“What about me?”
“Have you admitted you’re in love with him?”
Groaning, I removed myself from Lincoln’s lap, tucking into the spot on the couch between his legs and the arm. I pulled my knees to my chest and propped my chin on them, frowning across the small space at him. “I’m not.”
He rolled his eyes.
“It’s barely been a month. Not even,” I protested.
“I loved you the second I laid eyes on you,” he countered.
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
“Isn’t it?” I shot back.
Lincoln shrugged and picked his tablet back up, swiping the screen to whatever he’d been reading when I’d gotten home.
“Aren’t you meeting with that friend of his today?”
“At twelve,” I said.
“What are your plans until then?”
“Annoying you until it’s time to shower, I’d imagine.”
“Do either of those things involve you getting up and getting coffee and toast from the kitchen?” he asked. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I hadn’t moved all weekend.”
Laughing, I shoved Lincoln away, leveraging myself off his knee to get up and head for the kitchen. Coffee did sound like a good idea, and so did a lazy morning on the couch with my best friend. It was nice to sit with him, to read with him, to be close to him. But the whole time his question echoed through my head.
Is it?
Being with Lincoln was so different from being with Marshall, on account of the fact the relationship was platonic and the other romantic, but love, at its core, was the same,wasn’t it? I didn’t know, and I also didn’t want to think too hard about it and end up ruining one or both of my relationships.
Finally, just after ten, I dragged myself into the shower and into work clothes, which was weird, all things considered. I checked my phone and sent Marshall a text to let him know I was getting ready to head out, then I kissed Lincoln on the head, and made my way to Brentwood to meet Cory Callahan.
I had just pulled into a parking spot when my dad’s name flashed across the screen in my car, and the ringtone blasted through my speakers. Frowning, I pushed the green phone button to accept the call.
“Hello?” My heart rate immediately spiked, not sure of why he was calling or what he wanted.
“Silas.” My father cleared his throat, anger already evident in his tone. “It’s almost lunch. I’m calling to see if you’re planning on coming to work today or not.”
A laugh bubbled out of me, unstoppable. “Why would I come to work?” I asked. “You fired me.”
“I didn’t fire you.”
“You literally did,” I reminded him. “Told me to clear out my office, which I did.”
“Obviously that was just in the heat of the moment.”
The minutes on my car clock ticked from 11:55 to 11:56.
“You fired me,” I said again, wondering if saying it a second time would jog his memory. “And I have a job interview, so I’ve got to go.”
“Silas—”
I hung up the call before I could hear whatever else he had to say, then I silenced my ringer before shoving my phone into my pocket. He would most certainly call me back, and I wasn’t going to let him ruin the interview Marshall had set up for me.
