Friends with Benefits(3)

"Why?"


"I rear-ended someone because I was jamming too hard to Backstreet Boys.  I can't help it. You know what happens to me when their music comes on.  It's like I'm fourteen all over again. How is that not embarrassing?"


Steven chuckled. "Chance thought it was kind of endearing."


"Endearing. That's my middle name," I said as the waitress returned with  our bottle of wine. She poured mine first. I smelled it and took a sip,  pretending to know what I was doing, before smiling approvingly. She  topped up my glass and then filled Steven's, and we were once again left  on our own.


Between the arrival of our meals, we discussed all the new things going  on with us since I had seen Steven last. I told him all about my boss  and how needy he had been lately. He told me about new developments with  his app, and the potential new direction he was going to take it.         

     



 


"Oh, Andrew says hi, by the way," Steven said after a sip of wine. "I  saw him yesterday evening. He asked about you, so naturally, he knows  the whole Backstreet Boys fiasco as well."


I groaned and buried my face in my palms. "You're just the worst," I lied.


Steven only seemed encouraged by my humiliation. He laughed mostly to  himself, but when he realized that I was genuinely mortified, he  apologized. "Listen, things like that happen to people all the time."


"Oh, really?" I asked skeptically. I took a sip of wine and shook my  head. "I highly doubt things like that happen to you. You don't get  embarrassed."


"Sure I do."


"Liar."


"I am not." Steven laughed. "Two weekends ago I had a terrible evening  with a girl who insisted on calling me ‘Kent' because she thought I  looked like Superman. Also, I should note, she was drunk when she  arrived at dinner and smelled like she had just rolled out of a smoke  room."


"Wow, that must have been terrible for you," I said sarcastically. "How  dare she insult you by suggesting you look like a Kryptonian God."


"You're such a dork."


I shrugged my shoulders. That was true, and he and I both knew it. I  held up one finger and fixed him under my accusing stare. "Let me guess,  despite your humiliation," I said while performing air quotes, "you  still went through with the whole date, took her home, and made sweet  love to her." I hated that the words were coming out of my mouth, but it  was a defense mechanism. I knew I could never be the kind of girl that  Steven laid with or loved. Not that I had ever heard of him loving  anyone besides his mother. So I had to settle for the friend who sat and  listened to him talk about the women he had sex with. Sometimes, I  would go home and envision myself as one of those women.


"Well," he said, leaning back in his chair and draping his arm over the  backrest. "I didn't not sleep with her, that's for sure. She was hot,  and definitely kinky, and definitely worth the awkward meal."


I rolled my eyes to conceal how uncomfortable I was. "So predictable, Steven Marx, so predictable."


"And you're not, Allie Wright? Let me guess, you spent your weekend cuddled up in your pajamas drinking tea and watching TV."


"That's beside the point," I said defensively.


"I'm not trying to make a point. I'm just saying. Don't judge me and my extracurricular activities when you don't have any."


"I don't want to fuck strangers, okay?"


Steven winked at me. I knew I would be thinking about that while I tried to fall asleep later.


"Fucking strangers is great. No strings attached. No expectations. Just sex. I'm telling you, you should try it."


"Mmm, no thanks. I'll stick to watching my Netflix shows, thank you very much."


"Suit yourself," Steven said as the waitress arrived with our food.


While we ate, we discussed less sensitive things, which I was grateful  for. We laughed a lot, as always, and shared food off of each other's  plates. This was routine for us; Steven ordered steak while I ordered  pasta tossed in a creamy marinara sauce. This way we both got the best  of both worlds. Sometimes, if I were really lucky, Steven would feed me  pieces of meat from his fork, and I would pretend for the briefest  moment that I was his date. His real date.


When both of our plates were empty, I dabbed my mouth with my napkin,  leaned back, and patted my belly. "Well, that hit the spot," I said  happily.


Steven agreed and plucked the dessert menu from its holder beside the  salt and pepper. "Sure was. Want to share dessert? I've been craving  chocolate for at least four days now and haven't gotten around to  satisfying my sweet tooth."


I could relate. I'd been craving Steven for eight years and had never been able to satisfy that itch.


"Sure," I said, "I'll have a couple bites."


"Uh huh, says the girl who's infamous for promising she isn't hungry but  eats a man's whole order of french fries five minutes later."


"You know me too well," I smiled, resting my elbows on the table and  placing my chin in my hands. I watched Steven read the menu. His eyes  scanned the text back and forth, and the muscles in his sharp jaw worked  while he deliberated what he wanted. I sighed.


Steven looked up. "Everything alright?"


"What?"


"You sighed, you okay?"


"Oh, yes," I said, feeling my cheeks starting to burn. "I didn't even notice I did it. Sorry."         

     



 


"Don't be sorry, you're allowed to sigh."


"Right," I said, chewing the inside of my cheek. I resented the flutter of nervousness that started in my belly.


Steven tossed the menu down and scanned the room for our server. He  really was craving something sweet. I watched his blue eyes settle on  the waitress, and he waved her over. He ordered a brownie of some sort  that I was sure would be the size of his fist. Then he turned back to me  and mimicked my pose by resting his chin in his hands.


"So," he said. "What's your plan for the rest of the night?"


"Well, now that you mention it, I was wondering if you wanted to come  over. I have popcorn with cheddar seasoning, and was thinking we could  watch a movie or something?" I had deliberately mentioned the cheddar  seasoning. I knew it was his favorite, and he had a hard time ever  turning down salty snacks.


Steven pouted his lips at me and shook his head. My heart sank before he  started speaking. "Sorry, Allie, but tonight is no good for me. I have  an early start and a busy day tomorrow. Rain check?"


"Yes, of course," I said, unable to stop the gut-wrenching thought of  Steven going home to invite another woman over so that he could screw  her brains out. I knew the sorts of things he got up to in his spare  time. I didn't resent him for it. I just wished it was me, and that I  was enough for him.


The brownie appeared in front of us along with our bill. Steven swiped  it off the table and insisted he pay the tab. I put up a small fight but  conceded when he threatened to not let me have any of the brownie. We  shared the sweet treat, and I left all the whip cream and caramel  drizzle for him.


When the plate looked as if it had been licked clean, we both collected  our jackets and made for the door. We emerged on the sidewalk, pressed  up against each other to ward off the chill in the night air. Steven  waved down a cab for me, and being the good friend that he was, paid my  fare. He also told the cabbie in a somewhat protective, threatening  voice, to make sure that he got me home safely and waited outside my  house until I was inside.


"Steven, honestly, I can take care of myself," I said as he crouched down in front of the open back door.


He watched me fasten my seatbelt. "Unless Backstreet Boys is playing. Then it's mayhem."


The laughter that bubbled up out of me made Steven laugh. He leaned in  and kissed my cheek, squeezed my shoulder, and wished me a good night.  Then he closed the door, and I watched him through the back window of  the cab as we drove down the street. He stood with his hands in the  pockets of his jeans and watched us drive away until we disappeared  around the corner.


I sighed and fell heavily against the leather seat.


"Good date?" the cabbie asked me, looking at me in his rear-view mirror.


"No," I said. "Not really."


"Shame, maybe the next one, right?"


I offered him a forced smile and nodded, then spent the rest of the  fifteen-minute drive home staring out the window, wondering if Steven  was on his way home to meet one of the many girls whose numbers were  saved in his phone.


I tried to reassure myself that he was not. That instead, he would be  spending the night alone in his own bed in preparation for the busy day  he had told me was ahead of him tomorrow. I failed miserably at it and  continued to dwell in self-pity until the cab pulled up to the curb in  front of my home.