Deep (Stage Dive, #4)(49)

“Friends. Awesome.”

That word. I had to translate it to happy in my mind. Make it work. Ben and I would be friends. Friends friends friends.

He held up his big paw. “Give me five, friend.”

I did so, smacking my palm against his with great zest. Fire-truck, that hurt.





CHAPTER NINE

After Saint Louis came Washington, DC, followed by Philadelphia. It took until then for me to fully get my bounce back and to forgive Mal. Well, to begin to forgive Mal. As much as everyone else liked to rationalize it, the memory of him driving his fist into Ben’s gut still felt too fresh. My bitch-slapping hand started to twitch every time he came near. I couldn’t help it.

Ben and I living together had not been the astronomical step toward a bright and beautiful romantic future I might have secretly, stupidly hoped for.

But that was my problem, not his.

There’d definitely been no more hugging. As a roommate, he was very polite—and frequently absent. Yep, Ben was a busy boy. He’d emerge from his room grizzly and bed-headed at nine and we’d have breakfast together, which was nice. For an hour or so we’d chat over pancakes or eggs Benedict or whatever. Conversation usually revolved around my health and the movie I’d watched the night before. Then he’d disappear to “do band shit.” I don’t quite know what he did, but apparently it took him all day and well into the night. So I’d taken to sitting up in front of the TV, hoping to catch him when he came in at whatever time. Instead, I’d wake up tucked into my own bed, come morning.

All very friendly. I just needed to adjust. Still. And damn it, tonight I would. Tonight, my crush on him came to an end. It had to. The man really was hell on my heart and loins.

“Remind me again why we’re here,” said Anne, slipping her arm around my shoulders.

“To party.”

“We’re here to party?”

“How could you doubt it?” I smoothed the big, flowy black T-shirt down over my small bump of a belly.

“So long as we’re not here to spy on Ben.”

I scoffed. “As if I’d do that.”

“’Cause you’re so over him.”

“Big-time. Huge. We’re friends.”

Anne made a humming noise. “Friends don’t let friends stalk their friends.”

“You and I aren’t friends, we’re sisters. Totally different.” My jaw cracked on a particularly large yawn. Ugh. This growing a baby stuff really took it out of you. “You have to suck it up and support me no matter what crackpot crap I do.”

“You two still sharing the suite but not the bedroom, huh?”

“Do you really want to know?” I asked, curious.

She sighed. “You’re pregnant with his baby. I give up. Of all the males I might have chosen for you, he’s not even remotely on the list. But at the end of the day, it’s your choice, not mine.”

I nodded, pleased.

“I just want you to know, you have options.” Just like when we were kids, Anne twirled a lock of my hair around a finger and gave it a tug. I slapped at her hand, same as I’d always done. She grabbed my fingers and held on tight. “Mal and I have been talking. However you want to do this, we’re happy to support you. Whether that’s move in with us or whatever.”

“I appreciate that.”

“And on the off chance you and Ben can’t work things out, you don’t need to worry about money.”

“Ben wouldn’t leave me hanging like that, Anne.”

“I’m just saying—”

“I know. But trust me, I don’t need to worry about money.”

“No. You don’t.”

“Yeah, I really don’t,” I said, turning to face her. “He put six figures in my account before the tour started.”

“Huh.” The whites of Anne’s eyes were showing. “Good. This makes me think better of the bearded wonder.”

“Mm.” It was a step up from her calling him the Sperminator, at least.

We sat huddled together in a single large lounge chair, watching the postconcert party get going. When I’d moved into Ben’s two-bedroom suite, the party had changed location to the room of Down Fourth’s singer. He shared the smaller suite with his girlfriend, the band’s drummer. She’d been more than welcoming, if a little surprised, when we knocked on the door.

I had the worst feeling that Anne was right, though, and I shouldn’t have come. Not to this room, this tour, none of it. Also, apparently my mood currently registered around the shitty level. Shooty. No, that didn’t work. Crappy. Yes, crappy made for a suitable non-sweary replacement.

“I hate that I have to be looked after, that all of a sudden I’m no longer me, I’m a condition, a baby-making machine.” I leaned my head against Anne’s with a Poor me sigh. “Should have stayed in Portland and worked in the bookstore. I don’t belong here.”

“Of course you belong here. Don’t be a dolt.”

I gave her a half smile. “I sound pathetic. Quick, slap me with a wet fish or something.”

“If only I had one handy. This baby sure makes you an interesting person to be around. I never know what mood I’ll get next.”

“You have no idea. I need to get laid so bad … my dreams are just one endless stream of pornography.”