The Friendship Equation Page 2

  Harden raised a brow, a smile playing on his lips, that square jaw of his making the perfect shape. Like his family had been genetically engineered for politics or modeling. He could have been on a billboard selling anything and would have convinced millions he was the American dream.

  "We gonna leave it there, or are you going to tell me?" He pressed his spoon between full lips, sucking on it. Overly sexual.

  Christ. I wished I were anywhere else. Or anyone else. Not in love with my straight best friend. My lack of an answer only served to make him intensify the stare. He probably caused spontaneous pregnancy with that look. It should be illegal to be that charming.

  I dragged my teeth over my lower lip, a re-creation of an awkward romance hero. I'd always been the dark to his light. He came in at six foot four inches at eighteen, and while my five-ten worked just fine, it didn't make the girls swoon like when he bounded into a room and brushed his blond hair out of his face.

  Mine was dark and disheveled no matter what I did to it. Too long and always looking like I could use a haircut. Even directly after I got a haircut. My light skin made me more akin to a vampire trying to blend in as a teenage boy while he was tan with the perfect dusting of freckles over his cheeks.

  But more than any of that, he had kind eyes. When they weren’t fixing someone in their intense focus, they were open, loving, a place anyone would feel safe. He was safe—my safety.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said at last.

  “What did you mean, Vance?”

  "I think we should leave it." Safer. I couldn't lose my best friend. Not with months to go in senior year and swim season nearly finished. "Better not to distract you from the sectionals meet. Or the election."

  He scoffed. I'd changed the subject craftily enough that he wouldn't come back. "Fuck the election. He’s still doing test polls. He hasn't even announced he's going to run."

  He was going to run. Harden's father, Governor James Hart, a moderate from the great state of Utah, would sweep the plain states like no moderate ever had before. Religious enough to play well in the south and win over the Mormons and Christians but progressive enough to not turn off any of the blue. A revolution of a new party of the people.

  “You know you’ll be by his side for this. You care about him doing well.”

  Harden was the apple of the governor’s eye. His golden child, and Harden worked hard to keep up that image. He fed off his father’s praise and admiration.

  The polling sang his praises. I didn’t think anyone had been quite such an American sweetheart since Kennedy. Regular folks loved him. He'd be stupid not to run. I knew it; Harden knew it too. He could put his head in the sand until it happened, but he'd be the first son. America’s golden boy.

  And I wanted to be the only one he smiled at with that gleam in his eyes.

  "Scared to tell me?" There was hurt in his voice. I wanted to believe it was a cheap ploy but it wasn’t. We loved to play chicken with one another to see who would back down first, but this was more. "That's fine." He dug around in his bowl of soup, going for the shrimp first as he always did.

  Did he hate not knowing things about me this much? The realization ignited a spark in my chest. His warmth would never go out. I’d always be a moth to his flame, and I didn’t want it any other way.

  "Not scared." I spat the words, and they were out too late to change my tone. He’d ramped up my defenses.

  "Tell your voice that, Van." The silky way he chose to say my name didn't help matters either. It sent me right back into my sex on the brain spiral.

  "I don't like being accused of shit." I pushed my bowl aside, unable to focus on food—even the perfection the Hart personal chef created. I’d have to see if there was anything edible in the freezer when I got home.

  It had been a while since I’d made dad go to the store.

  "Defensive, so defensive." The hurt was gone, morphing into something else entirely. He dipped his spoon in the broth and brought it to his lips to blow on. “I’m only trying to help. We're best friends. You're going to tell me eventually, so why not rip the bandaid off?”

  But how? I knew I should, but how? How did I explain it to him?

  "Every time I get close to getting—intimate—I freeze." The floodgates opened. Once I started, the words wouldn't stop flowing. "I turn into a ball of nerves, and then I know they are going to realize I'm a virgin, and I fucking bail. It's so unsexy to be a virgin." I thrust my hand into my hair, tugging the uneven lengths trying to shelter behind them.

  Harden's playfully competitive expression morphed to concern. "How many times has this happened, Van?"

  "Does it matter?" I grabbed my bowl trying to refocus on the ramen.

  He drank me in, and I shifted under his stare. "I think it does."

  I stirred my bowl, refusing to make eye contact. He was curious, not unkind, and I didn't blame him, but I hated being the center of attention. Even his attention.

  But that was a lie, wasn’t it? Didn’t I crave to have him all to myself?

  "At least four times." If I was only counting the actual sex freezes. Four. But if I counted times I'd bailed…well, I didn't want to think about it. Maybe I could block it all from my brain and never speak of it again.

  "You were close to doing the deed four times, and it hasn't happened yet?" Again, not unkind, more pure shock.

  I hung my head, shame-faced. "Yup."

  "Van..."

  I hated the way he said my name with so much pity.

  I couldn't look at him. His stare burned into my forehead. If I could have melted into the chair, I would have. But alas, I'm not a goddamn wizard.

  I risked a glance and wished I hadn't. There was so much sympathy in his deep blue eyes. Swirling oceans of empathy. He wore his heart on his sleeve as no one else could. Harden didn't have it in him to be unkind. Too pure of a soul.

  Who wouldn't fall a little in love with him every time he made eye contact? I sure did, and I'm positive I wasn't alone. Guys and girls clamored for his attention constantly, and it never went to his head. He made excuses for them. They needed help in geometry, or they wanted advice on swimming.

  "Can we just drop it?" I half begged.

  "Why'd you ask if you want to drop it?" Harden's smile returned, tugging on the corners of his lips.

  I racked my brain for what he’d thought I’d ask. “Ask what?”

  “For me to teach you.”

  “I didn’t…” Had he thought my off-handed comment had been serious? That I’d really sit here and ask him to teach me how to fuck?

  My mouth dropped open, and he reached across the table to push it closed. “You said it. Joking or not there is a seed of truth there.”

  Was he really calling me out? But why? We joked all the time about fucking around, about being more than friends when people teased us about it. None of it had ever been taken seriously.

  I leaned into it. If he wanted to take the joke further, I’d force the no from him.

  "A yes or no will suffice.”

  "Will it?" he asked playfully.

  "Yes, I very much think it will. No need to get into the mechanics of it. Or why I'm a failure at being intimate. If I'm not proficient in something, I get a bloody tutor, and I think sex should be the same." Maybe if I took that stance, he wouldn't rag on me. I held up a finger before he could cut in. "Sans judgment."

  Harden hadn't exactly deserved my rant, but this had been pent up for some time, and I couldn't help that it spilled out all over him.

  "And the reason you're not hiring a sex worker for such lessons?" he asked.

  I made an exasperated face. "You think if I can't get it going with a person I actually want, I’m going to have an easier time with a stranger?"

  "Okay, I can follow the logic. But why me then? You know I'm straight." He gave me a curious eyeing, like he was really after the reasoning behind it. "I thought you were too."

  I didn't know what I was and hadn't for some time. Girls were easier to ge
t dates with, but I'd been attracted to Harden for a long time.

  “This was dumb. It was an off handed comment.” I’d let him win. It didn’t need to keep going.

  “Answer me.”

  I’m not sure why I decided to speak. Maybe because I knew he wouldn’t drop it, or maybe it was the way he pleaded with his eyes, but I did. “Because you're the only person in the universe I'm comfortable with, Harden. I've known you since we were five. You know nearly everything about me, and I've seen you naked dozens of times." Harden wasn't shy. He walked around the locker room after practice in nothing, 'air drying.' "So logic dictates I shouldn't freeze up when I see it again.”

  He nodded along as I spoke. "I see it, but I did notice you said ‘nearly everything about me.’ What about you? What don't I know?"

  "That's what you focus on?" I gave him a flat look.

  "I mean, I thought we shared everything." He tilted his head. “At least I know I do."

  "Can we focus on the discussion at hand instead of picking apart my wording?" I dropped my spoon into the bowl, sending soup splattering across the large farm-style kitchen table and feeling all kinds of guilty about not telling him the truth about my feelings years ago.

  He sucked on his spoon again, reminding me I was a mere mortal next to a god. "Also sounds reasonable."

  "Which? Focusing on the topic at hand or my reasoning?"

  "All of it, I guess."

  "You guess?" I sat on the edge of exploding.

  "Yes."

  "But that's not an answer," I replied because it was always semantics with him.

  "No, it's not," he said carefully.

  "Are you into it?" I wanted to put this out of my mind and stop worrying about it, but Harden didn't seem to want to let me.

  "Why are you so worried about it?"

  "We leave for college in the fall, and I don't want to be stuck in non-completion hell for the next four years while you're halfway across the country." Half-truth, but close enough.

  “You might not be halfway across the country. You still might get recruited and get the aid for need.” Harden held out hope I’d get into Yale where he’d already locked in on early admission.

  “Wishful thinking. I don’t even know if I’ll be recruited to swim there. I have to act like we’ll be far away.”

  “Why?”

  “So it doesn’t take me out if it happens.”

  That earned me a smile. It felt like sunlight.

  He set his spoon in his empty bowl. "Okay."

  "Okay?" The single word filled me with panic. “What do you mean?”

  “I will.”

  ”Just like that?" I asked with my voice on the edge of shaking.

  "Did you want me to say no?" He dropped his eyes, color coming to his cheeks.

  "Not exactly."

  "You just didn't figure I'd say yes?" he asked.

  "I don't even know why I said it, to be honest." This part was easier. He'd already said yes. Now I could let it out.

  He reached out to touch my arm. "This weekend, yeah? My parents are at a benefit or something Saturday night. I think they’re staying in a hotel.”

  I swallowed and nodded, not trusting my voice. Now I had to get through the rest of the week knowing what was coming.

  "You okay there? You look a little faint." He pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. I felt a little faint.

  "Yup. I'm going to go for a long walk off a short bridge. If I don't make it to school in the morning, don't come looking for me."

  "Don't you think this is part of the issue? You're overthinking it. It's just sex."

  "Says the guy who's done it with plenty of people. Of course, it's not a big deal to you." I winced. "Sorry, that sounded insensitive."

  He shrugged it off. "I give you a ride every single day. If you don't come out of your house at six-o-two tomorrow, I'll be knocking on the door."

  "Can't you just let me die of embarrassment?"

  He smiled. Jesus. Now I was faint. I needed to find a hole to hide in.

  "I can't, sorry." He got up and picked his bowl up like we were discussing the weather.

  “Can we not just get this over with right now?" I shifted in my seat, getting a halfy.

  "Can't. Parents are due home any minute, and I’ve got to grab my brother from baseball."

  I dropped my face to my arms. "I shouldn't have asked."

  His warm body pressed in behind me, hips to the small of my back where I sat on the bench. He bent, lips next to my ear. "Do you want to get over your fear or not? I'm not going to force you to do this. I agreed to help."

  A shiver ran down my spine, and my entire body reacted to his closeness. Was he hard? I felt something, but it was gone too fast.

  "Right..."

  “Saturday night. I have the house to myself. Even my brother will be at a sleepover."

  I swallowed, unsure I could come up with words. "That's it? I'm just going to show up and we are going to do it?"

  He laughed a scoff. "No wonder you're bad at this. You're not even going to romance me?"

  "I told you I'm bad at this. Which is why I asked for help in the first place."

  He slid an arm around my shoulders and hugged me into him. Yup. That was a bulge and a big one. I'd seen it enough to know. "So let me help you. This isn't going to be a quick fuck either. That won't help. You need all of it. Foreplay. The build-up. I'm going to make sure you don't sabotage yourself anymore."

  I swallowed hard. “Sure, sure. Makes sense."

  Why did I sound like a moron?

  He backed off, part of me thankful and the other part missing him. "See you tomorrow morning, right?"

  "Right, sure."

  He picked up his keys, but I didn't make a move to stand. My dick throbbed in my sweats, and the second I stood up, it would be painfully obvious.

  "I'll walk home."

  "Sure?" he asked, grabbing his bowl to shove in the sink.

  Don't look.

  Don't look.

  Don't look.

  I looked. He was as hard as I was.

  "Yup. Positive."

  Three

  The walk home from Harden's gave me time to calm down. We didn't live far apart, but the difference from his gated neighborhood to my rundown one couldn't have been more drastic. I passed perfectly manicured lawns with mountain views, onto the main street that connected our area. Both were also fairly close to the private school we attended, but as I walked down the wide greenway, the quality of the houses diminished the further I went down the hill. The houses went from mansions to moderate size to barely standing.

  We weren't poor, but my father certainly knew nothing about an investment portfolio, and my swim scholarship was the only way my father could afford to send me to my school. The uniforms alone cost him enough. I hitched my straps higher on my shoulders, not minding the breeze hitting me in the face, warm from the walk.

  It hadn't snowed in days which was unusual for the time of year. Not totally unheard of, but the sidewalks had been cleared, which made walking home in the cold easier to manage. I climbed up the stairs to our split-level house. The paint peeled and the railings were loose—too many seasons of snow weighing on them. I avoided the patches of ice pooling on the uneven stairs and used my key, pushing my shoulder into the door to shove it open.

  Kicking off my boots once inside, I rubbed my hands together and listened. The house was usually dead quiet at this hour, only distant barking of dogs. But today was different.

  Venturing further into the kitchen, I skidded to a halt. My father stood there digging in the fridge.

  "Hey," I said, trying not to startle him. His hearing wasn't the best after years of factory jobs.

  He straightened, turning around. "Vance! I'm surprised you're home so early."

  I rubbed over the back of my head. "Harden had shit to do."

  More like I was avoiding him, but my father didn't need to know that.

  "Staying for dinner?" He leaned on the cou
nter. He didn't look right, but I couldn't put my finger on why.

  "Yeah. Want me to make something?" I dropped my keys and backpack on the counter.

  "I started some chili." He gestured at the pot on the stove. It was one of the only things he made, but damn he made it well.

  "Is it my birthday?" I glanced around like people were going to jump out from behind corners.

  "Nah, just home early and figured I'd make something good." He grabbed the rest of what he needed out of the fridge and set the fixings on the counter.

  I stepped closer, noticing his hand all wrapped up. "What happened?"

  "Just an accident. It's nothing."

  "It doesn't look like nothing." I reached for his hand, but he pulled it into his chest.

  "Van." He gave me that glare only parents do, trying to be the adult when I've been one since mom died and took over most of the stuff she used to do at ten.

  "Is that why you're home early?" I asked, snagging his hand when he let his guard down to inspect the bandage. Blood soaked through parts.

  "Yeah." He swatted at my hand playfully but let me look. "Some new kid not being as careful as he should be. Just a couple of stitches. It won't take long to heal."

  Dad made wire for a living. I knew he couldn't do it forever. It was hard on his body and dangerous. He worked his ass off with overtime and double-time to make sure I went to the best possible school, never expecting to have to do this alone. I was determined to get a degree and take care of him so he wouldn't have to keep killing himself.

  "It's bleeding through." My brows pulled. "Did you go to the ER?"

  "I had the onsite medic stitch me up. No need to pay for the ER."

  No shit. I didn't blame him for that. It was easily five hundred bucks to walk in the door. Five hundred bucks we didn’t have. ”How long are you out?"

  "Since it wasn't my fault, a couple of days paid."

  I breathed a little easier. At least he wouldn't be stressed about money, and a couple of days sitting on his ass would be good for him.

  "Why aren't you icing it?" I asked, finally releasing him.

  "It's fine. I don't feel it." He waved me off and went to work chopping onions and grating cheese.

  "Please put ice on it later. For me?"