less than perfectly nice to Lance when I brought him home for dinner, but my dad’s offbeat humor went over Lance’s head more often than not. And Lance, while well-intentioned, was far too deferential to my mother, who prefers someone who talks straight with her.

So tonight, I bring my parents a treat.

I bring them Ben.

“You sure it’s cool that I’m tagging along?” Ben asks for the twelfth time, as I pull my Prius into my parents’ driveway.

“Actually, no,” I say, giving him a sad look. “Maybe stay in the car?”

“You know what I mean,” he says, grabbing the bottle of wine we brought with us and shoving open the car door. “Usually Lance goes with you to family dinners.”

I pause and look at him in surprise. His tone isn’t quite petulant, but it’s…something, and for the first time I wonder if Ben felt left out when Lance and I started getting serious, and I started taking him over to family dinners.

In college, I always brought Ben with me when I went home, but after graduation, Lance and I started to feel like more of a thing, so I brought him instead. Obviously. He was my boyfriend.

“You know you could have come with us,” I say, shutting the car door.

“Yeah, that would have been awesome. Sitting in the backseat on the way over. Squeezing in a fifth chair at the table.”

“You came over all the time when Mom was sick,” I say.

And he had. I’d never loved my best friend more than when he volunteered—no, insisted—on helping out with some of Mom’s chemo appointments.

“Sure, because Lancelot wasn’t there,” he said, giving me a shit-eating grin.

I pinch his arm as we wipe our feet on the doormat, but the gesture practically breaks a nail because he’s all muscle.

He knows I hate it when he calls Lance Lancelot.

“We’re here,” I holler, kicking off my shoes the second we get inside, making my way toward the kitchen.

“Honey!” Mom says, looking particularly glowing and radiant in a bright green turtleneck and jeans.

Her hug is warm and friendly, as always, but her hug for Ben is warmer and friendlier.

I roll my eyes as the two of them gab like long-separated best friends and head into the family room, where my dad is perched on the edge of his leather recliner. No doubt he started to get up when he heard my shout, only to become riveted by whatever sport was on.

“No. NoNoNoNo, YES! Yes!”

I glance at the TV. Baseball. Blerg.

I kiss my dad on the head and wait patiently for him to confirm that whatever call earned his YES! would stand. My dad loves sports. Not like the usual-guy level of sports adoration, but like, he freaking loves all things baseball, football, basketball, tennis, golf, you name it.

He played, like, every possible sport in high school, and baseball in college. He’s got crazy-good athletic skills, none of which he passed on to his only child.

But he loves me more than sports. I know, because he mutes the TV and stands up to give me a big hug and a long, searching look, even though something exciting is happening on the screen behind him.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

I nod. “Mom told you?”

My dad and I have a great relationship, but when it came time to tell my parents that Lance had dumped me, I opted for my mom, who is a little better at doling out relationship advice than dear old dad.

His hands rub my upper arms. “Breakups are hard, but it’ll all work out the way it’s supposed to.”

“I know,” I say, even though I’m only half-convinced that he’s right.

It’s been a week and a half since Lance dumped me, and the truth is, it’s gotten worse, not better. I’m over the anger and, for the most part, over the crying, but the emptiness…the longing. That’s still there.

“Jimbo!”

We both turn as Ben enters the room, and they do the fist-bump thing that Ben taught my dad a few years ago, then Ben throws himself on the couch and reaches for the remote to unmute the TV. “Damn. Close game.”

My dad’s eyes light up, but at the last minute, he glances at me.

I smile and wave a hand as I head back toward the kitchen. “Do your thing. Mom and I are going to go drink wine and man-bash.”