Page 43 of Friends to Lovers

chapter twenty-six

“Sister’s back in Portland!” Stevie shrieks from the window of her car when I walk out of PDX, bags in tow.

I race toward her, the hood of my down coat jostling off my head. She pops her trunk and I throw my things in before diving into her passenger seat, leaning across the console to hug her to me.

“Welcome back to Oregon!” she says as she pulls out of the pickup area, reaching forward to crank up the music so loud we have to shout over it.

Ren would have picked me up at the airport, but Stevie insisted she be the one to get me, and I insisted to Ren that we don’t let on that anything is happening between us until we see each other in person again, so we couldn’t push back too much.

Some part of me is still scared of the enormity of this, still reeling from realizing my feelings for Ren existed at all, from how all-consuming they’d become, how quickly I’d been willing to put our history, our entire friendship at risk to satisfy my own curiosity.

Not only our friendship, but our families’.

What ties us all together began long before Ren or me.

What if we told everyone, and then Ren changed his mind about us?

What if he woke up and decided he did love Amanda?

Where would that leave our families? The house?

Would things be able to just go back to normal?

My knee starts to bounce the closer we get to Sublimity.

For the past four months it’s felt like we’ve been inching toward some kind of finish line that kept moving ever farther away.

First, Ren was going to come to New York in September, but then his dad had a minor health scare, and he had to cancel last minute.

Greg was fine, he assured me every time we talked, but it had still frightened us, made me feel even more distant from everyone.

My parents, Stevie, and I spent Thanksgiving with Charlene and Mavis, assuming we would all be in Oregon for Christmas, but then I got promoted to lead fabricator and the movie was approved in early December, so I stayed in the city with a coworker to get ahead on the principal characters.

But now, Sasha’s New Year’s Eve wedding the day after tomorrow, that finish line is in sight.

I try to grab on to it, this moment I’ve been anticipating for so many months, but by the time we’re parking on Mississippi, my knee’s movement is almost violent, knocking against the car door.

I trail Stevie inside, my heart feeling like it might rattle my teeth right out of my jaw at the prospect of seeing Ren.

We had to say goodbye so quickly after Willow and Martin’s wedding that I’m not sure what this looks like: us, together, more than friends.

The band is still setting up, but Ren’s preshow playlist is playing over the speakers, people already bobbing their heads at the high tops and up by the stage. Sublimity seems almost new to me, a reminder of how long it’s been since I’ve been here.

Stevie is saying something to me about Mom, when she and Dad will arrive ahead of the rehearsal dinner tomorrow. I hear only half of it as I scan the room, neck craning, searching, nerves tingling up and down my arms.

When I spot him through the crowd, on the opposite side of the room, I fully tune her out.

He’s behind the bar, angled away from me as he talks to tonight’s bartender.

His arms are folded in front of him, hands on his biceps, a worn flannel I want to take off him and burrow into every night rolled up to reveal his forearms.

He laughs, throwing his head back, and then sees me out of the corner of his eyes.

He’s already smiling, but now his whole face lights up, and how didn’t I see it before.

I want to reach into the past and shake myself— He’s right there!

Look up for two seconds! It’s like my blood flows faster as I take stock of the tiny ways he’s changed in the last four months.

The messy wave of his hair, the sharp line of his jaw.

Maybe none of it is actually new. Maybe each time I’ve seen him again, he’s been this perfect.

He rounds the corner of the bar and weaves through the crowd toward me. Stevie keeps gabbing, and all of a sudden I’m finding it hard to move.

Ren is a few feet away now, and he’s real, and then he’s scooping me up into his arms, and I’m nestling my face just below his shoulder, inhaling, every synapse in me firing. Relief like I’ve never felt before, that I didn’t even know I needed, washes through me.

“Hi,” he says, low, in my ear.

“Hi,” I say over a tightness in my throat at how good it is to be wrapped up in him, at every feeling I’ve been sorting through since Boston. “I can’t believe it’s you.”

He leans just his head back, smiling down at me, our bodies still pressed together. I risk hanging on to him a second longer.

Stevie coughs.

We both whip our heads around. I’m the first to let go, Ren’s hands dropping from me as I turn to her.

“I need a drink,” she says.

Ren nods us in the direction of the bar, ducking behind it while we stand at one end. He’s not bartending tonight, but he makes us our drinks before sidling back out.

“Hey,” I say, motioning up at the stage where a lanky, golden-haired guy is fiddling with a mic stand while another sets up a drum kit, the name Bearcat on the kick drum. “Weren’t they in Boston?” I remember them—an indie rock group we saw at the festival.

“Yeah,” he says. “We just signed them.”

“Seriously? And they still didn’t give you an A&R position?” Indignation flashes through me.

“It’s fine,” he says. Something in his face wavers for a second, but then he’s smiling down at me in a way that has me wanting to sink back into him. One thing at a time , I tell myself. Try to enjoy being back together before you start overanalyzing every tiny thing, Joni.

We walk over to the stage, where he jumps up to assist with setup. He holds a hand out to help me up, then reaches down for Stevie.

“Hey, Leo,” he calls to the lead singer as he unravels a cord. “This is Joni.”

I shake Leo’s hand. “This is—” I turn, but Stevie is squatted down at the front of the stage, brow furrowed as she reads over their setlist.

“Is ‘Kiss on My List’ just a cover, or do you have your own song called that?” she asks no one in particular as she straightens. “Because I think you’d be better off with a different Hall and Oates song. ‘Private Eyes,’ maybe?”

She pivots toward us, and her gaze locks on to Leo. She lifts her glass to her mouth but misses her straw, tongue searching for it.

“Stevie, this is Leo,” I say slowly. My eyes flick to Ren’s across from me. He’s grabbed a guitar, pick between his teeth, and he matches my expression at the way Stevie’s acting. “Leo, St—”

“Stevie,” he cuts in, bypassing me and walking over to my sister. “I’ll sing ‘Private Eyes’ tonight if you want.”

Stevie shrugs a shoulder, straw finally in her mouth. “If you want to,” she says casually, but I can see the way she fiddles with her skirt.

I watch the two of them talk in ever-shortening sentences, bantering back and forth as their bodies drift closer. Ren steps around them to me, twisting the tuning pegs of the guitar as he plucks at the strings.

“Are they—” he says, glancing between Stevie and Leo.

“I know ,” I say, fascinated by whatever strange mating ritual is unfolding in front of us. Stevie is usually a hi-and-goodbye type of person, sure that they’ll find her if they want her. But now, she’s smiling, fiddling with her hair, giving no indication of leaving.

The two of us study them in awe. Ren eventually leans over and sets the guitar on its stand, and I’m drawn away from the conversation and back to his movements, the flex of the tendons in his forearms, the height difference between us when he straightens again.

“Hey,” he says, grazing a hand against me that feels as good as if he’d slid it under my clothes.

“Want to put your coat in the back room?”

I’d hardly realized I was still wearing it. I shuck it off, begin to fold it over my arm before Ren grabs it from me and tosses it over his shoulder.

“Come on,” he says, jerking his head in the direction of a door marked Employees Only at the side of the stage.

We let our fingers intertwine as he leads me to it, knowing Stevie is too busy flirting—or not flirting, I’m not totally sure what is happening there—to notice.

The door closes behind us and we walk down a hallway and into a small room I’ve been in before. It houses an ancient pool table that one too many people have set their beers on, its slight slant favorable or disastrous depending on where you’re shooting from.

“Can’t believe Bessie’s still around,” I say as Ren sets my coat on a chair by the door. I rest my back against the edge of the table.

“You haven’t been gone that long,” he says as he comes over, runs his hands down my sides to my hips, thumbs just tucking into the waistband of my jeans. “She’s still got some life left in her.”

I raise an eyebrow as he lifts me in one quick move onto the table, steps between my legs. I hook two fingers in the belt loops of his dark jeans. “I don’t know about that, with what you have in mind.”

“I can’t imagine what you’re talking about,” Ren says, lips curving against where he’s dropped them to my neck. “I’m just saying hi to an old friend.”

“You greet all your friends like this?” I ask, the same ache I’ve felt so many times over the last four months settling deep in me when he tilts my hips closer to him.

He shakes his head, pulls away to look at me. “Just you,” he says. “Only ever you.”

I tip my face up to his, smile just before he kisses me.

By the time the sounds of a guitar drift through the walls, Ren’s flannel is pushed off his shoulders, the hem of his T-shirt raised up so I can explore the contours of his abdomen.

His hands are warm under my sweater, one at my waist, the other working over the lacy fabric of my bra until I can’t breathe, something in me arching me closer, seeking more friction, more pressure, more him.

“Mmm,” he hums against my mouth as a drumbeat kicks in. “I’ve got to do sound check.”

“We’re not at Sublimity,” I say as he slowly drags himself away from me.

I’m not ready for this to stop. It’s been months of waiting, of talking on the phone late into the night, always dancing around the topic of what we mean to each other now.

“We’re somewhere far away, just the two of us, no responsibilities. ”

“I’d love to take that trip with you,” Ren says as he turns to adjust himself, then shrugs his flannel back on, his palms coming to rest on my thighs. I fold his collar down. “Maybe whatever wedding we go to next.”

But my only real fantasy at the moment is being alone with him. “No. No weddings. Just you and me and nothing to do but each other.”

Ren’s eyes sparkle as his hands slide up and settle on my waist. “Are you saying you won’t be my plus-one anymore? Is our tradition dead?”

I pretend to think, squinting over his shoulder. “I could be talked into it,” I say. “No one’s a better dancer than you.”

“It is what I’m known for,” Ren says.

I kiss him one more time, long and hard, before hopping off the table. “Come on, slacker,” I say, tugging my sweater back down. “You’ve got a job to do.”

* * *

In the open booth at the back of the room, Ren performs sound check, adjusting volume levels while I sit on a stool next to him.

“Bass is good,” he says from his own stool, nodding toward the stage.

I flash a thumbs-up at Leo, my small contribution so I can continue being close to Ren.

I can’t seem to leave his side. “Mic two.” I hold up two fingers and Leo shifts over onstage.

“You’re a natural,” Ren says, bumping his shoulder against mine.

Eventually, Stevie wanders over from the bar, eyes stuck on the stage.

“Hey,” she calls over the repeated tap tap tap of the drums. “Any chance Joni could crash with you tonight, Ren?”

Ren doesn’t look away from the stage, just swivels on his stool the tiniest bit so his knee nudges mine, something silent passing between us. My chest lifts at an excuse to spend more time with him. The schedule is packed with wedding prep and family time starting tomorrow.

“Of course she can,” he says, his knee pressing closer in the booth, out of Stevie’s line of sight.

“Why do I need to stay with Ren tonight, Stevie?” I ask, smirking.

She rolls her eyes skyward in a you know why move. “You can get your things out of my car if you need to.”

“Oh, I’m sure I can just borrow one of Ren’s T-shirts to sleep in,” I say. I turn back to him, pat his shoulder as I sit up straight. “Can’t I, friend?”

His cheeks have gone a little pink, jaw flickering like he’s trying to suppress a smile. He scrubs a hand over the top of my head. “Of course you can, Joni.”

I grin at Stevie. “You and Leo have a great night.”

She straightens her skirt, smooths her tights, and walks back to the stage.

“Smooth,” Ren says. “She’ll have no idea now.”

“Please,” I say, watching as my sister leans up against the stage toward Leo. “She’s not thinking about anything else tonight.”

When I look back at Ren, he’s smiling at me, distracted from the job in front of him. “What?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he says. “Just happy you’re here.”