I can’t risk losing her friendship. I can’t risk losingher.
So I keep the truth locked safely in my heart and choose to love her from afar.
Because guys like me don’t get the happily ever after with girls like Mabel Garcia.
Mabel
It’s currently 8:00 p.m. on a Wednesday night and I’m at Marnie’s Shack, a cute retro-themed dessert spot.
My best friend Kennedy is working the closing shift and the place is empty except for us two. Soft indie music pumps through the speakers as I sit by the pink bar with my MacBook in front of me, creating a Pinterest board for nail inspo.
Kennedy is behind the counter, preparing my drink. When she deposits it on a coaster, I inch her an appreciative grin. “Thanks, Ken.”
We met during our freshmen year at Vesta University in business communication class and have been inseparable since. We’re basically soul sisters.
“You’re welcome.” Kennedy tosses her dark box braids behind her shoulders with an adorable smile. “Are you still working on your assignment?”
“Nope. Finished and submitted four hours before the deadline.” I’m a bit of a procrastinator and only started this assignment about…two hours ago. As the saying goes, diamonds are created under pressure and I’m confident that my one-thousand-word essay on ‘How to create an effective personal brand’ is nothing short of a masterpiece. Truly an A in the making. “Now I’m surfing through Pinterest to get ideas for my next set of nails. Any suggestions?”
She tilts her head and studies my current acrylics. I like my nails like I like my heels—long and lethal. “What do you think about yellow with some sunflowers?”
My nail technician is going to have a field day. “I love it. You’re a genius.”
She chuckles softly. “Oh, I know.”
Kennedy is beauty and brains wrapped up in a silk designer bow. She’s got the second highest GPA in Vesta University’s business school and with deep brown skin, light brown eyes, and the kind of cheekbones that belong on a magazine cover, my best friend is easily the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.
Before I can reply to her, my phone, which I forgot to switch to silent, buzzes with an incoming text message.
It’s thattimeof the evening and even Kennedy knows, because she shoots me a shit-eating grin. “Who’s that?”
I fight a blush. She knows damn well who it is.
There’s only one person who texts me every day, without fail, at this time.
My other best friend.
Liam O’Connell.
When I was a senior in high school, my English teacher was super into epistolary writing and arranged for our class to have pen pals with another high school.
That’s how Liam and I ‘met’ at eighteen.
Blue ink-stained letters filled with various musings, we found common ground in supernatural TV shows and the fact that we were both white chocolate lovers. Our relationship started on surface-level topics and morphed into something beyond our expectations.
He’s someone with whom I can talk about everything and anything without the worry of being judged. There’s no one like him.
He’s patient, kind, and most of all, supportive.
Liam was the first person to know I got into the marketing program at Vesta University. He encouraged me to apply even when I was afraid my grades wouldn’t measure up to the requirements.
When I got my first gig as a plus-size model for a popular Canadian lingerie brand a year ago, he was also the first person I texted. He celebrated my win like it was his own.
When I discussed wanting to start a social media account to spread body positivity and self-love, he was, once again, the first person to tell me I would make a difference in the world.
Even when I don’t believe in myself, Liam believes in me.
And whenever I’m feeling down, stressed, or overall unhappy, he sends me a hefty money transfer so I can go get my nails done as a treat.
