“Regardless of what you invited me to, I’ll be there,” I admitted. It didn’t matter what it was.
“Okay.” She paused, dragging her finger over her sandals in such an innocent way. “Maybe you’re not a complete fuckstick.”
I laughed at that, hard enough to hit the steering wheel. “Your use of colorful vocabulary is entertaining. But you insult me a lot.”
“It’s good for your ego.” She shrugged. “But I’m going to play once a week at the bar, not sure if it’s a weekend or weeknight. I’m starting in two weeks and they are going to promote it on social media and everything.”
We came to another light and I shifted to look at her. She nibbled her lip, pulling on the ends of her nails.Nervous.“G, that’s impressive.”
“I don’t know,” she mumbled and cracked her neck a couple of times. “What if I suck?”
“What if you don’t?” I put my hand on her thigh, its creamy color contrasting with my tan hand. I squeezed for five seconds then gently released it. “My fake girlfriend andrealbest friend kicks ass. I’ll be at every show.”
“Damn it, Aaron. Sometimes you suck and sometimes you say the sweetest things.” She sniffed.
“I’m not sweet.”
She bit her cheek and let out a small laugh. “I knowthat. You’re quite barbaric, most of the time. Childish other times. Annoying. Whore-y. I can keep going.”
“Settle down.” I pulled into the parking lot and waited for her to get out before continuing. “I’m awesome. Don’t forget that.”
She scrunched her nose and let out an exasperated sigh. “And sure, you’re awesome and all that jazz.”
I held the door for her entering the store. “I’ll grab a cart.”
“Cool. But fake or real, relationships are not your thing.” She shoved my arm. “I would compare it to you asking me how to swing a bat.”
“Am I that awful?” I stuck my lip out and pouted. “You’re hurtful.”
“Your ego can handle it, champ.” She smacked my ass and walked ahead of the cart. “You’re allergic to relationships. Plain and simple.”
“I might be slightly allergic to them. I hear there are good allergy medicines, though. Should we take a detour to the medicine aisle?” I pointed in the direction and felt mollified when she laughed.
“Good one.” She threw in some cereal boxes and girlie shit I had no business to figure out. I watched her take stuff, grabbing things from my own list when we walked by them. “You’re lucky we are such good friends, actually. I get asked about ten times a day about you, dude. I don’t know how you handle the attention.”
I paused, my hand inches away from snatching a jar of protein powder. She leaned on the cart with an apprehensive look on her face. My core tightened.Is she already regretting this? Am I the biggest asshole on the planet?
“Iamlucky. Please know I think about it every day. I’m not sleeping,” I admitted, avoiding her stare. I vowed to do anything for her. Anything.
“Hmm.” She eyed me for a second and a small smile broke out. “Do you know what helps me sleep?”
“Porn?” I tried, a sliver of our old banter sneaking out. It was easy to be myself with her. “Nah, never mind. You don’t look the type.”
“Jesus.” She widened her eyes at me, aggressively telling me something without words. It didn’t work and she caved. “Try wearing socks to bed.”
“Uh, what?” There was no way she said that. No fucking way. “Socks won’t help.”
“Trust me. My mom always made me grab a huge pair of fuzzy socks when I couldn’t sleep. I remember these obnoxious blue polka dot ones that looked ridiculous. I wore them and bam, I slept like a little bitch.”
“Do you still wear these monstrosities?” I fought a smile. Young Greta, all legs and arms and wearing those socks, was a fun picture. “Please say youjustwear socks to bed.”
“Aaron Hill. Do I detect flirting?” With a hand on her hip, she stopped the cart.
“Maybe.” I winked at her, and she barreled at me. Her hands went around my waist and she about knocked the wind out of me. “G, what the hell?”
“I’ve missed the shit out of your stupid flirting and perverted jokes. I missed them so much.”
I wrapped my arms around her small body and enjoyed her sweet scent. I had always loved women. All types. Curvy. Athletic. Willowy. What I’d never had before was complete trust and admiration for them—until Greta. I ran my hand down her back, pulling the ends of her long blonde hair. An uncomfortable pit formed and, like I had done countless times before, I needed to ruin the moment. I was a self-sabotager. “Are you PMSing? You’ve hugged me quite a lot the past week.”
