It’s not that I don’t want my friend to be happy. He’s awesome, and he deserves to be loved by a great guy. And Leif does seem like… a reasonably acceptable human. Lately, though, it feels like all my friends are coupling up and settling down. Rodney has Leif, Logan has Patrick. I could keep going—I have a lot of friends. Which basically means I have way too many people I have to fake being happy for on a regular basis.
How long do I have to wait before I meetmysomeone special? I want to give everyone a reason to fake being happy for me, damn it!
“Are you bringing a date to the Fifth Circleconcert?” Rodney asks.
I blink, dragging myself out of my sulk. “No. Why?”
He hesitates before shaking his head. “No reason. Just wondering.”
“When Ned offered the tickets, he generously included an extra one for Leif. It’s supposed to be a peace offering not a double date.” Heat rises in my cheeks. “It’s not like I couldn’t have scared up a date if I wanted one.” Is that what he thinks? That I’m inviting him and Leif because I couldn’t find anyone else to go with me? Am I a loser now?
“Of course, you could, Toni,” he rushes to assure me. “You could have anybody.”
My teeth grit together. Now he’s pushing it. This is what comes of arriving at too many events alone. It doesn’t matter that I don’t always leave alone. The grand entrance is all anyone ever notices. For me, it’s traditionally a solo act.
“So we’re clear, I’m not some third wheel here.” I gesture between us with a single pointed finger. “I’m not tagging along to the concert with you. You’re tagging along with me.” On a whim, I curve my lips in a sultry smile and add, “And I’ll be there to see Ned.”
Rodney is halfway through his next line of artless backtracking when he stops short. “Wait a minute. Is something going on between you and Ned Corbyn?”
“What? No, of course not,” I insist, allowing my gaze to fall away. “Well, maybe.” I pick up another bite of bread, suddenly rediscovering my appetite, and pop it into my mouth so Rodney is forced to wait for me to chew and swallow before I continue. “Ned and I are… complicated.”
It’s such a wonderfully malleable word: complicated. So open to interpretation.
Personally, I think it’s a good fit for my relationship with Ned. Even if said relationship consists of nothing more than a few minutes of what may have been flirting but was too liberally dosed with snark for me to tell. I’m not counting the three nights I’ve spent watching and rewatching YouTube videos of Ned performing live on various stages. Most of the footage has been atrocious. Dodgy phone recordings made by half drunk audience members. I’ve watched anyway, unable to help myself.
Having seen the man up close and personal, I don’t have to wonder if Ned is as gorgeous as the blurry images and bad lighting imply. Those green eyes of his well and truly had me at hello. Add in the tousled locks of golden-brown hair, the tanned muscles and the stubbled jawline and, well, I may have ended up holding the phone with one hand while the second occupied itself with other activities.
There’s no doubt about it. Ned Corbyn, despite his prickly, judgemental nature, is freaking hot.
“O. M. G.” Rodney’s hands clutch over his chest as he stares at me in awe. “I mean, everyone knows he’s gay, it’s all over his lyrics, but this is incredible. My best friend is dating the lead singer of a rock band. I’m so proud.”
Oh,nowI’m his friend again—his best friend no less. A single whiff of me bumping uglies with some barely known musician and the wordacquaintancevanishes from Rodney’s vocabulary. Typical.
“Do you think Leif and I could meet him? After the concert, I mean.”
I’m quick to shake my head. “I doubt it. The band will be busy packing up their gear and everything.”
Rodney hisses in a breath. “Too busy to even say hello when you’re right there in the same building?” His face contorts with sudden concern. “That doesn’t bode well.”
My gaze hits the ceiling and I squash the urge to scream. How have I managed to go from dateless loser, to rock musician’s boyfriend, to desperate groupie all in the space of five minutes? Why is nothing I do—or in this case claim to do—ever enough for people?
“Ned and I aren’t planning to see each other after the concert,” I say, blowing out an intentionally exasperated breath. “Although, I suppose I could text him on the night and see if he’s able to meet us for a drink.” I’d rather not, but given Rodney’s enthusiasm, I might not have much choice. I doubt Ned would take me up on the offer, anyway. I got the impression he didn’t particularly like me, even if the air between us did snap, crackle, and pop.
“Fantastic,” Rodney cries, clapping his hands together. “Thanks, Toni.”
“Anything for you and Leif.” Flashing him a grin, I pick up the menu again. “Now, let’s get you some dessert.”
THREE
______
NED
Thanks again for the tickets. Looking forward to watching you shake your wild thing.
I stare at my phone, gnawing on my bottom lip as I read the text over and over. Toni. I wasn’t sure he’d show.
When I sent him the info for the concert earlier in the week, he’d responded with a few brief words of thanks. That was it. No flirting, no teasing, no follow-up of any kind. Though I couldn’t help but wonder if his fingers hovered over his screen the way mine did. Tempted to reach out for a little bit more.
