“That doesn’t sound like nobody,” she teases.
My sock catches on the kitchen threshold. “A friend!” I hop after her with a throbbing baby toe.
“You have no friends here—ouch!” She rubs the arm I punch.
“I’m working on that!” I whisper-yell, now feet from the front door. “There’s a meetup next week for people over thirty who are looking for new friends.”
“You’re going to a group event with strangerswillingly?”
“Don’t laugh.” It’s embarrassing enough trying to make friends at this age.
To her credit, she lifts her hands and zips her lips. “Good for you. Want me to come for moral support?”
“I don’t need a chaperone. I’m capable of interacting with people at a function alone.” I might vomit a little in my mouth, but I’ll manage.
She forces a smile to keep from calling my bluff and tilts her head toward the door. “So who’s that?” A glint of humor sparks in her eyes when it clicks—I only have one friend here.
I don’t ask God for much, but I’m silently praying in King James English that Marcela does not embarrass me.
“Antonio.” There’s no point in glancing up to catch the grin that’s ruffling her mouth.
“We’re friends.”
Friends can do lots of things. Have dinner. Watch the news. We’ve been platonic since life knocked us upside the head on that New Year’s Eve we’ve never discussed nor attempted again. Antonio doesn’t think of me like that anyway.
The doorbell rings again, followed by a knock.
I’m an awful host. The man is probably frozen whole on my porch by now.
I shoo Marcela away. “Please don’t act a mess.”
She frowns. “What kind of big sister would I be if I didn’t?”
“Nice and decent,” I shoot over my shoulder. Whatever rebuttal I have for her snappy comeback dies on a squeak. It’s more of a gasp that becomes a cough.
Sweet muscles and thigh meat!
“Hi.” Antonio’s voice is a silky rumble with no signs of hypothermia. It’s gentle, a far cry from his athletic form, which is suffocating the life out of my doorway.
His weatherproof pants shouldn’t tempt any fantasies about the hard muscles beneath the fabric. How they exert energy when provoked. The planes of his legs are carved from hours in the gym and on the field. His chest is no exception. Broad lines molded over thick pecs lead to the protective arms I’ve seen cradle a rugby ball and fling other men his size.
I’m eyeing him like a Cyber Monday sale. How do I expect to make more friends if I can’t stop ogling the only one I have?
This isn’t a date. Friends pay house visits all the time. Even friends with penises.
“You okay, Doe?”
“Huh? Yes.” I push up my glasses and blink at the team logo that’s stitched on the black hoodie stretched over his torso. The ox-like animal taunts me over “Buffalo Steel” written in white letters wrapped in black. “Hi.”
“Is this a bad time?” His eyes shift to Marcela. “Hey.” The word lacks its usual vigor.
Is he nervous?
“It’s nice to see you again,” she offers.
“You too, ma—”
“Don’t ‘ma’am’ me. I’m only six years older than Miriam, and I’m no one’s elder or auntie.”
