Frenemies with Benefits (Searching for Love Book 1) Page 2

  I check my transit app and mutter a curse under my breath. The bus is still 15 minutes away.

  My teeth are chattering by the time I reach the bus stop, so I decide to duck into the 7-Eleven across the street. I can warm up and grab a cup of coffee.

  I take my time adding cream and sugar. I probably won’t even drink the whole cup, but at least it will keep my hands warm. I watch the white cream dissolve into the darkness of the coffee, and I stir it until the whole thing is a nice tan color.

  I pay at the register and then reload the transit app. Still 7 minutes away.

  As I turn towards the exit, my eye catches on the slushie machine, and I feel a throb of nostalgia. I used to love getting the cherry slushies on hot summer days.

  I smile as I remember I convinced my friend Sara to dump some red slushie all over her shirt so we could pretend it was blood and play a prank on our friend Amy. It didn’t work. Cherry slushie is not the right shade of red, but we couldn’t stop laughing that afternoon.

  My smile vanishes as I see a tall figure at the end of the aisle. His back is to me as he’s examining the contents of a fridge, but the way his slightly-too-long dark hair flips up at the back sends a chill through my heart.

  It’s not him, I tell myself. I’m being paranoid. What are the odds that my teenage crush/local drug dealer Zach O’Malley just so happens to be in this very 7-Eleven at the same time as me?

  I scamper to the next aisle. The odds are actually very high if he still lives in Torrins.

  I don’t know what Zach did after I left. In fact, I haven’t seen him since that awful summer when I finally left my mom’s place and moved back in with my grandmother. For the first few years of college, I would be tempted to ask old friends about him, but pride forced me to hold my tongue.

  I haven’t thought about him in ages, but the idea of him still drifting around Torrins dabbling in illegal activities makes me sad. I know he never wanted that kind of life. Or at least, that’s what he said to me when he was nineteen. I believed him, but I was so smitten I would have believed him if he said the sky was pink.

  I know I should make a break for the exit, but I can’t help from peering around the corner to get one more look.

  I still can’t see the man’s face, but my gut tells me it’s him. His shoulders are broader, and his hair is shorter, but there’s something about the way he’s standing, with his feet wide apart and his arms crossed, that sends a jolt of familiarity through me.

  I suck in my breath and pull back. Time to leave. I am not up to exchanging pleasantries with Zach O’Malley. I’ve gone 10 years without seeing him, and I’m hoping to go another 10 years. The guy is bad news, dressed up in a package of good looks and charisma.

  I clutch my coffee in one hand and flip my hood up with the other as I push open the door. The wind bites my cheeks as I cross the street to the bus stop. It’s so cold that tears spring into my eyes. The tip of my nose is going to turn bright red; it always does in weather like this.

  I shift from foot to foot as I wait for the bus. I’m almost embarrassed at how I reacted to the mere sight of him. It was a schoolgirl crush, nothing more.

  Well. It was a little bit more. We had a fling the summer after my junior year of high school. My mom was getting more and more involved with drug dealers like Finn. Zach’s dad, Dave O’Malley, was Finn’s right-hand man. So Zach was always around.

  I hated that summer. I hated my mom, and I hated everyone she was associated with, and I hated my life.

  But, I never hated Zach. In fact, I adored him. He was so funny and charming. He had a way of lighting up a room with his smile. And when he fixed his sparkling eyes on me, I couldn’t help but smile back.

  We used to sneak into the alleyway outside my mom’s apartment building and talk for hours. My cheeks burn as I remember how he used to kiss me.

  It never went farther than that, but even so, I get a strange flutter in my stomach when I remember those handful of times. We never even went on a real date. It’s not fair that I still get all flushed at the memories of him.

  My throat closes up in panic as I raise my eyes and see him, standing across the street. He’s in the 7-Eleven parking lot, and this time he’s facing me. He’s at a distance, but as far as I can tell, the past decade has been good to him. He looks as handsome as ever.

  I see his mouth move, and my heart starts racing when I realize he’s mouthing my name. He raises his hand in greeting, but just then the bus comes to a screeching halt.

  I snap myself out of my daze and climb aboard. I tap my card and make a beeline for a seat in the back. I sit down and stare straight ahead until we are several blocks away from Zach and that stupid 7-Eleven that I am never going to enter ever again.

  Zach may have been cute and funny, but he’s from the darkest chapter of my life. When I moved in with Deborah, I left all that behind for good. I spent all of senior year ignoring my mother’s phone calls and working with my grandma and the college counselor to get financial aid for schools.

  He doesn’t mean anything to me. It was just awkward to see him out of the blue like that.

  I keep telling that to myself during the entire thirty minute bus ride. I continue to remind myself that he means nothing then I get on the red line.

  If he means nothing, why was it so gut wrenching to look at him? During the long commute, I can’t find an answer for that question.

  Chapter Two

  I let out a fake laugh for about the thousandth time in the last hour. I’m on a long call with a promising client, and I think I can close the deal today, but it does require me to laugh at all his bad puns.

  I glance at my manager Laura, and she gives me a thumbs up sign. I roll my eyes and adjust my headset. Laura is intense, and if I don’t close this deal, she’s not going to take any excuses. She’s tough, but her take-no-prisoners attitude is why we are the top-producing team in the office.

  “I understand you have reservations,” I say. “But your competitors already have been spending twice as much as you for months. We need to set something in motion now, so we can start monitoring results.”

  That’s the secret to selling over the phone. It doesn’t matter if you’re not really saying anything, as long as you say it with confidence.

  He tells a joke about how he’s like a bee that can’t make up his mind, so he’s a “maybe.”

  I don’t even bother with a fake laugh this time before I launch into my no-nonsense speech. “Look, Ralph, you are an expert on your own business. I’m not. All I know is how this online advertising program works. So I’m sending you over the details on a three month program, we can walk through it together. Open your email, it should be in your inbox.”

  It’s a risk to be too pushy, but Ralph has been on the phone with me for an hour. He wants to buy, or he wouldn’t have spent so much time talking with me.

  Twenty minutes later, I’ve closed the deal. Laura is pumping her first and my teammates are high-fiving me.

  I settle back at my desk with a smile. I took a job in sales right out of the college because it had a solid salary, health insurance and a 401k. Those things might sound boring, but I spent my whole adolescent years yearning for such staples of responsibility.

  Over the last few years, I’ve worked my way up to the best team in the office, and I make impressive commission checks every month. At the end of each month, I go out with my teammates to celebrate, and I watch some of my co-workers take way too many tequila shots than is good for them.

  It’s a fine job, and I don’t really think about trying something else.

  You have to understand, I didn’t grow up dreaming about some highly-specific and fulfilling career. I dreamed of a job that was legal. That’s it.

  “Hey, Beatrice, happy hour at 5?”

  I look up from my computer to see Tony leaning over my computer. He’s the big partier on our team. He closes deals by bullying clients, which is definitely not my style, but it works for him. And he’s not
so bad. He’s alway down for a drink after work.

  “Maybe,” I say.

  Tony grins and walks away. It’s still an hour before 5, but I already know I’m going to end up bailing.

  It’s been three days since my alarming run-in with Zach, and I still keep thinking about it.

  Not that it can even be classified as a “run-in.” For it to actually be called a “run-in,” we would have had to talk to each other. Or at least stand within five feet of each other. Or make an actual eye contact not separated by moving traffic.

  It was a glimpse, not a run-in.

  That’s what I’ve been telling myself anyway.

  I shouldn’t be this shaken up by a glimpse. I haven’t thought about my youth in detail in ages. Frankly, it’s a little depressing. I would much rather reminisce about my fun college years when I finally started to feel like I was on the right path in life.

  College was when I stopped being Beatrice Dobbs, the child of a drug-dealing alcoholic teen mom, and I started being my own self. That was all I wanted to be. Just Beatrice, no sob story attached.

  The truth is, I’ve always been something of an optimist. I like to look at the glass as being half-full, and I know that even in difficult circumstances, it’s always possible to laugh about something. Having to come home to my mother every day and see the crumbled beer cans in the kitchen trash made it hard to be optimistic. Once I got away from all that, it was all too easy to be cheerful.

  I cringe as I remember that Zach also made it easy to be cheerful. No matter how mad I was at my mom, I would always flush with excitement when he showed up. We didn’t even spend that much time together, but every few weeks he would find me at the park or meet me when I finished a waitressing shift at the local diner I worked at.

  I remind myself that he was so busy that summer because he was running drugs. His dad made him do it, and he told me once that he didn’t want to, but he still did it. I can’t be lusting after a drug dealer. My sixteen-year-old self gets a pass because she was young and miserable, but I’m an adult now. I have standards.

  Although maybe he’s not a drug dealer anymore. He didn’t look totally sketchy at the 7-Eleven the other day. He even looked healthy. Like he works out and spends time in the fresh air.

  I shake my head and turn back to my computer. I don’t even know what he looked like the other day. I barely saw him. It was only a glimpse. Not at all a run-in.

  I don’t have any emails though, so I end up spending the last few minutes of the workday telling myself that it would be absolutely unprofessional to Google Zach O’Malley’s name on my work computer.

  It’s not like he has a LinkedIn. I mean, it’s possible he does, but I would keel over in shock if he did. The day Zach O’Malley becomes a polished professional is the day hell freezes over.

  Then again, it has been a decade. A lot can happen in ten years.

  The workday draws to a close, and everyone starts to push away from their desks and gather their coats and bags. My office has this very modern techy layout where all the desks are in rows, out in the open. Not even the top managers have private offices because it’s supposed to be anti-walls or something. I’m pretty sure the open layout is more so that everyone can be watched. Salespeople tend to only perform under pressure.

  “Alright, Dobbs, drinks?” Tony calls everyone by their last names. I think it makes him feel like he’s on a sports team.

  “I’m actually gonna pass,” I say. “I’m tired.”

  “Alright, no sweat.” He gives me an easy wave and heads for the elevators.

  I follow, but I pull out my phone. I’m done talking to myself about Zach. I need a distraction. Who knows? Maybe if I vent about Zach and all the memories of seeing him are brought to the surface, the temptation to stalk him on the internet will fade.

  I have only three friends I want to talk to right now. Right now Zoe’s out of town for work, and Marianne is busy rehearsing. She’s a singer and has an upcoming gig.

  I text Elena. She’ll be finishing up after a long day of teaching middle schoolers, and I’m sure she won’t say no if I offer to bring food.

  By the time I’m on the train, Elena has responded saying that of course I can meet her at her apartment. I smile. I live in Lincoln Park, and Elena lives in Lakeview, so I only need to take the train one extra stop. I text her that I’ll swing by our favorite taco place on my way.

  Seeing Zach in Torrins threw me. I like to think that I’m a self-aware person, so I can admit that something about him riles me up a bit. It doesn’t have to though.

  I can still turn this week around. I’ll talk it out with Elena. That’s all I need.

  The past – Zach included – is one giant skeleton in my closet. And sometimes you have to peak into that closet and have a nice chat with the skeleton, just so it doesn’t come looking for you instead.

  Chapter Three

  I’m glad Elena is the one who was available tonight. Zoe and Marianne are great, but for stressful moments like these, Elena is the best.

  Something about her kind brown eyes and non-judgmental nature make people want to open up. I’ve seen people spill deep dark secrets to Elena after an hour of conversation with her. No one trusts me like that. An ex-boyfriend told me it’s something about my cat-like eyes and high cheekbones. He said it always looked like I was planning some wicked scheme. He was a bit dramatic, but he might have had a point because I’m never the obvious choice when it comes to a confidant. However, when someone needs tough love and some sarcastic humor, I’m the go-to girl.

  Elena greets me with a big smile when I arrive.

  “I come bearing gifts.” I lift the bag of tacos high, and Elena claps her hands.

  “Thank you,” she says. “I’ve had a long day.”

  Elena spends her days teaching literature to eighth-graders who would much rather be on social media than reading any book. Every day is a long day.

  We settle down at the small round table that Elena has shoved against her window. She has a tiny apartment, but she’s made it look pretty nice. The walls are covered with artistic postcards from the museums, and she has twinkle lights dangling over a colorful tapestry.

  “So.” Elena grabs a taco off the plate I’ve spread them out on and gives me a knowing smile. “What’s up?”

  “Why do you think something’s up?” I widen my eyes in a display of innocence. “Can’t I just spontaneously visit my dear friend?”

  “Something’s up,” Elena says. “I can tell.”

  She takes a massive bite of her taco and regards me as she chews.

  “Do you have like a radar built in or something?” I ask. “Seriously, how do you always know?”

  “It’s called sympathy and intuition,” Elena says. “Ever heard of them?”

  “Oh yeah, I tried to download those a few weeks ago, but it was taking too long.”

  Elena giggles at my joke and continues eating. She’s good at waiting. Unlike me, Elena has patience in spades.

  I fiddle with my napkin and stare at the table. “I visited my grandma last weekend.”

  Elena raises her eyebrows. All my close friends know about my relationship with my grandmother, as well as my lack of relationship with my mother. I don’t enjoy talking about my past, and I don’t go out of my way to share my whole sob story with anyone, but I’ve opened up to my close friends. I’ve told Elena the most. She has never been nosy, and she’s never asked probing questions, but over long cups of coffee or during late nights in a dorm, I’ve shared details with Elena that I’ve never told anyone else. Like I said, something about her just makes you want to unload your grievances.

  “Did something happen?” Elena asks. “Is she ok?”

  “Yeah, she’s fine, it’s not about her.” I heave a sigh. “You know how my mom was dealing drugs? That last summer I lived with her?”

  Elena looks terrified. “You saw your mom?”

  She knows I haven’t seen my mother since I was a freshman in colleg
e. She is aware that I don’t speak to her. I don’t speak about my mother either. Even Elena has only heard me mention my mom a few times.

  “No, no,” I say. “But remember how there was that guy, who was also kind of a drug dealer. Or his dad was anyway.”

  “The one you dated?”

  “We did not date.” I give Elena a fierce glare. I never once used the word “date” in relation to Zach O’Malley, of that I’m sure.

  “Sorry, sorry.” Elena gives me a smile and holds up her hands. “The one you had mild romantic moments with.”

  “When I was seventeen,” I say, just to emphasize how unimportant he was in the grand scheme of things. Seriously, there should be some sort of rule that anyone you crush on or kiss before the age of 18 doesn’t have to count.

  “I don’t remember his name,” Elena says. “I don’t know if you ever mentioned it.”

  “Zach. His name was Zach.” I cross my arms. “And I saw him when I was in Torrins.”

  “Oh.” Elena flashes me a gentle look. “Running into an ex is hard.”

  “He is not my ex,” I say.

  “Ok, I don’t know what to call him.” Elena reaches over and pats my hand. “Was it awkward?”

  “I mean, we didn’t talk,” I say. “Or interact at all.”

  “You ran away?”

  “I didn’t run away.” My mouth twists in a wry grin. “At least, I wasn’t technically running, just walking fast.”

  Elena tips back her head and laughs. I can tell she’s relieved that I’m joking about it. If I were to be dead serious about the whole thing, then she would be truly concerned.

  “It really wasn’t a big deal,” I say. “It just shook me up a bit.”

  Elena nods and makes a small humming noise. “I can imagine.”

  “Oh, did you date a drug dealer in high school too?” I layer on the sarcasm, but my tone isn’t too scathing.

  “I thought you didn’t date him,” Elena fires back.