“We’re not a couple, so we’re not fighting,” I snap back bitterly.
“But we are friends, and I said things to you I can’t take back, but I can apologize for. I hate that I hurt your feelings. I shouldn’t have said what I did that day in the equipment room. I’m so sorry, Leon.”
The silence stretches between us as I remain quiet, unsure what to say because all I want to do is jump across this fucking kitchen island dividing us and tell her I’m in love with her.
I’ve never been in love with anyone before, but I know Erika is the only woman I could seriously see myself having a future with.
It’s such a fucking pity that she’s my best friend’s sister.
The endless torture of seeing her but never being able tobewith her is slowly killing me. Hell would be a much nicer place to live, I’m sure of it.
But the fact is, even when I tell her I can’t stop thinking about her or that she lives rent-free in my head, she doesn’t listen, doesn’t believe me, or take me seriously. And she sure as hell doesn’t trust me because my past keeps screwing me over every time.
Eventually, I reply, “You were right about me. I am a fuckboy.” Hell, after she said that, I googled my own name, and the search results were not pretty.
Erika shakes her head, dismissing me. “It was wrong of me to tell you. That’s not what friends do to each other.”
I shoot her a penetrating look. “Are we still friends?” I wish we were more.
She looks puzzled by my question. “Of course we are.” Her eyes turn watery. “I miss you.”
She misses me.
Erika adds, “I hate that we haven’t spoken in weeks, Leon. I hate having lunch alone, and I hate that you’re not in my life.” Her tears choke her.
“I hate all of those things too.” I’ve felt lost and alone for four solid weeks. How can I stay mad at her? It’s not in me to hold a grudge.
I hurry around the kitchen island and scoop her into my arms. “Please don’t cry, baby.”
“I hate fighting with you.” Deep sobs make her body shudder against mine as I hold her close and she laces her arms around my waist. “I’ve barely slept.”
“How many hours have you worked this week?”
“Sixty-nine.” She sniffs.
“That’s a sexy number,” I joke, doing my best to lighten the mood.
Erika snorts and laughs at the same time. “You’re an idiot,” she says, looking up at me.
Those big, beautiful eyes of hers penetrate my soul. “You look tired, baby.”
“Tiredness makes me emotional.”
“So, you’re not crying because you missed me?” I ask, staring into her red-rimmed eyes with a smirk, and more cheer in my voice than there has been all month.
I’m so fucking happy she’s here.
“It’s a combination of tiredness and sadness. I did miss you, Leon.”
“I missed you, too.” So much.
We stay like this for minutes, enjoying being in each other’s orbit once more.
God, I’ve missed her. From her perfume to her funny stories from the hospital and lunches. I just miss her. All of her.
No longer crying, she unwraps herself from around me. “I almost forgot. I got you a present.” She reaches for her purse, the one I bought her for her last birthday; she takes it everywhere.
I like knowing she carries a piece of me around with her.
