Not Your Match (14 page)

Ben nodded and followed her out of the condo. “Are you sure it’s okay if we take your car?” he asked as they exited into the parking lot.

“Of course,” Andi said. Ben’s car was at least twenty years old. She couldn’t believe it was still running. She was positive one day soon it’d simply stop working. Probably while he was driving down the interstate. She shuddered at the image.

“You know, my car isn’t that bad,” he said, obviously misinterpreting her reaction.

“I know. But I would rather not die on New Year’s Eve. It’s poetic and all, but it’d make the party tonight pretty gloomy for our friends and family.”

“My car works fine.”

Andi unlocked her car door and they both slid inside. “Sure it does.”

Ben relaxed against the seat with a sigh. “I can’t argue that the seat warmers are awesome.”

“They are,” Andi said. But at the same time, she sort of envied Ben. Yes, she had the salary of a high-powered lawyer. But she didn’t have the glow of satisfaction Ben had after a day spent working on his new classroom.

They pulled up to the house and Andi smiled. Cars already lined the street, and the Christmas lights glowed on the eaves one last time. Andi could just see the smoke rising into the air from the fire pit in the backyard.

“We’re early and the place is already packed,” Ben said.

“Rachel knows how to throw a party.”

They got out of the car and walked to the front door. Moments after Ben rang the bell, the door swung open. Rachel stood there in black slacks and a shimmery green blouse, looking festive.

“You’re here,” she said. She pulled them inside and gave them both a hug. Through the sliding glass doors, Andi could see the backyard was filled with laughing people. The sharp scent of cinnamon mixed with the smell of food. Andi breathed in deeply. Rachel had made California rolls and artichoke dip again, if her nose wasn’t mistaken.

“Can we help with anything?” Andi asked as they followed Rachel to the kitchen.

“Most of the food’s out. I was going to slice the California rolls and arrange them on a plate, and refill the meat trays. Adam’s outside tending to the Dutch ovens.”

“Dutch ovens?” Ben asked. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Cobbler’s a New Year’s Eve tradition in Adam’s family.”

“Sounds delicious,” Andi said. She took off her coat and set it on the back of one of the barstools, surveying the kitchen. “Go outside and tend to your guests. Ben and I will get the rest of the food out.” She gave Rachel a little push toward the door.

“Are you sure?” Rachel asked.

“Absolutely,” Andi said.

“We don’t mind,” Ben cut in. “Go enjoy the party. No one plays hostess as well as you.”

Rachel gave Andi a hug. “Thank you,” she said, then slipped outside.

“You’re a good friend to Rach,” Ben said.

“What do you mean?”

Ben motioned outside, to where Andi could see Rachel laughing as she spoke with someone near the fire pit. “Pushing her outside while we take care of the kitchen.”

Andi shrugged and flipped on the kitchen faucet to wash her hands. Ben stood next to her, waiting his turn. As he took the dish towel his fingers brushed hers, sending tingles up her arm. Ben looked up, his dark brown eyes holding hers. Andi quickly released the towel and cleared her throat. What was wrong with her? This was
Ben.
Ben, the boy she’d danced with every day for a year, and he’d had zero effect on her. Ben, the guy that lived down the hall and was still hung up on his ex-fiancée.

She pulled one of the California rolls out of the fridge, then found a knife.

“What can I do?” Ben asked.

Andi quickly looked around the kitchen before settling on a bag of chips near her. “You can refill the chip bowl.”

“Okay.”

She reached for the chip bag at the same time Ben did. Andi’s arms bumped against his chest, and she froze.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

A slow grin spread across Ben’s face. He didn’t back away, and neither did Andi.

“I don’t mind,” he said. His voice was quiet too. He reached forward slowly, tentatively. Andi watched his hand, her stomach swarming with butterflies. His fingers caressed a lock of her hair that had fallen loose, and he tucked it behind her ear.

Andi sucked in a breath. Fire ignited at his touch, and she wanted to lean forward and wrap her arms around his neck. Just feel his heart beat next to hers.

For years they’d been friends. Years. And she’d never once viewed him as more. Until the last two weeks.

“We should finish getting the food ready,” Ben said. They stood so close his breath wafted over her. It smelled like mint mixed with cream cheese frosting, like he’d eaten one of the sugar cookies she’d sent home with him.

“Right,” Andi said. But she didn’t move, and neither did Ben.

“Andi, I—”

Ding-dong.

Andi and Ben sprang apart. A moment later the sliding glass door slid open.

“Wonder who that could be?” Rachel said, her voice perky and bright. She walked through the kitchen to the front entry.

Andi raised an eyebrow, and Ben shrugged. He stepped away, and the spell was broken. He grabbed the bag of chips and pulled them open. Andi carefully set the California roll on a cutting board and picked up the knife.

Rachel’s voice drifted in from the entryway. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Andi and Ben both froze.

“Maybe my parents showed up?” Ben suggested, dropping the bag of chips back onto the counter.

Andi shrugged and followed him into the entryway. “Could be someone she didn’t think would make it to the party. I can’t—”

Ben froze. Andi plowed into the back of him, squishing her nose against his shoulder blade. She stumbled back but quickly caught herself. She looked up at Ben, opening her mouth to tease him for the mishap. His face had gone ashen white, and his mouth hung open.

“Whitney?” he said.

Andi whirled toward the front door. A pretty woman stood there, with strawberry blonde hair cut shoulder-length and teased into sexy waves. She shifted from foot to foot, a hesitant smile on her face.

“Hi, Ben. Happy New Year’s Eve.”

Ben blinked. When he opened his eyes, Whitney still stood there. Her strawberry hair with the brown and blonde highlights barely brushed her shoulders. She’d cut it since he’d seen her last. A lot. It was now the length it had been when they first met. The length he’d told her was his favorite. She’d even done those wavy curls he adored, the ones she’d take forever to create with a flat iron.

His heart ached to pull her into his arms while his mind screamed to shove her right back out the door. Emotions, confusing and intense, swirled within him.

Rachel hugged Whitney. “I’m so glad you’re here. Come in, come in.”

Ben wanted to strangle his sister. What did she think she was doing?

“Whitney, this is Andi, my best friend,” Rachel said.

Whitney offered a warm smile—the one he thought of as her actress smile. She used it when she was nervous and unsure but didn’t want to show it. “It’s nice to meet you, Andi.”

“You too,” Andi murmured. She darted a glance at Ben, and he saw the confusion in her eyes.

“We should leave you two alone,” Rachel said. She grabbed Andi’s hand and tugged. “A few people have been asking about you outside. I told them I’d come find you.”

Ben sent Andi a pleading look.
Don’t leave. I helped you with Mark. Now’s your turn to return the favor.
But either his powers of persuasion weren’t working, or she ignored him. Andi shot him one last glance, then followed Rachel out of the room.

“You look good,” Whitney said into the silent foyer.

Ben folded his arms across his chest. She’d lost weight over the past month, and the dark circles under her eyes, not quite hidden with concealer, made him wonder when she’d last slept. Both were familiar signs of mania that had his stomach clenched with nerves. But she looked good, too. Great, even. She wore a fitted button-up shirt, one of those striped ones he went crazy over. It was unbuttoned halfway to show her white undershirt, and she wore jeans that clung to her like a glove and hooped earrings that made him want to nibble her neck.

But no. That part of his life was over.
They
were over.

Outside, the party guest burst into laughter, loud and happy. Ben longed to go outside and join them. Maybe if he closed his eyes, Whitney would disappear and this would turn out to be a nightmare. He leaned against the wall that separated the foyer from the formal living room and folded his arms. He didn’t invite her in or ask her to sit down. This conversation shouldn’t take long. “What are you doing here, Whitney?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I came to find you.”

“Your parents told me you couldn’t get out of bed. That you were suicidal.” He’d been worried sick. And here she stood, acting as though nothing was wrong. His blood boiled.

Whitney looked away. “They exaggerated. I was depressed over losing you.”

“
You
broke up with
me
.”

Whitney swallowed. Her fingers drummed against her leg in the nervous gesture he’d seen a thousand times before. In the past, he would’ve taken her hand in both of his and slowly massaged it until all the muscles relaxed and her shoulders sank with a sigh.

But not this time.

“I made a mistake.” She motioned to the couch. “Can we sit? I just drove in from Vegas and I’m exhausted.”

Ben grunted and walked into the formal living room, her footsteps echoing behind him. He sank into the wing-backed chair, just to make sure she didn’t try to cuddle close on the couch. “Your mother called me yesterday, worried sick. She said they were coming to see you.”

“They were going to, but I convinced them what I really needed was to see you again. I made a mistake, Ben. I wasn’t myself.” Her fingers still tapped against her thigh. The red nail polish flashed, fresh and gleaming with a top coat. She must’ve stopped at a salon.

A fresh manicure usually meant she was coming out of a depressive phase and entering a manic one. Shopping sprees and spa days were the first sign.

“You didn’t even have the decency to give me the ring back in person,” Ben said. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to wake up one morning and find your fiancée gone?”

“I wasn’t myself. If I’d been in my right mind, I never
would’ve left you. Please, Ben. You have to believe me.”

“I do believe you.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You do?”

“Of course. Because that’s how it always
is, Whit.” He winced as soon as the nickname left his mouth. It felt too familiar. Too intimate. He didn’t have that right any longer.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I’m trying to get better.”

Hope leapt in his breast. If she was finally willing to be proactive about her health, maybe they could work out their issues. “You’re seeing a psychiatrist?”

“Better than a psychiatrist. Claire has an herbalist I’ve been trying out. It’s working wonders—”

Ben swore and stood. “You’ve already tried that.
We
tried everything. The medication is the only thing that works.”

Whitney glared at him. She folded her arms tightly, and Ben struggled to keep his focus on the angry purse of her lips. “You’ve never supported my medical decisions. All you want is to drug me and make sure I’m perky and upbeat. You don’t want the real me—you want some twisted, medicated version.” Her lips curled in a sneer, and the hatred was back in her eyes, the disgust that made him believe her mental illness was all his fault.

Exhaustion swept through him. Ben raised his hands to his eyes and rubbed hard. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be in a relationship where you blame me for everything that goes wrong. I know you have a medical problem. But you refuse to manage it, and it turns you into someone I can’t be with.”

Whitney stood. Her chest rose and fell, and he saw the hot anger in her eyes. But she was trying to hold back, to not upset him too badly. He knew because she hadn’t started throwing things yet. “I didn’t come here to argue about my disorder.”