Free On the Rocks by Erin Duffy Page B

if the little dot next to Ben’s name turned green to let me know he was logged in. When it did, I opened a chat box and stared at it for a full five minutes, knowing that I shouldn’t write him, but I couldn’t stop myself. We had been together for ten years, and had been friends for a year before we started dating. I could no more keep myself from writing him than I could keep myself from swallowing. It was like muscle memory, and that, like my other memories, would take time to fade. My hands started typing before my brain knew what they were doing. I didn’t want to be his friend, but I didn’t want him to be out of my life either. I didn’t know what I wanted. And that was the problem.
    I typed slowly.
Hi. Just got back from the bars. How are things going out there?
Hey yourself. Going okay, had a busy day and just relaxing now with a beer. How was the bar scene?
Crowded. Met some of Grace’s friends.
Preppy guys?
Yes.
Not happy to hear that. You always liked the preppy guys. One in particular.
Once upon a time, yes.
Be patient with me Abby. I’m working things out.
What does that mean?
Sorry, got to run, I’m taking a friend to the movies.
    What? I stared at the conversation, brief as it was, and could swear that Ben was telling me that he wanted me to wait for him, that he didn’t want me seeing other guys, and that he was taking another girl to the movies. I read and reread and read the conversation again to see if I’d missed something, but there was nothing there to miss. The dot next to his name turned gray when he signed off. I threw myself back on the bed and buried my head in the pillows. It was unreal how quickly one person could make me feel so inadequate. I closed my laptop, not only because I couldn’t stand the mental torment for another minute, but because I was exhausted. What was I doing? I was not this person. At least, I didn’t want to be this person anymore. It was time to make some changes.

Chapter 6
    This Is Like Zagat’s—No One Gets a Perfect Score
    I WOKE UP early Saturday morning and went for a run to better learn the area and try to get the summer started on a healthy note. As much as I needed Newport to be a reboot for my mental health, I needed it to kick-start my physical health as well, and I figured the best way to fix both was to get set in some kind of exercise routine. I ran in a small circle from the house up toward Cliff Walk and back through town, slowing down to catch my breath by pretending to window-shop at the stores along Thames Street. Dark storm clouds began to roll in when I was a few blocks from home, and I turned onto Grafton Street two minutes before the skies opened up in a vicious summer storm. I hopped in the shower, and when I changed and went back into the den, I found Bobby, Wolf, and Grace seated in a circle on the floor around the coffee table. Apparently, they had come up with a way to spend the morning that didn’t involve being outside—Scrabble and Bloody Marys.
    Made perfect sense to me.
    An hour later, the four of us were still sitting around our Scrabble board on the floor in our tiny living room with beer and a bowl of Tostitos while the summer storm continued to pound the windows so hard I was afraid they would shatter. Otis Redding played off the speaker dock, and I had to admit, I was enjoying getting to know my new friends and I was having a good time, if for no other reason than playing Scrabble with someone whose first language wasn’t English was almost reality-show material.
    We waited for Wolf to place his letters on the board, and when he did, he spelled out BMW.
    “BMW is not a word, it’s an abbreviation for British Motor Works,” Grace said.
    “It’s a German company,” Wolf countered. “Don’t tell me it’s British, silly American girl. The B stands for Bavarian. Like me!”
    “Even if that’s true, you can’t use abbreviations,” I said. “No one gave you a hard time when you played U-BOAT last round, and