Perfectly Damaged

“Fuck off.”

Bry laughs. “I’m serious, dude. You have a strong thing for this chick and you’re not even together-together. What happens when you are?”

“What the hell does ‘together-together’ even mean?”

Bryson arches a brow. “Come on, Logan. You know what I mean. You guys act more like a couple than Blair and me, but at least we…you know.”

“No, I don’t know. Enlighten me,” I say, interested in what he means by this “together-together” crap.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” he prods. I stare blankly at him. Bryson huffs. “S-E-X. Sex, Logan. Blair and I are intimate. You and Jenna are not, but the way the two of you act, you might as well be.”

“We’re just friends,” I clarify, my tone stern. I’m not sure why I’m feeling defensive, but there are two things Bryson said that I don’t like. One, Jenna is not just some “chick,” and two, I’m not strung out. That’s fucking ridiculous.

“The moment you two realize how you feel about one another—because, let’s face it, it’s obvious to everyone around you—the easier it will be. Trust me.” He straightens, dropping his arms to his side.

I open my mouth to say something, but shut it just as quickly when Jenna walks in. “Hey, guys,” she greets. Her hair drapes over her shoulders, still damp from the shower. As my eyes eat up the pair of denim shorts and white tank top that hug her frame, I swallow back the truth. The fucking truth that’s been in the back of my head for the past couple of months. The truth that I’ve buried because I know she doesn’t want more than what we are. The truth that Jenna and I will never be anything other than just friends.

“Hey, Jenna,” Bryson says, his eyes still glued on me, giving me the you-know-what-to-do look. Then he nods his head and turns, joining his girl in the living area.

Jenna takes a few steps until she’s standing only a few inches from me. I chug the rest of my beer, keeping my eyes away from her, and place the bottle on top of the counter after I’m done with it. She pushes her body against mine, lifting her arms and wrapping them around my neck. This shouldn’t make me uncomfortable. This is normal for us. But after what Bry just said, my thoughts are racing wild, and it’s fucking confusing.

Finally, I shift my gaze and look down at her. “About what Bryson just said…” she mutters.

My heart stammers as my eyes widen. “You heard that?”

“Most of it,” she confesses. “I walked in and heard the part where he talked about how our feelings toward one another are obvious to everyone else.” Her lips pull into a shy grin.

Thank God she didn’t hear the beginning of it. I look down on her and she seems calm about it all. I wonder what she’s thinking. Is she going to finally confess that maybe Bryson is right? Sighing, I place my arms around her waist and pull her in a bit more. This doesn’t faze her. Again, it’s normal for us.

Jenna grabs the side of my face, her fingers grazing the stubble of my growing beard. I like it, the way her hand feels when she touches me. I like us this way, close enough that I can dip my head a few inches and kiss her. I like how comfortable it is for us.

“Logan, don’t pay any attention to Bryson. He, along with everyone else, just doesn’t understand our relationship and that’s fine. As long as we know what it is, why does it matter what others think?”

I bite back what I really want to say and settle for, “And what is our relationship exactly?”

She smiles like it’s the most obvious thing. “Best friends, of course.”

I laugh and she does too, but I’m sure she’s laughing for an entirely different reason than I am. She probably finds humor in our chat. She probably thinks I’m laughing because, of course, duh, it should be obvious we’re best friends. But that’s not why I’m laughing.

I’m laughing to cover up the fact that I want to bash my fist through the kitchen cabinet because never in my life did I ever think I’d be placed in the fucking friend zone.

And that fucking sucks.

Jenna and I are sitting beside each other on the couch, her hand in mine. Santino is sitting on the floor, leaning against the sofa. Bryson is on a La-Z-Boy chair with Blair on his lap. It’s a slow night, which I don’t mind. It’s nice to have a small group and have a relaxing night once in a while.

Jersey Girl hasn’t said much since the kitchen scene. I’m sure she hasn’t given it much thought either. I look down at her. Her head is resting against my chest; her breathing is calm. I smile as she traces small shapes on my hand: a circle, turns into a triangle, then transforms into a square, then finds its way back into a curvy, nonexistent object. My eyes drift in Bryson’s direction. I catch him staring at us, and he flashes me a told-you-so grin. I narrow my eyes at him, which he counters with a chuckle. Blair turns her head to see what’s so interesting. As soon as she sees it’s about Jenna and me, she instantly rolls her eyes. Then her expression changes, her eyes brighten, and a smug grin pulls at the corner of her lips.

“Jenna, I almost forgot to mention,” Blair says animatedly. Between the suspicious gleam in her eyes and the current of malice underlying her words, I can only imagine what Blair’s about to say.

Jersey Girl lifts her head from my chest and looks in Blair’s direction. Mega Bitch twirls her body on Bryson’s lap to fully face Jenna. “Yes?” Jenna responds.

“Guess who I recently ran into?”

I’m glaring at her now. Whatever Blair’s up to is not with good intention. It’s written all over her face.

“Who?” Jenna asks cautiously.

Blair allows the anticipation to build for a moment before blurting out, “Eric.”

From the way I’m seated, I can’t see Jenna’s expression. Her back faces me, but she shifts uncomfortably. Then she straightens her shoulders, I suspect to show Blair she hasn’t gotten to her. That’s my girl. “That’s nice,” she says evenly.

“Yeah, it is. I mentioned I’ve been spending time with you here.” Blair giggles. “It’s funny, he asked if you were still a nut job. I had no idea what he meant. I told him you seem normal to me.” Blair pouts, mocking a sad puppy dog look. I have the urge to smack it off her face, but lucky for her I don’t hit girls.

My eyes shift from Blair to Jersey Girl when her hand squeezes mine and her leg slowly begins to bounce. “Thanks,” Jersey Girl responds.