Blurred Lines (Love Unexpectedly 1)

I take a deep breath. “Sure!”

I pour myself a weak vodka tonic from the boozy selection sitting out on my kitchen counter and venture into the living room.

The scene looks pretty much exactly like it sounded.

A bunch of half-drunk people are plopped around the room alternating among watching TV, talking over one another, and singing the wrong lyrics to the music.

I recognize a few of the guys as Ben’s football buddies; they’re an okay bunch. A little noisy whenever they come to our place to watch a game, but polite. And they’ve always been pretty cool about using coasters without my having to remind them.

But coasters are clearly not on the agenda tonight. Red keg cups cover virtually every surface, and I feel a little surge of annoyance because it all feels so…college-y.

An overly muscled guy in the corner notices me first—Roy? Ray?—I forget his name.

“Hey, it’s Roomie!” he says, in a too-loud voice.

Eight heads swivel around to see me standing awkwardly in the doorway.

Roomie is what Ben’s friends call me. Probably because they don’t remember my name, but I don’t take offense since I didn’t remember Roy/Ray’s name just now.

I lift a hand in a dorky hi gesture, and I tell myself that I’m not going to let my eyes seek out Ben, but of course they do.

Hard to miss him with the big-boobed blonde sitting in his lap.

Ben’s eyes go wide. “Parks?”

I smile faintly.

“What happened to—” Ben starts to get up, but clearly isn’t sure how to maneuver Blondie off his lap, and I hold up my hand quickly, telling him to stay.

I debate my next move, wondering if it’s too late to retreat upstairs.

A couple of the guys give me a what’s up before turning back to the TV, but most of the girls are still staring at me curiously.

I’m used to this.

Not because I think I’m something to look at, but because it’s a boozy Friday night. Sex is likely on everyone’s brain, which means everybody’s trying to figure out who will pair with whom, and none of the girls like that there’s another female in the mix.

John comes up behind me with his refilled drink, his hand finding rest on my back. “What are you doing in the doorway? Come sit. Joe, move your ass, man. Make room for Parker.”

There’s really no choice but to move forward, and I let John maneuver me next to a zoned-out-looking girl with pink tips in her blond hair. John settles

on the other side of me. He sits close, but not too close, and I have a feeling he’s protecting me from Joe, who, honest to God, seems to be staring at my crotch.

I shift, wondering why I feel so awkward. It’s certainly not the first time Ben’s had people over whom I don’t know all that well.

Nor is it the first time I’ve watched him make moves on a girl right in front of my face.

It didn’t used to bother me.

It doesn’t bother me now.

So why do I feel like I’m going to be sick to my stomach?

I take a sip of my drink, letting my eyes sneak back over to my left, where Ben and Blondie are sitting on the L part of our sectional couch.

I’m struck by the irrational thought that it’s my couch. My Ben.

Snap out of it, I tell myself.