The Best Friend (24 page)

She smiled, but didn’t look at him. “Was that humor? Are you, Tony Lindstrom, attempting to be funny?’

“It’s hard not to feel a little humorous, while sitting next to a gold-plated Scarlett O’Hara.”

She laughed out loud and shook her head. “That’s it. What to call this dress. I couldn’t figure out how to describe it.”

She pulled into her parking lot and he followed her up the stairs. The strange skirt swung all around as she moved. A bow on top of a kind of box-like thing bubbled over her butt. It looked like she was dressed up for Halloween, not just home from her sister’s wedding.

Once inside, she clicked on her lights, and a Christmas tree lit up along with them. It sat in the corner, opposite the couch, tucked against the windows. It was illuminated entirely in white lights and covered in ornaments and ribbons. It reflected colorful, little spots along the wall beside it. Treasured Santas and snowmen lined her mantel, tables and a bookshelf. Another string of lights came on with the flick of one switch. He turned around, taking it all in.

“So, you getting upset about the Christmas Eve wedding date was about more than just your sister getting married again. You really have a thing for Christmas, huh?”

She was setting her purse down on the counter that separated her small kitchen from the living area. An adjoining dining room lay off to the left. She unclipped a bracelet, and slid it off her wrist before plopping down next to her stuff. He had to avert his eyes to quit staring. It was oddly sexy, and surprisingly intimate for him to watch her removing her jewelry, and becoming less made up. She was undoing an earring then.

“Yes. I really do. I love it. And I resent not being able to celebrate it this year with my family. We usually are at my parents’ house tonight, and I stay over with them. Tracy’s family comes over too; and then tomorrow, we come here to have Christmas Day dinner.” She reached up over her head, digging her long fingers into the pile of hair she swept on top of her head. Then she tugged on it and chunks of hair started to slide down until she scratched her head, shaking it out and sighing, as if contented at last. She threw the hair clips next to her pile of jewelry.

“Make yourself comfortable. I have to take off this aberration. My God, six hundred dollars it cost me. Can you believe it?”

He really couldn’t. He slid off his dark suit jacket and vest before loosening the bowtie and slipping it into the pocket of his jacket. He sat down on the end of couch closest to the window and stared at the festive, happy-looking Christmas tree. She really like her lights and decorations. He tapped a finger, and his toes jiggled while his throat seemed parched.
Christ.
He felt like he was sixteen and at a girl’s house for the first time. Where were all these nerves and anxiety coming from? He didn’t get nervous. But strangely, now he was. He wasn’t sure what to say or do when she reappeared.

He glanced up when she stepped back into the room, wearing loose fitting, gray pants that clung to her ass and outlined her legs. Her sweatshirt matched in what was supposed to be a casual, nothing-to-do kind of look. Except, on Gretchen, nothing was casual.

“Do you want some wine?” she asked while opening her fridge door and disappearing behind it.

“Sure.” He didn’t know what he wanted or why he was there. She was acting more comfortable and casual. It was obvious she had him there in the standard capacity, as her normal, comfortable friend. He turned his head to stare out the dark windows.

She came closer, setting the wine on the table next to his hand, where he could comfortably reach it. As she leaned over to set it there, she glanced up at him, and their eyes met and locked for a second too long. Her eyebrows scrunched, as if confused why she was staring at him. She straightened up suddenly and stepped over his legs before heading back to the kitchen. Retreating? He had the distinct impression whatever just happened must’ve made her uncomfortable. He took the glass and drank liberally. He wasn’t much of a wine enthusiast, but it was better than nothing.

She came back in and flipped the overhead light off, so the Christmas lights created a cocoon-like glow that was at once both cheerful and intimate. She clicked the TV on, which hung on the wall at the right of the tree. She sat down on the couch, unceremoniously, not choosing the opposite end, but not right next to him either.

Why was he there? That’s what he wanted to know. Why did Gretchen, after six weeks of almost no direct, deliberate contact, invite him to her house on Christmas Eve? Sure, they were at the same wedding, and kind of at the same place in life, i.e., watching their siblings marry, but to now find himself on her couch on Christmas Eve, made his head spin and his heart beat erratically. It was not what he expected.

“Do you mind?”

He turned his attention to her. “Mind what?”

She indicated the TV, and he turned and realized what she wanted to know.
White Christmas
, with Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye was just starting. He shrugged. “No, I don’t care.”

She smiled her appreciation. Moving her butt around, she deftly tucked her feet up under her, before switching all around again. The laugh escaped him before he could stop it. She glanced his way.

“Hard time getting comfortable?”

She finally smiled. “I feel… agitated, for lack of a better word. It’s such a weird night. Vickie’s fourth wedding. Donny and her having a baby… and everything happening on my favorite night of the year, that is no longer my favorite night of the year.”

“And me being here makes you less agitated? Don’t I usually make things worse?”

She bit her lip. “Yes. You can make a lot of things worse. But for some reason, tonight, you seemed like the only one who would understand.”

“That, and I had no home to go to either? So by default, the perfect candidate.”

She grinned, and it reached her eyes. “There is that too.”

He leaned back and stretched his legs out. “Wow, listen to you. Being so honest.”

She shook her head. “Shh, the movie is starting.”

So, he shushed; and watched
White Christmas
on Christmas Eve with Gretchen Hendricks. She got up towards the end of it to refill her glass, and when she sat down again, she was half a width closer to him. He sat up straighter, startled.
Huh
. She couldn’t have meant to get closer to him. No one did. No one ever tried to get close to him.

She yawned and tugged on a blanket that was folded up and draped over the back of the couch, holding it around herself. He didn’t know why he was there. Or why she was so casually nearly lying beside him. Was he nearly hyperventilating now because the girl he spent twenty years fantasizing about having sex with was finally, for once, near him? And she did it all voluntarily and at her own instigation. This time, his best friend wasn’t the reason she was so close to him.

“Should you call your mom?”

He jerked from his reverie, confused by her strange question.
His mother?
What?
He frowned and asked, “Why should I call my mother?”

“She might be worried. I just realized she doesn’t know where you disappeared after the wedding. What if they’re worried about you?”

He sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbow on a knee. “Jesus, Gretchen, I don’t have to report in to my mommy.”

She was silent for a moment and it surprised him, causing him to jerk up to attention when her hand touched his knee only seconds later. “I wasn’t trying to insult you. I meant, because you live in the same household. Not because she’s your parent. I meant, like I used to let Will know, or Vickie, when she lived here. I just meant it as a courtesy. And it
is
Christmas. She might be worried.”

He let out a breath, feeling annoyed before admitting, “I already texted her while you were changing.”

“I knew there was a nice guy hiding behind all your… distractions. You’re too nice to your mother,” she said softly, her eyes looking up into his. Her face was close, as she leaned over to touch his knee in what, he assumed, was a sisterly pat. 

“Distractions?”

Her pink tongue came out and dabbed the top of her lip as her throat visibly swallowed. “Yes, the way you bluster around, so rude and uncaring, when I think… no, I feel sure it’s just the opposite. You care about still being alive. You care about your parents. You care about Donny. You care about not knowing what to do with yourself, now that you have only one arm,” she said in a near whisper As she gazed down towards his lap, she added, “And… you care about me.”

You care about me
. Everyone knew it. Everyone had already guessed it. Either twenty years ago, or now, whatever, whenever: they all had guessed. His parents. Donnie. Jessie. Tracy. And Will. Will had always known. The only one who never did was Gretchen. Tony’s entire body froze. He kept his expression blank and uncaring, fixing his gaze on one of the Christmas tree ornaments hanging directly before him. He scrutinized it and instructed his lungs to lift and release air through them; but to not,
absolutely not
, even glance towards her and see the pity and compassion in her eyes to discover that the pathetic, one-armed, Tony Lindstrom, her dear, friend of many years,
cared
about her.

What he should have done was simply grab her, and show her exactly how much he cared about her. He was not her nice, dear friend and never claimed to be. He wanted her naked and quivering under him, her thighs squeezing tightly around him, her breasts bare and his hand clasping one between his fingers. He wanted her screaming with delight and having orgasms from the things he would do to her. He wanted her to shut up and stop talking about his feelings or getting better, but to just let him
feel
better, simply by being inside her body.

Maybe if he did any of that, she’d get the idea that he did not, in fact, care about her in the tone in which she implied he did.

But of course, he would never attempt such a move on Gretchen Moore back when he was only a teen, and he certainly wouldn’t now with Gretchen Hendricks. Not as a one-armed former soldier who lived in his parents’ basement.

“Tony?” Her voice had its familiar soft, sweet quality. He finally tilted his head down so he could see her eyes.  She slowly slid closer to him, her eyes fastened on his. She sat then, placing her body alongside his, and tucking her legs beneath her before slowly tilting her head until it made contact with his chest. He drew in a sharp breath at the unexpected touch. She was leaning against his armless side. No one ever touched him there. He never allowed anyone that close to it. His entire body stiffened. What was she doing? And why? Why was she doing that?

Minutes drifted by. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Twenty. He finally blew out a long breath and his muscles relaxed just enough to be more comfortable.
Friend.
Gretchen was merely leaning up against him as a friend. As always. Forever friends. Dear, sweet, long time friends.

Wasn’t he just the luckiest bastard ever?

Chapter Fifteen

Gretchen’s heart was hammering and her breath hitched. Where was this physical reaction coming from? She had known him for so long, how could touching him right now feel so different than it did a decade ago? But suddenly, strangely, everything shifted and changed in her feelings toward Tony Lindstrom. Somewhere along the way, she became attracted to him. She developed new feelings towards him that were nothing like the friendship they shared so long ago.

She tried to gulp down the lump of nerves lodged in her throat. Why was she so nervous? It wasn’t like when she was fourteen and hoping Will would kiss her. She was a thirty-five-year-old woman who’d had plenty of partners and relationships over the years. She dated strangers, friends, and friends of co-workers. She went on blind dates and online dates. She did them all.

But none of them could make her feel like she did now. She felt soft as mud, and so scared to move, it was like concrete suddenly replaced her muscles. She was so nervous, her breath couldn’t regulate. And so excited to be finally close to him, she couldn’t stop her head from spinning. Except, they’d done nothing. She could hear his heartbeat beneath her ear. It sounded speedier than it should have. He had to feel this chemistry too. The rest of his body, however, was tensed in what almost felt like disdain, but she had to believe was just nerves.

She took in a sharp breath and slowly tucked her legs in closer. She slid her head up higher on his chest and turned more fully into him before resting her face inside the crook of his neck, near his chin. There was no arm there to circle around her. It was odd. And different.

But, it didn’t matter.

His breath fluctuated and he seemed to freeze all of a sudden. She slid her hand to the collar of his shirt and tilted her head up enough so she could gaze over the planes of his face. She took in his deep, sensuous lips and mouth, the neatly trimmed beard that covered half his face, and his long, perfect nose. His gaze was still focused straight in front of him. As if it was nothing. If this were truly so casual, he would have glanced down at her. He would have done something besides freezing up as if in shock.

Her fingertips touched the bare skin on his neck. She felt the vocal chords of his throat moving as he swallowed. The skin was soft, and so warm. The line of his beard was only inches from her fingertips. She inched her hand marginally lower, to the hem of his white, crisp, dress shirt. She slowly, and with excruciating thoroughness, undid the button, one-handedly. It wasn’t something she had any proficiency in. She tilted her head back and saw his lips part. But still, his gaze was far off, and not looking down at her. She proceeded to the next button. Again, she undid it. Then the next. And the next. It took her several torturous minutes. He didn’t move. Not an inch, but kept his arm on the armrest of the sofa, with his hand clenched into a fist on top of it. His feet were firmly planted on the floor and his back was almost perpendicular to the couch. He seemed as immovable as a granite statue. His jaw flexed, but his gaze remained straight ahead, like a rookie in boot camp toward his instructor. He never once looked Gretchen in the eye. She had no idea what he thought. Or felt. But, wouldn’t he stop her if he didn’t want to?