Rebellious: A Best Friends-To-Lovers Romance Page 3

  His breaths are labored.

  “Bennett. Don’t mess with me.” I’m worrying, but then his chest heaves, and he gags.

  I don’t have time to do anything but gasp because he shoves us off the edge and sends us free-falling into nothing but air, only an abandoned county road beneath us. I’m screaming in between laughs when I realize Bennett was just playing. He wasn’t getting sick.

  This silly man has the worst sense of humor.

  I smile to myself and hold Bennett tighter. He’s yet to scream, which isn’t all that surprising. He’s a man, and men don’t scream, even if they want to. “Hey, Bennett,” I say, pitching my voice to sound shaky.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m slipping.”

  His arms tense around me, and I burst out laughing, not able to hold the charade any longer.

  “You’re going to hell,” he finally mumbles.

  I chuckle.

  I just might because nothing I want to do with him is godly.

  I’m clean and still riding the adrenaline high when I step out of Bennett’s shower. All the rooms in the guys’ townhouse are nicely sized, but Bennett has the master bedroom. Meaning, his bathroom is plush with a wide double vanity and two sinks. My toothbrush already claims one sink, but just in case, the sentence “Aspen’s. DO NOT TOUCH!” streaked in the fogged-up mirror should clear up any remaining confusion. Not that Bennett would allow anyone to come into his room.

  But you never know.

  Wrenching the door open, cool air and bullshit hits my skin. “Rule: You can never be naked,” Bennett mutters, exhausted.

  Sitting at the end of the bed, head hanging low, Bennett avoids my gaze.

  I stride over and kneel at his feet, pushing between his knees while my fingers lift his head. “I’m not naked. See exhibit A: your towel.”

  He doesn’t scold me about using his towel or being this close to him.

  Uh oh. “What did you eat?”

  He tries turning his head, but I have a firm grip and force him to look at me. “Bennett.”

  A deeply annoyed sigh rumbles between us but ask me how much I care. “Bennett. I asked you a question. If I ask it again, I doubt you’ll like the results.”

  With Bennett, I think about what most twenty-one-year-old guys would want and do the opposite. Exhibit A: his towel. If he doesn’t answer me, I will drop the towel and force him to at least yell at me.

  Motivation is a dangerous tool.

  I tug at the knot of the towel, and his eyes snap to attention. “Don’t you dare.”

  See? Bennett is a simple man.

  I pull his face closer, forcing us nose to nose. “Then you better answer me.”

  He lowers his lashes and draws in a deep breath. We stay this way until he’s ready to behave.

  Pulling away, he takes my hand, placing my palm to his cheek. “My blood sugar is high.”

  At his confession, I look to his side and find his insulin kit next to him. The syringe is drawn up, and the alcohol pad is laying over it as if someone interrupted him. But I know that isn’t the case.

  “Lie back,” I whisper, letting my palm drag across his cheek until I reach his mouth. His eyes close, soaking up the aching reality between us. This is our life. No touching. No nakedness. No kissing. No loving each other.

  It’s a hard line. One Bennett makes us write on each other’s skin each time we get close to feeling anything remotely resembling love.

  The problem is, I have loved Bennett Jameson all my life. When his father placed him in my arms at two years old, I knew Bennett Jameson was born to be mine. I’ve loved him from the moment he opened his emerald-colored eyes to the day he took his first steps right into my three-year-old arms, and even still, on his seventeenth birthday when he was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes.

  No rule will ever keep me from loving him more than I already do.

  But for him…

  No matter how much he loves me, he’ll never break his rules. He needs them to pretend what we have is merely friendship. And I… I can’t bear to lose him by not playing by the rules. This—his mouth on my hand in appreciation—is the only way I’ll ever feel his lips on my skin. And some days, I can live with that. But those days have been reduced to mere seconds as I’m graduating in eight hours and moving to Boston, taking a job as a sideline reporter when the summer is over.

  Away from my family.

  And away from Bennett Jameson, my childhood love and friend.

  Air replaces the warmth of his lips, and I’m pulled back to reality as Bennett lies back on the bed. I lift his shirt while his eyes pinch closed. He hates needles and my touch; it’s absolute torture for him. But stabbing himself with a needle is far worse. Bennett’s never been able to give himself an injection. He can check his blood sugar independently, but if he needs insulin… he requires me.

  Opening the alcohol pad, I wipe it against his skin, taking care to rub away the black marker where, just last night, he made me write another rule: No getting drunk together.

  I might have tried to grope him, and he might have let me had my brother not fallen into us.

  “Deep breath,” I coax, pinching a bit of skin and positioning the needle above. His stomach drifts inward with his breath, and upon his exhale, I prick his skin, injecting him. He doesn’t flinch or make a sound, just stays still beneath my hands.

  “All done,” I tell him, wiping the site and placing a delicate kiss right next to it—another exception to his rules. Injuries can be kissed and nurtured. He isn’t a machine.

  Bennett clears his throat. “Thanks.”

  I rock back on my heels and make sure the knot on my towel is still intact. “I’m just going to change,” I say.

  He nods, standing, and righting his shirt. “I’ll make some coffee.”

  “Thanks.” Yeah, it’s awkward, but sometimes we can’t help it. I could go across the courtyard to my townhome, but that would require me to leave. And with my time with Bennett being finite, I don’t intend to waste a minute.

  Standing, I pull open Bennett’s dresser drawers and pick out a sports bra and shorts. Even though we’ve been up all night, pub hopping and bungee jumping, we’re still going for a run. Why? Well, I find running clears my head, and second, our family is in town for tonight’s graduation, and my father insisted he and Bennett’s dad meet us for a run.

  Running is a tradition in our families. We’ve grown up with waking at five in the morning and hitting the open pasture. My mother says that running keeps the demons away. My father says she gets her rocks off by making everyone cry at the ass crack of dawn. But he’s done it for as long as I can remember.

  As soon as I’m dressed, I head down the hallway, hearing a banging on the front door. Fenn is passed out on the sofa. I kick the cushion. “Why haven’t you answered the door?”

  He swats at my legs. “Leave me be, Demon.”

  I ignore his bullshit. “Where’s Bennett?”

  “Don’t care,” he mumbles. “Go home. We played with you long enough today.”

  Aren’t siblings lovely?

  I pull a lock of his hair that gets a decent whine out of him before heading to the door and throwing it open. “Hi, Daddy. Hi, Uncle Cade.”

  Bennett and Drew’s father flashes me a smile that reaches his eyes. It’s warm and inviting and sends a shot of pain that settles into my stomach. I’m going to miss that smile. Not from my uncle Cade, but from his son, Bennett. Like his father, Bennett is stingy with those smiles, doling them out only occasionally.

  Like this morning.

  “Don’t I pay for a house across the courtyard for you?” My father’s eyes narrow before his gaze travels up and down my body as he takes in my running attire. My dad is pretty cool most days, but he’s never been a fan of me running in just a sports bra and shorts.

  I kiss him on the cheek. “You mean the house I’m moving out of this weekend?” I try for a light joke, but the undercurrent of pain slips through, and I end up just soundin
g bitter. It’s not my father’s fault I’m graduating. He was nice enough to pay for my entire undergrad schooling and encouraged me to go after a master’s degree, even though I didn’t need it.

  I had a job at my father’s company before I could finish high school. But I wanted more, and when Bennett went into football, I decided I’d pursue sports agency rather than baseball scouting like my father. However, my father had other ideas; hence how I ended up with a broadcasting degree and a job in Boston.

  “You won’t miss it,” he says, pulling me in for a hug. I might be twenty-three years old, but my dad wrapping me in his arms makes today bearable, even if he’s more excited to see me move away from Bennett than graduate.

  After a moment, he pulls up and frowns. Right. I forgot to smile. It seems pointless at the moment. Today is not a happy day, no matter how many family members are here.

  “Where’s your brother?”

  I cringe, stepping aside. “Couch.” I learned a long time ago to stay out of Dad and Fenn’s way when they need to yell at each other.

  “Fenn!” Pushing past me, Dad barrels his way through the house, banging the door as he goes. “Get your ass up!”

  Cade shakes his head. “It’s good to see you, kiddo.”

  I step into the arms of the man who has been a second father to me and bathe in his strength. Like his son, Cade isn’t the most affectionate, but he tries, which means more than anything.

  “It’s good to see you too, Uncle Cade.”

  He pulls back and smooths a hand down my hair. “I have mail for you in the car.”

  I swallow. “Did you look at it?”

  Cade frowns. “You need to tell him, Aspen.”

  No getting drunk together

  Bennett

  I should have known my day would go from awful to disastrous.

  Fortunately, I was prepared.

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  Closing the door behind me, I hold up the carton of cream. “Aspen likes her coffee full of calories.” I cut my gaze to Aspen’s father, who’s leaning against our kitchen counter. “But I’m sure you know that.” He takes his coffee the same way.

  Aspen appears from the hallway dressed in one of my football shirts. “Dammit, Aspen,” her father whines. “Do you want me to kill the boy?” He looks at me harshly. “That’s strike two, Bennett.”

  My brow arches in question. “Did I skip strike one, sir?” I stride toward the kitchen, stopping briefly when my dad stands from the sofa.

  “Bennett,” he says, smiling.

  “Sir.”

  He holds his hand out for me to shake, and I move the carton of cream into my other hand, but he decides on a hug instead. “It’s good to see you, son.”

  We haven’t been home in several weeks. Between mine and Aspen’s schedule, we just couldn’t make the time. “I’m sorry we didn’t drive down last weekend.”

  My father pulls back and waves me off. “Don’t be sorry. You don’t have to humor your old man with pity visits.”

  “They’re not—”

  “Jameson, can we get back to yelling at them?” Theo interrupts. “We have limited time here, and I want to say my piece before their mothers arrive and stop me.”

  My father grins, but then agrees with Theo, the skin around his eyes tightening with the tone of his words. “I hear you all went bungee jumping this morning.”

  I glance at Aspen, who merely shrugs. “We did.”

  There’s no need to lie; what’s done is done.

  Theo throws his hands up. “And you didn’t think to call us? What if we wanted to go?”

  I shake my head, moving into the kitchen. I’m not surprised Theo wanted to go. Aspen gets her craziness from him. “No, sir. It was a last-minute decision.”

  It wasn’t, really.

  “I’m ashamed of you both.”

  Shrugging, I answer Theo, “It was your daughter’s idea, sir.”

  All Aspen’s idea. I would have never agreed to such a stunt, but last night… Well, last night was a fuck up of massive proportions—a memory I still can’t shake this morning.

  “Are you pussying out, Bennett?”

  “Don’t say that word.” My eyes are burning, but it’s nothing compared to the heavy weight of exhaustion pulling my eyelids low—so low, Aspen’s face has become a blurry blob.

  Moving off the stool and encroaching on mine, she taunts me, “Why? Does me using the P-word offend you?”

  Not really. It’s just… bad things happen when she uses foul language—things like me getting hard in the middle of a crowded pub. “Don’t play,” I warn. “Get back on your stool.” And out of my personal space. Bad things also happen when I’m drunk and desolate.

  Aspen’s smile is lethal as she inches forward, swaying me to bend the rules when I know I shouldn’t. “I’m not even that close to you,” she whispers, her breath smelling of vodka and mint. It’s so tantalizing, I can already feel myself leaning forward just to get closer… for a smell, a taste; anything.

  I groan. “You’re touching me. That’s breaking the rules.”

  Leaning forward, she draws closer, golden wisps of hair fanning out over my shoulder. “Technically, I’m not touching you,” she argues.

  Chills break out along the back of my neck as the whispered lie dances over my skin. “Aspen.” Her name sounds as if someone tortured it out of me. Honestly, with her being this close and not being able to touch her, the word torture is probably accurate. Being with Aspen and not being with her is the very definition of torture.

  “Bennett.” My name is moaned from her lips.

  We’re taking this too far. I knew coming to the bar was a mistake. What was I supposed to say, though? No?

  It’s our last night alone. I couldn’t do that to her.

  After having Aspen in my life for twenty-one years, I’m losing her to adulthood. Tomorrow evening she will graduate with her master’s degree. She tried to drag out her college experience, so we could stay together, but the end has come. Aspen Von Bremen, my childhood sweetheart, my best friend, is moving on without me.

  She rakes her hands through my hair, and God help me, I let her. We can bend the rules for just a moment…

  “Bennett,” she says again, moving closer between my legs. My cock aches as I try to remember to breathe. Years. For years, I’ve loved this woman. From the moment I had any cognitive recall, I’ve always loved her.

  But I can’t.

  Our lives aren’t that simple.

  My hands find her hips, securing her body. She drags her cheek along mine. “Can’t we break the rules just this once?”

  We’re already breaking the rules by touching in a non-platonic way. Her gripping my hair, me hard as stone, pressing her against my jeans… we’ve shattered several rules.

  “We can’t,” I tell her, but really, I’m telling myself. There’s no doubt I want her. Hell, I’ve saved myself for her.

  I’m a twenty-one-year-old virgin who saved himself for a woman he can never have. My brother calls it foolish. I call it not wanting anyone but her. No one can fill that need like Aspen would. Deep down, I know I would only be angry and utterly disappointed if it were anyone else.

  Not that I’m not already an angry ass. Sleeping in the same bed next to the woman you want to fuck into a coma does that to you.

  “We can,” she argues softly. “No one will ever know.”

  I groan, pulling her in tight.

  “I can’t risk it,” I finally get out.

  Her fingers loosen in my hair, her aggression easing into that of solace. It sucks. God, it sucks, but I have to remind myself this isn’t about me. Aspen and I are part of a bigger picture, and me being selfish can’t happen. It’ll ruin everything.

  “Kiss me then?” Her voice quivers, and everything inside of me begs to console her, to give her whatever she wants. The last thing I want to do is cause her pain.

  I push her back. Unshed tears wait for the inevitable “no” out of my mout
h.

  I’m tired of saying no, though.

  Moving my palm up her side, careful to avoid anything that will cause my dick to explode, I palm her cheek, tilting her head to the side. “Just this—”

  Someone knocks into my stool, and my hand slips from Aspen’s face and back to her hips as I keep us from falling.

  “What the fuck?” I shove Aspen’s brother, who took drunk to a whole new level tonight.

  Fenn’s glassy eyes smile down at me as he sways from side to side. “Were you about to kiss my sister?”

  Aspen groans but then lashes out. “I swear I could junk punch you right now!” Her regal blue eyes are angry, and both of us are seemingly quite sober at the moment.

  Fenn laughs. “Just fuck already. No one cares.”

  Easy for him to say. He has everything. He was born into stability and forgiving parents. Nothing he will ever do will cause him disfavor.

  But for me?

  I have everything to lose.

  Standing, I grab the untouched glass of water and hand it to Fenn. “Sober up. We’re leaving soon.”

  I pull Aspen behind me and lead us into the bathroom, locking us in a stall together. The hope of a last kiss is no longer lingering in her eyes. She knows what needs to happen.

  With a sigh, she pulls a black marker from her wristlet. Sadly, we keep one on hand for situations such as these.

  Wordlessly, I pull my t-shirt up to my chest, exposing bare skin for once.

  “Let me guess,” she says, faking a smile. “No breaking the rules.”

  My chest tightens. I want to dart from this room and go for a run—to run my body into complete exhaustion. Reliving this moment later will be torture.

  Raising my hand, I cup Aspen’s soft cheek and recite the rule. “No getting drunk together.”

  You’d think we would have broken this rule before, but I’m not a drinker, and neither is Aspen. We’ve actually never had a day like this, where we both were waterboarding the shit out of our sorrows.

  Aspen nods, closing her eyes for just a moment before I drop my hand. She squats down, eye-level with my stomach, and it sends a flurry of visions through me.