My Brother's Best Man

CHAPTERNINE

Becca

I used to think I was content with my life in England.

It’s not that I was crazily happy. But I had my photography course and I’m close with Mom and Dad. I have a couple of friends, though nothing like what I share with June back home. The time back home shows how much I cling to the East Coast.

But ever since the kiss with Ben – almost three weeks ago now – I’ve found it difficult to focus on anything.

Even today, as I walk through the park with my camera in my hand, I can’t stop thinking about the taste of his lips, the texture of them, and the way his body seemed to swell like his muscles were bursting.

I don’t care.

That’s what he said about my virginity, but the anxiety gripping me was too fierce to stop, to have a proper conversation about it.

We were in Alex’s apartment. My big brother’s apartment.

If I didn’t leave, we might’ve done more there. Ben’s hand would’ve completed its journey down my pants, between my legs, massaging and rubbing until I melted in a way I never have before.

I’ve got a day off from the restaurant, where I’m working for the summer break. I’ve got no more school for three months…and in a month and a week, I’ll be back in the States again. I might even finish my studies there.

With Ben.

I try to push the notion away.

Ben hasn’t contacted me since I left, and I’ve avoided him too. At least, I’ve made sure not to reach out to him.

That doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking about him nonstop; looking at pictures of him, my crush returning with ten times the force, now I know it has some basis in reality.

He wants me. He doesn’t care that I’m a virgin.

Everything’s perfect, except for the fact he and Alex are best friends.

Ah.

I want to hate it, but I can’t.

Alex’s social media shows how well they’re doing, both of them smiling as they open another gym…though Ben’s smile seems sharper, darker somehow like he’s hiding a secret.

And he is. We can never take back that kiss.

The social media page for the gym franchise shows videos of Ben teaching classes; the kids seem thrilled to have a championship boxer and minor celebrity in their midst. I often watch these at the easy way Ben talks with the kids, his muscles throbbing and massive in his gym-branded T-shirt.

These videos are the perfect example of why Ben drives me so freaking crazy. There he is, his muscles glimmering in the lights, his eyes intense and focused.

But whenever a kid asks a question or asks for help, Ben responds in the best way, showing me what an incredible father he’s going to make.

My body pulses at that thought. I know I shouldn’t let my mind go there.

As I walk around the pond, looking for possible photos, I can’t help but think of how much sweeter this would be with my family. Except, lately, I don’t think about Mom and Dad and Alex when I think about my family. I don’t even think about June, who’s been like a sister to me since we were little.

I think of the fictional family, the one that can never exist.

I feel Ben’s hand in mine. I imagine looking up to find him smiling warmly down at me. I think about what it will be like when our children are running ahead in the park, their laughter clashing in the air.

It’s easy to imagine a little boy or girl turning to me, with their father’s – with Ben’s – intense eyes. And maybe with my wavy hair.

They’ll have a camera on a strap around their neck, and it’ll look adorably cute in their small hands.