She grins. “You like him.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Liar.”
“I’m not lying! I don’t even know him all that much.”
“Okay, then explain why you’re acting like you’re about to make a life altering decision with your hair.” She gestures to my hands that are holding half of it up, again, as I try to determine what looks best.
I stare at her. “Because I want to look presentable.”
“Presentable?” She repeats it like it’s the funniest word she’s ever heard. “Babe. Aren’t you going to Cherry Pit? They’ve had events where they encourage people to leave actual cherry pits on the floors and tables.”
“That was one time!” I’m amazed at my best friend’s ability to remember almost everything.
She’s right. I just don’t want her to know that. Something changed that night at the beach. I’d be lying if I wasn’t around town that weekend, hoping I’d casually run into Colson even knowing that would be the absolute last place I would find him.
He could’ve played off the whole thing at the beach as if it never happened. Never bring it up. But he didn’t. And the way he was thanking me… I didn’t expect it. Maybe that’s why this is catching me off guard.
It wasn’t a throwaway comment. He meant it. And this could be the start of the steep downfall I feel I may be plummeting towards when it comes to Colson Burke.
I let out a strangled groan and hide my face in my hands, mostly trying to hide my expression. My cheeks hurt from smiling. I hate how much they hurt.
“He’s hard to explain,” I mutter into my palms. “Like, he’s intentional.”
Maren scoots to the edge of her hair, elbows rested on her knees. “Intentional?”
I peek at her. “You know what I mean.”
“Sure I do.”
“And he’s kind. Like unexpectedly kind.”
She wiggles her eyebrows. “And tall.”
I give her a side eye glance, “He’s an NBA player. Typically, they are tall.”
“And hot.”
I glare at her. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. I’m happy to fill in that blank that you always seem to neglect to mention.” Her words drip with the happy type of sarcasm I typically love her for.
I throw my head back, eyes on the ceiling. “I’m doomed.”
“Completely,” she agrees, “but in a fun way.”
My phone buzzes. The screen lights up with a notification for a message from Colson. Maren looks at me and immediately starts to clap. “Girl. I’ll get out of here so you can get to your date.” She rubs her hands together like she’s an evil scientist and her plan is finally going to work.
Blowing out a breath, I argue, “It’s not a date.”
She puts her hands on my shoulders and lightly shakes them. “Keep telling yourself that.”
The realization of the unanswered question hangs between us and I can feel the weight pulling on me from the inside out. Thoughts rush through like they have somewhere to be. Dating. Relationships. Feelings. Leaving.
Maybe that’s part of this? Yes, I’ve been on a few dates since Nick, but nothing has really ever happened that I’d consider serious, or significant. Honestly, I’ve spent more time with Colson than anyone other than Maren.
When did that happen? One minute he’s the ass next door and the rec kids are denting his car; the next I’m meeting him downtown. In between are all the hours in the gym. It sort of came out of nowhere and my brain can barely make sense of the way I’m looking forward to seeing him tonight.
