Asshole.Of course, he goes there. It’s the easiest bullseye to hit. My chronic singlehood is well-known. My relationship history is littered with unrequited crushes, an ill-fated situationship, and amaybe somethingwith a man who is not a student.
“Miles is a doctor,” I say, my brow puckering.
“Of English,” Garrett scoffs.
The medical doctor snobbery aside, Garrett tends to be standoffish with most people. Besides Anker, I may be the onlyother human he interacts with outside of the hospital, and most of the time, I annoy him.
Miles, however, seems to enjoy everyone. I just wish he liked me in the way I want to be liked. Since meeting ten months ago at the university where I work as an assistant disability services coordinator, our relationship has teetered between friends and something more. Beyond the occasional dinner before one of his evening classes and a few steamy make-out sessions worthy of a soapy drama, he hasn’t asked me out.
Of course, I haven’t asked him out either. I’ve just been waiting. It seems like waiting is my not-so-cool superpower, or kryptonite, depending on your perspective. My patience is endless, but all this waiting leaves me always wanting.
“I’ll be sure to call the literary fuckboy if I have a misplaced semicolon emergency,” Garrett snarks.
“Prick,” I mumble under my breath.
Anker lets out a long groan. “I hope you two aren’t going to be like this tomorrow and ruin my churro waffle with your bickering.”
Before we fly to New York City tomorrow for Anker to run the marathon, we’re brunching with some friends. It’s the first time he’s running it. In the last four years, he’s ran the Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Long Beach marathons with Garrett, but in New York City, he’ll run solo.
It’s a Larsen male rite of passage. My father and his brothers not only ran a marathon the year they turned thirty, but found love because of it. Uncle Pedro was in Uncle Christian’s marathon training running group. Aunt Margot was a volunteer at Uncle Hans’s race. Our mom worked at the coffee shop in the hotel where our dad stayed when he ran his.
“Ican behave.” Hand on my chest, I bat my eyes. “It’s Garrett the Grumbly that I worry about. Is he even allowed out in the daytime? I wouldn’t want him to burst into flames.”
“I’ll wear sunscreen,” Garrett deadpans.
Snorting, I almost spit out my drink but swallow it back and choke a bit.
“On that note…” He chuckles. “I’ll grab us another round. I have your egos to feed, after all.” The chair screeches as he stands up. “Same drinks?”
“Make mine the apple martini this round,” Anker says, no doubt waggling his brows at me.
Shaking my head, I laugh. “I’m good with just the one drink. I’d like to keep a clear head for the bus home.”
“I can drive you, Jensen,” Garrett offers.
“I like the bus.”
“It’s dark out.”
“In fairness, with my eyesight, it’s always dark out,” I quip.
There are few advantages of my legal blindness since my Stargardts diagnosis at the age of ten, outside of getting through airport security quicker, but this is one. I do enjoy a perfectly timed blind joke. Even if my limited vision doesn’t let me see the smile tugging at the edges of Garrett’s mouth, his quiet chuckle telegraphs it.
“Such an asshole.” Laughter underscoring his retort, Garrett shakes his head.
“You are the expert.” An unbridled grin kicks across my face.
Poking this bear is extra delicious when I make him smile. I’m not a complete masochist with this crush. It’s not like I thrive around men who are mean to me.
“How about a soda, then?” Garrett says, the quirk of his mouth betrayed in the lightness of his timbre.
“Sure.” I beam with all the bluster of a wrestler hoisting up a championship belt.He’s totally smiling, and he hates it.
“Diet, right?”
“Yeah… Thanks.”
“I’ll be back,” he says, pushing away from the table.
