EXCERPT: The Best Man

Title: The Best Man
Author: L. A. Witt
Publisher: Carnal Passions
Format(s): eBook, paperback

EXCERPT:

Chewing my thumbnail and fidgeting on the couch, I stared at the front door and waited for my ex-boyfriend to knock.

Less than an hour had passed since Craig had called to say he needed to talk to me, but the atmosphere in my apartment had a strange, emptiness about it, as if he’d already come and gone, leaving only an echo of his presence and whatever he’d come to say. Not unlike the night he left.

I picked my water bottle up off the coffee table and took a drink, then played with the cap, spinning it one way, then the other, then back, just to give my hands something to do. Over and over I tried to tell myself that there was no point in getting this wound up over a conversation that hadn’t happened yet. It could be about anything. We were still friends. We still talked and hung out.

But really, I was kidding myself. Craig could handle all but the most serious conversations by phone, yet he’d insisted on meeting in person. And it couldn’t wait.

Maybe he was having problems with his girlfriend again and needed advice. At that thought, I clenched my jaw. It shouldn’t have bothered me that my ex was with a woman now, but it did. I guess on some strange level, the fact that he had a girlfriend put him that much farther out of my reach. A new boyfriend left me a little inkling of hope that I still had a fighting chance in the future. The fact that he was with a woman gave our split a kind of resonating permanence, an implicit “This is how far I’ve moved on from you”.

Ah, the joys of being with a bisexual man. I wondered if the girlfriend before me felt the same way when she found out about me.

The sharp three-beat knock made me sit up so fast I nearly dropped my water bottle. Setting it on the coffee table, I stood and went to the door, trying to convince myself one last time that there was no reason to worry. He just wanted to talk. It didn’t mean it was anything bad, or that this was going to hurt.

But when I opened the door, my heart went into my throat.

The look on his face did nothing to ease my nerves. It was the same apologetic expression—eyebrows pulled together above wide eyes, lips thinned into a grimace that was almost painful, three worried lines creasing his forehead—he’d had just before he told me he was leaving.

My stomach did a somersault, but I smiled through it and gestured for him to come in. Neither looking at me nor speaking, he did, shrinking away from me slightly as he moved past. It instantly made me miss the time when he couldn’t walk by me without at least some sort of affectionate contact. Shaking my head, I pushed those thoughts back and followed him into the living room.

He stopped and stood with his back to me, hands in his pockets, shifting his weight. Making no move to sit. Probably not planning to stay long. Then he turned and faced me, but scratched the back of his neck and looked at the floor.

And still the silence lingered.

Finally, I said, “You wanted to talk?”

His eyes flicked up and met mine. Then he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.” He sank onto the sofa, the muffled squeak of leather creating a mix of relief and apprehension in my gut. He was planning to stay for a while. Whatever he came to talk about, he didn’t expect it to be over in a few short minutes.

Steepling his fingers in front of his lips, he rested his elbows on his knees and looked at the coffee table, his brow knitting again.

Too wound up to sit, I folded my arms across my chest and leaned against the wall. He glanced up at me, then his eyes shifted slightly to my left. His cheeks darkening, he dropped his gaze again.

“I’m surprised you still have that thing on the wall,” he said quietly.

I looked at the painting that hung above the television. One of his paintings. I shrugged. “I guess I just got used to it being there. Left it up there out of habit.”

His eyes met mine and I knew he saw right through me, but he didn’t press the issue. We’d had this conversation a hundred times before, and I’d more or less convinced him that I would get over him when I got over him.

“I don’t imagine you came all the way across town to discuss my living room décor,” I said.

His chin rested on his hands, which were now folded loosely, and he lowered his eyes again. “No, I didn’t.”

I shifted my weight slightly, “So, what—”

“Rebecca and I are getting married.”

He couldn’t have knocked more air out of my lungs if he’d punched me in the chest. Recovering as quickly as I could, I cleared my throat and said, “Wow, that’s…” I paused. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks. I asked her the other night.” He laughed softly. “Still kind of weird to even say it. Me, getting married, who knew?”

Yeah. I chewed my lip. Who knew?

He wrung his hands. “Are you,” he paused. “Are you okay with this?”

“Craig, why wouldn’t I be?” Besides the fact that I would kill for even one more night with you. “I want you to be happy.” I just wish you were still happy with me.

He eyed me. “You know what I mean, Jon.”

“Yes, you’re right, I do,” I said, chewing the inside of my cheek. “And I’m fine with it.”

He regarded me silently for a moment. Then he stared at his hands. “There’s…” he hesitated. “There’s one more thing.”

This should be good. I raised my eyebrows. “Okay?”

“I want you to be my best man.”

I was wrong. There was still some air left for him to knock out of my lungs. “You—” I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. “Are you serious?”

He nodded, avoiding my eyes. “Look, I know it’s an odd thing to ask, given—” He stopped, pursing his lips and finally looking at me. “Given our history. But Jon, you’re my closest friend. I’ll understand if you can’t, but…”

“What does Rebecca think of this?” She wasn’t particularly fond of me anyway, nor the fact that Craig and I were still good friends.

He shook his head. “I haven’t told her yet.”

“Don’t you think you should mention it to her? Given that it’s her wedding too?”

“I wanted to talk to you about it first. See if you were even willing to do it before I took the time to argue with her about it.”

Shifting my weight again, I said, “So you don’t think she’ll be thrilled about it.”

“Probably not.” He shrugged. “Not at first, anyway. You know how she is.”

“Yes, I do,” I said. “But asking her to be okay with your ex-boyfriend as your best man? Don’t you think that’s pushing it?”

“Let me deal with her,” he said. “What I want to know is if you’re okay with it. If you’re not, I’ll ask someone else, but Jon, I want you to be my best man.”

Chewing my lip, I stared at the floor. Though there was very little I wouldn’t do for Craig, I had to admit, this was pushing it. I wouldn’t miss his wedding for the world, but I wasn’t sure I could stand beside him with Rebecca’s ring in my pocket and pretend it wasn’t killing me.

“Jon?”

I leaned one shoulder against the wall, trying to look as casual and relaxed as I didn’t feel. “I’m flattered, but…” I licked my lips. “Do you need an answer right now?”

“No, of course not.”

“Have you set a date yet?”

“Not yet. We’re going to talk it over tonight after she gets home. Probably a few months out, at least.”

I chuckled. “Not going to rush into it, are you?”

His eyebrow lifted and the slight twist of his mouth made me wonder if I’d crossed a line. “Look, I know she and I haven’t been together long—”

“Craig.” I put my hand up. “I’m not questioning you. If you know she’s the one you want to be with…” I shrugged. “Then I’m happy for you.”

“But you think I’m moving too fast with her.” It wasn’t a question.

I swallowed. “There’s no way I can answer that without sounding like I’m either patronizing you or trying to talk you out of it for my own gain.”

He cocked his head. “Indulge me.”

I hesitated. His flat, low tone sounded all too familiar. It held the same undercurrent of annoyance that it always did when he picked a fight. I sighed. “Craig, I didn’t mean anything by it, it’s—”

“Just tell me.”

Are you humoring me or daring me? I let out a breath. Oh, what the hell? What are you going to do? Leave me? “Look, I’m saying this as your friend, not your ex-boyfriend.”

He said nothing, but gestured for me to continue.

My eyes fixed on the coffee table instead of him. “Are you sure you’re not rushing into this?”

He hesitated for a split second, but that fleeting silence spoke volumes. “Yes, I am.”

I looked him in the eye. “After four months?”

“Listen, I know we haven’t been together long, but I know she’s the one for me.”

“Craig, it took you two fucking years to figure out I wasn’t the one for you.” My chest tightened as the words came out before I could stop them.

He looked away, setting his jaw. “You and I both knew a long, long time ago that we weren’t right for each other.”

“Speak for yourself,” I said through my teeth.

His expression was still calm, but his fingers folded so tightly that his knuckles blanched. “So now who am I talking to? My friend, or my ex-boyfriend?”

Letting out a breath, I closed my eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go there, it’s—”

“I know, it’s a raw nerve,” he said, his tone calm. “Which is why I’ll understand if you don’t want—”

“It’s not that. This has nothing to do with being your best man or not.” Oh, what an ironic title for an ex-boyfriend. “My feelings are what they are. But, I’m serious. Asking as your friend, who really does want to see you happy, are you sure you’re not rushing into this?”

He rested his chin on his folded hands again. “Honestly, I’ve known from the day I met her that this was coming.” Before I could speak, he stood. Came towards me. “Jon, I know it seems like I’m moving fast with her, but I know she’s the right one for me.”

“Then if you’re sure about it, I’m happy for you.”

He nodded, but didn’t smile. “What about you?”

I blinked. “I just said, I’m happy for you.”

“No, I mean, are you happy? Not about me, just, in general?”

My shoulders dropped and so did my gaze. “I’m getting there.”

“That sounds like a no.”

“Craig, I’m fine,” I said. “Honestly. I just, I take a little more time than you do to move past things.” I met his gaze and gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

He said nothing, and after a moment, his silence prompted me to look at him. Once I did, he finally spoke. “Have you gone out? Met anyone?”

“I’ve been out a little,” I lied. “Just haven’t met anyone worth mentioning.”

The slight raise of his eyebrow told me that, as always, he saw right through me. “You know, even if you’re not ready for something serious, maybe it would do you good to meet some new guys. Get laid. Something.”

I rolled my eyes. “I think I’ll manage.”

“I’m serious, Jon, I—”

“Craig.” I put my hands up. “Don’t worry about me, okay?”

His voice softened. “You know I do, though.”

“I know. I know. But you’ve got a wedding to plan, a lot of things on your plate.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that I worry about you. I want you to be happy, too.”

Then come back. “I will be. I just need more time than you.”

He went quiet. I had a feeling he wasn’t convinced, that he was just trying to decide whether or not to push the issue. After a moment, he said, “I didn’t realize you were still having such a hard time with it.”

“I’m better than I was.”

He nodded, but didn’t look at me. “You know I didn’t do it to hurt—”

“Craig.” I put my hands up again. “We’ve been over this. You did what you had to do, and I’ll deal with it in my own time.”

Looking at the floor, he put his hands in his jacket pockets. “If being part of the wedding is too much, I’ll understand.”

It is. You don’t even know, Craig. But I couldn’t stomach the idea of sending him into his marriage thinking that I was still this torn up over him, even if I was. If I could stand up there at the altar with him, then he would know that I was at peace with it.

Even if I wasn’t.

“If you want me to be your best man,” I said, pausing to wet my parched lips. “Then I will.”

He looked up, searching my eyes. I very nearly reached for his arm, just to silently reassure him, but it would be too tempting to hold on.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said, swallowing hard.

His eyes repeated the question and my smile repeated my answer.

“Okay,” he said with a nod, letting out a breath. “I’ll bring it up to Rebecca tonight.”

“Good luck with that,” I said, chuckling.

He laughed. “She’ll be fine with it.”

“Eventually.”

“Right.” He squared his shoulders, cocking his head to one side, then the other, as if loosening a kink. “I’d better go. Traffic’s going to be a bitch if I wait much longer.”

Forcing a smile, I nodded. “Congratulations again.”

“Thanks,” he said with a smile that seemed only marginally more genuine than my own. We were silent for a moment before he started towards the front door. I followed, hooking my thumbs in the belt loops of my jeans just to give my hands something to do besides reach for him.

He opened the door and started to step out, but stopped. I rested my forearm on the doorframe, watching him, wondering what was on the tip of his tongue that made his brow furrow like that.

He turned to leave and I thought he’d decided to let his thought go, but he paused again and looked over his shoulder. “Jon, promise me something.”

“What?”

Meeting my eyes, he barely whispered, “You’ll at least try to make yourself happy.”

I was happy. “I’ll try.”

He looked at me for a moment, then nodded and continued down the hall. I closed the door before he was out of sight. He’d been to my apartment plenty of times since we’d split, but I still couldn’t bring myself to watch him turn that corner at the end of the hall again.

I leaned against the door and released a long breath.

He was absolutely right. I needed to move on. In the six months since he’d left, I hadn’t met anyone at all. Hadn’t felt the need.

Tonight, though, in the wake of his announcement that he was—more than ever—out of my reach, I needed to get out of the house and meet some people.

I went into the bedroom to change clothes.