"Benefits of a Friend"

The friends-with-benefits arrangement between Rose and Jordan gets complicated—and sexy—in this story by Kayla Hill.

Sep 9

Georgia says

Rose and Jordan have long enjoyed a steamy FWB—friends with benefits—arrangement. Jordan is attentive, emotionally intelligent, and (ahem) generous in the sack. As perfect as this man is, simple, strings-attached-sex is all Rose can handle, whose tender heart has been broken one too many times. But Jordan wants more: a real relationship. When Rose’s beloved Grandma Lane passes away at the same time Jordan expresses his needs, it seems like everything in her world is falling apart. Can Rose risk opening her heart to one of her closest friends?
I’m so proud to publish one of my former Romance Workshop students, Kayla Hill, this week on Heartbeat. "Benefits of a Friend" is heartfelt, emotional, and super-sexy, and once again proves that Fridays are for happily-ever-afters.

“Benefits of a Friend”

Pre-flight

New year, new me, has taken itself to a new level.

First, I got the news that my Grandma Lane took her last breath on New Year's Day. We knew the end was close once she went into hospice care, but it was still a bit shocking how fast she deteriorated. I wanted to come back home to Dallas, to be there to hold her hand one last time, but my mama told me she wanted me to remember Grandma in all her glory. So, I agreed to stay home in Los Angeles.

While on the phone with my mom, I could hear her siblings crying as they grieved. Uncle Tommy’s sobs echoed throughout Grandma’s house. God, just thinking about it makes me want to cry. My world became a little emptier that night. Before she passed, Grandma Lane’s presence was like having a shining light on you at all times. Even in the darkest of moments, I knew she was there. I could still hear her raspy voice calling me just to talk—“hello, my little Rose.” Telling me how her day was, giving me the 411 on her shows Big Valley and Diagnosis Murder. As if I hadn’t watched all the episodes with her.

Second, my really good friend Jordan, who also happens to be my FWB (Friends with Benefits), decided it would be the perfect time to tell me he wants more out of our “relationship”, at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve.

He was the first person I talked to after hanging up with my mom, on New Year’s Day. I called him to politely cuss him out about wanting to change our agreement. Instead, I ended up crying on the phone. Somewhere in all the chaos, I asked Jordan to come to the funeral with me. He didn't hesitate in saying yes.

And now I have Jordan back in my apartment four days into the New Year, sitting on my couch, scrolling through movie selections on Netflix, like he didn’t throw a fucking wrench in the good thing we had going on.

He looks at me then back to the TV before looking at me again. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

I narrow my eyes at him. What’s wrong? How can he sit there in all his gorgeousness, tawny brown skin, close-cropped beard and the most kissable pink lips and act like nothing is wrong! He’s usually astute to my feelings (secretly I can’t tell if it turns me on or makes me nervous), but he can't see that I have been stressing out about what he asked me about on New Year's Eve. I mean, that’s the main reason I called him over tonight.

“Nothing,” I tell him, too scared to allude to it yet.

“Rose, I can tell when you’re lying to me. I know you—”

“Do you want popcorn?” I don't want him to bring up what he mentioned last night. Furthermore, I want tonight to be just like all the other ones we’ve had. Sitting on the couch watching movies and kissing, that leads to so much more. Just easy, with no expectations. I don't know how long I've been in the kitchen, but I can't avoid this conversation any longer. I walk back out with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn.

Gong.

Gong.

That’s the sound of my imminent death. And Jordan is the executioner…okay, wait, I’m being a bit dramatic.

“Are you ready to talk now?”

I set the bowl down between us. “No, not really.”

He sighs. The sound is heavy enough to make my heart thud violently in my chest.

“I wish there was a way I could make a crack in one of your walls, Rose. When I first met you, I thought, damn, this woman is fucking blunt and beautiful.” He chuckles and my stomach twists at the sound. “You did not make it easy from the start, but I knew I could wear you down and we could become friends. Once that happened, all I could think was, I'm glad to have someone like you in my life.”

“Jordan.” I exhale a held breath. I can't help squirming at the way his words make me feel. A little cherished and a bit nervous.

“No, let me finish. Please.”

With Jordan, it's all in the eyes. And right now, they’re telling me he needs to say this. I wave my hand for him to continue.

“Okay, so, I'm taking a while to get to the point, which is that I like you. I. Like. You. I want more from you than a call when you’re craving body contact or a hookup. I want to be the one you talk to because you can't wait to tell me about your day.”

I wish I could look away, but his brown eyes have ensnared me. How do I tell Jordan that everything he wants I secretly crave, but ultimately, it won’t work out? Almost every relationship I have been in has ended in questionable ways. My last one had a whole-ass secret family. I mean, we were discussing moving in together. Then there was the man who I thought might be the one. He was sweet and attentive, but the longer we were together, his truer qualities came out. Always negative, demanded things from me, treated our relationship like a hierarchy instead of an equal partnership. And there were a few others, but these were the ones that broke me. Both of those relationships started off good and then went to shit. And that’s something I want to avoid happening to me and Jordan.

I'll admit we look good together, my 5’9” frame next to his 6’2” stature. We fit perfectly. In photos my dark brown skin, slim nose, bright eyes and two-tone lips glow next to Jordan.

“You’ve met my family,” he says. “Stayed with us for the holidays when you didn’t go home; we would hang out like friends did. Then next thing I know, you’re cutting me off, not answering my calls and text. You would rather not have any real conversations.”

How can I explain to him that I did those things because I was—am—scared of the way he made me feel. Like we could beat the impossible doubts in my mind.

“Jordan—I—Where are you going with this?”

He sighs and stands up. “I want to be with you, Rose. Together, in a real relationship. You’re more than what you try to make yourself be. I wish you could see that.”

He's wrong. I feel like this is exactly who I'm meant to be. The woman who is scared to commit because commitment has fucked her over one too many times.

I brush my hair behind my ear. “I don't want to talk about this anymore,” I say, walking back to the kitchen. "I need some fucking wine. I take out a glass and uncork my sparkling Moscato I got from the winery, Château Ste. Michelle in Washington state. I went with my girls, Margot and Erica, over the Christmas holidays.

“Yea, you never want to ‘talk’ anymore. And truth be told, Rose, I don't know if I can be your fuck buddy anymore. Not with the way I feel about you.”

I drain the glass and pour another. “Where is this coming from, Jordan? I thought we agreed that what we had was good.”

“No. You thought it was good. I thought you just required some time to get to know me and trust me,” he says, and his voice strains at the end.

I stare at him in shock. The light is shining from behind his head, so I can't clearly see his face. But I hear his voice. He's serious.

At that thought, my heart squeezes so tight I gasp. I see Jordan take a step toward me. I hold up a hand, “No. No. Just go, please. I can't lo—”

“Okay.”

I don't look at him as he gathers his jacket and work satchel. There are a few minutes of awkward silence, only the squeaking sounds of Jordan’s god-awful pleather jacket he insisted on buying for Black Friday fill the room.

“Rose, I'm sorry about your grandma. Please, let me know if you still want me to come to the funeral with you… I don't know if you’ve realized it, but she was the one family member you always talked about. Please call me if you need anything.”

I watch him leave through blurred vision; the only sound is the door clicking shut.

♥

In-flight

“Yes, Mom, I didn’t forget to bring the ‘pharmacy greens’ with me. And just for the record, I'm pretty sure what I'm doing is illegal,” I whisper. I adjust my tote bag strap on my shoulder as I hustle away from the security checkpoint. Why did I listen to my mom?

“Oh, honey, I've done it a few times. You should be fine.”

I stop walking for a second. She’s done this a few times! Who the hell is this woman?

“The important part is that you have them, and I'm going to see you soon…in just under two and a half hours.”

A genuine smile crosses my face for the first time since my Grandma Lane died. The thought of seeing my mom and dad and the rest of my family makes my heart sing. From what I've gathered, family members that we’ve lost touch with or haven’t seen in a while will be at Grandma Lane's funeral. It will be like one big family reunion, except the reason for meeting is bittersweet.

My mom cuts into my thoughts. “Plus, I don't think I could get through all the crying and carrying on people are going to do for the next few days without being a little high.” I don't have time to take another pause. I'm running late—as usual—and my plane had already started boarding, adding to my anxiety.

Why? Why do I always end up being late when it's time for me to fly somewhere? Now I don't have time to stop at Starbucks or one of those other expensive breakfast places, even though I'm starving. My hungry thoughts are interrupted again by my mom.

“I cannot wait to meet this young man you occasionally talk about. Jordan, is that his name?” My mood shifts, a melancholy feeling overwhelming me at the mention of my friend. Jordan's name has come up a few times in our conversations. I always insist that he is just a friend, but of course, my mom takes that little tidbit and runs with it.

“I told you, Mom, we’re sort of not talking currently, so I highly doubt he’ll be coming to the funeral.”

“Hmm that's interesting.”

“Um, what's interesting?”

“Well, you only mentioned him a few times to me, but every time you did, I could hear something in your voice. That made me think he was different. You sounded happy bringing him up. I don't know, maybe I was imagining it.”

I don't even know what to say to my mom. I just hold the phone to my ear as I keep jogging.

I haven’t talked to him since that day he told me he wanted more. Albeit, I did tell him to leave. Multiple times throughout the past eight days, I've wanted to call, text, even show up to his apartment to talk to him, and tell him that I would try for him. But that didn't seem fair. I would only be trying because I didn't want to hurt him. Not because I genuinely wanted to try. So, instead, I distracted myself by helping my family plan Grandma Lane's funeral.

That was not the best thing to do because his fucking gorgeous face hasn’t left my mind for one second. One minute I'm daydreaming of eating pigs in the blanket and the next thing it's his dick that’s in my daydreams. (For the record, Jordan is more than the abundant appendage the good Lord blessed him with.) If Margot and Erica knew about this, they would call me a sex-starved hussy. Which, to be honest, I am. The last time Jordan and I had sex was right at the beginning of December. We both got busy, and we couldn't see each other until New Year's Eve. I had been planning to blow Jordan's mind, and then he blew mine up instead.

“Anyway, we can discuss that later, right now, I want you to hustle to make that flight. Your father bet me a hundred dollars that you would miss it, and I need to win. I would very much like that money for my self-care trip I'm taking after all this is over.”

“I'll text you before we take off,” I say and hang up. Finally, I see the light at the end of the tunnel, and hear the last boarding call and my name being called over the loudspeaker. "Rose Kirk, report to gate D22. Boarding is closing.” Fuck. Hopefully, one day, I will know what it is like to just be on time to the airport.

“I'm here! I'm coming!” I rasp out. The gate agent looks in my direction in straight horror. I guess my tired yell came out dirtier than expected. “Hold on, don't close it, please!” I yell out for good measure.

“You made it just in time, dear,” the older woman says as I huff for some air. Damn, I am out of shape. She scans my ticket and motions for me to walk ahead as she closes the gate door. Whenever I'm the last one to board, I like to imagine that this moment is me walking onto my personal jet.

As I get closer to the doors of the plane, I feel my anxiety going down. Somehow, the odds were in my favor today.

The flight attendant smiles at me as she waves me toward the aisle. I keep my eyes on the floor, making sure I don't trip or run into anybody. I make my way to the very back of the plane to my seat 30A. It was the only seat option left so that me and Jordan could sit together. I'm so busy sending up silent prayers to the baggage-handling gods that my checked luggage made it onto the plane that I don't even notice the body sitting in the same row as me until it's too late.

Jordan is looking down at his phone, fingers moving fast across the screen. I'm about to say something when my phone dings with an incoming text. He looks up at the sound of my phone. Our eyes meet, his narrowing in the corners before smoothing out. He nods at my hand. “Are you going to read that?” I wasn't, but now I'm curious.

Jordan: You are the only person I know who will never look stressed at being the last to board a flight.

I'm smiling when I look back at him. A flight attendant is making their way down the aisle, so Jordan gets up to let me in the row, I take my seat next to the window.

In the middle seat is all the stuff I will need for the flight. He got me an eye mask because I always lose mine; Dramamine, although I’ll never admit to getting motion sickness; a blanket because I am forever freezing; and a warmed cheese Danish and iced hazelnut cold brew. My stomach does a summersault at this. Why? Why does he have to be so incredible at being my friend? And why he still wants to be mine is an even bigger question.

Me: I am terrifyingly turned on right now. Thank you for that!

Jordan: Are you more turned on or terrified?

Me: Right now, it's in equal measure.

Jordan: What's turning you on?

Me: The food.

Jordan: ….and the terrifying part?

Me: It's a simple gesture and yet I’m ready to get on my knees to thank you.

Jordan: I'm a simple man. And just in case you forgot I’m always ready to get on my knees for you too.

I smile at the mention of Jordan’s skilled mouth doing delicious things to me.

The pre-flight speech about exits and air masks is playing on the screens on the head rest throughout the plane as I adjust myself. I get more comfortable, picking up the cheese Danish and taking a bite, and then taking a sip from the most perfect creamy coffee. I take a few more bites and sips before I'm ready to speak. “I didn’t think you were still coming,” I tell him, feeling vulnerable at how relieved I sound.

“I was always going to come, Rose. You need me and regardless of what is going on with us, I’ll be there.”

I nod because it is true. “I—I've been thinking about what you asked of me…” I trail off, scared to continue.

“And?”

“And, when I hung up with my mom after she told me about Grandma Lane, on New Year’s Day, I was seconds away from having a full-blown panic attack. I couldn't catch my breath, my body was going numb, and my chest felt heavy. Then I get a call and I pick up my phone and see your name flashing across the screen. I hadn't even answered it yet, but I could feel this calmness washing over my body at the thought of speaking to you. And that scared the fuck out of me.”

“This—you and me—scares me too, Rose.”

I sigh in relief. Jordan is the most confident and self-assured man I've been with. It can be a little intimidating at times, but knowing that he has some fears as well is comforting.

We are taxiing toward the runway, ready to take off, and I realize I am officially stuck in this moment and conversation with Jordan for the next two hours.

I want to keep talking, but I hear the engines revving up. Oh, fuck, we're about to take off. You would think that as many times as I've flown, I would be used to it all. But I feel like a newborn calf trying to stand up for the first time. I tighten my grip on the armrest. There’s a light brush of fingers over the top of my hand, then a calloused yet soft hand envelopes mine. If I think too hard about the feel of those hands on me and in me, I'm not going to make it through this flight. I swear, if we were on a private jet, I would be tossing my—you know what—in the air like a female cat in heat. Taking, throw that ass in a circle to new heights.

“What makes you think I want to hold your hand?” I say, trying to regain some control in this conversation.

Jordan squeezes my hand as the plane takes off. “What makes you think you don't love holding my hand?”

I don't answer as the plane climbs higher and higher into the clouds. All the while, Jordan runs his thumb along the side of my hand. Wow! I have never in my life thought I could be brought to peak horniness with just a thumb rub… Magic.

♥

We’ve been in the air for a little over an hour. During that time, I've gone back and forth with my thoughts. I've thought about what my mom said and how right she is. Although I will never, ever tell her that.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have shut you down so fast,” I say. “And perhaps what you’re feeling, I'm feeling too. And maybe this—us—could work, but maybe is not enough for me. I need something definitive.”

“In a perfect world, we would have no doubts, or questions when making decisions. But that's not our reality, Rose. I wish I could give you a definitive answer, but I can't. What I do know is that it'll be worth trying.”

My mind drifts to all the times Jordan did something for me and never asked for anything but my time in return. Like the time Erica and I signed up to do a marathon for our girl Margot to raise money for diabetes. I had only mentioned it in passing, and then, there he was at every training session with Erica and I. He knew how important it was to us. To me.

I think about the time he asked me to help him plan his birthday. I remember feeling so happy and honored that he wanted my help to plan his special day. Not only that, but I wanted to do those things because I loved to see him smile. His smile is one of my favorite things about him.

I notice Jordan has shifted his body toward mine. It's one of his tells when he's giving me his full attention. Are we really about to talk about our relationship on this plane? For a long while, he just looks at me. I can feel his honey-brown eyes flitting over my face. My heart is still beating a mile a minute, but this time it's not from the flight anxiety. I feel sure we can do this. That I want to do this. Be more than just friends with benefits.

“I'm scared,” I whisper.

“Give me all your fears, and I’ll show you there was never a reason to be scared.”

“Give me a reason we should do this.”

“You know the passwords to all my streaming services.”

I groan. “Jordan.”

“Okay, for real, you’re the one I call when I'm doubting myself. You never let me speak low of myself.”

“I don't like when you're down.”

“You care deeply. I see it every time you talk to your friends, and they’re going through something. You love hard. I know how special your Grandma Lane was. I know how much being there for her meant to you. I just want to be a small part of your love.”

I think on this, and come to the conclusion that I can no longer allow the past me to have any effect on the present me. I realize that I stop the good things from happening because I don't want them to turn bad. It had happened before and it hurt. I shut myself off, so I would never feel that way again.

My Grandma Lane used to say, “Courage is never easy, but it is necessary.” So, I take her words to heart.

I take his hand. “Jordan Parker, you have scared me from the moment I first met you. I have never felt a connection to someone like that. I had to put you in a box and keep you there just to get through my day. It wasn’t fair to you, but I wasn’t ready then. Even now, I'm uncertain if I'm ready, but your confidence that this is right is starting to be more than enough for me.” I finally look at him to see he's fighting the biggest smile.

“So, what do we call our relationship now?” Jordan asks.

I hesitate. “You know it's a—I mean we are in a relationship, so we call it that.”

Jordan busts out laughing. “Rose, you can't even say we're boyfriend and girlfriend. You're so cute when you're nervous.”

I glare at him. “Jordan, it's gonna take more than the two minutes since we agreed to try for me to call you my boyfriend.”

He's still smiling when he reaches up, placing his hand around the back of my neck. There goes my vagina flutters.

“I don't know, I think I prefer you call me your man, and I’ll call you my woman.” He rasps out, bringing our faces mere inches from each other.

“Yea, that could work,” I say in a daze because all I think about is kissing those lips of his.

Like he's read my mind, he asks, “Is it inappropriate to kiss on an airplane?”

I don't fucking care if it is. “No.”

He smirks. “It probably is, but I can't hold out until we land. I need to taste you. Remind myself how delicious you are.”

I shift in my seat. “Stop talking like that.”

“Stop being so goddamn sexy then,” he says, rubbing his thumb over my pulse point.

I bite my lip to stop the moan I want to release.

“Well, then stop teasing me and kiss m–”

And kiss me he does. One, then two pecks, then a slow build that leads to the most sensually infused kiss I've ever had. On an airplane at that. I can feel the hunger behind his lips. If he could, I know that he would ravish me right now, and God help me I would let him. I can tell he's holding back because of our surroundings and that's okay because this kiss…this is how all first kisses in a new relationship should be. It’s that feeling of fear and excitement finally crashing together.

Kayla Hill is reading all the time and writing in her spare time. Otherwise she's at work, checking in patients. Occasional mood posting at instagram.com/_kehill/

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Next week on Heartbeat, get ready for a short story from Lynda Cohen Loigman, author of The Matchmaker’s Gift.

Follow Heartbeat on Instagram at @storiesbyheartbeat for upcoming behind-the-scenes sneak peeks at Lynda’s story!

Three quick things from Georgia:

If you’re not obsessed with the comedian Cat Cohen, are you even alive?! Her Netflix special The Twist? …She’s Gorgeous is as hilarious as her advice column for W Magazine and her podcast Seek Treatment, hosted with my pal Pat Regan.
I’m hosting the Generation Women’s Writers’ Retreat in the Catskills, 1/6/23 - 1/9/23. Join me and ten other writers for a luxurious long weekend of fabulous food, lashings of wine, and oodles of time to write. Cost is all-inclusive. Applications close Sept. 30th (free to apply).
The Idea of You is going to be a movie! Annie Hathaway is confirmed to star as the 40-year-old divorcée who falls for sexy British boy band member, August Moon, almost two decades her junior. Hannah and I both adore this super-sexy sleeper hit from 2017 that found a wider readership in the pandemic. DYING to know who’s playing August!