“I miss you too,” I admit, my voice softer than I intended.
“But missing you doesn’t erase the fact that I’m still married. That every time we cross that line, I wrestle with guilt that I can’t just switch off.”
I sit up a little straighter. I need him to know that what I’m about to say… I mean it. And I need him to respect this boundary, even when I, myself, don’t want to.
“My marriage is over, I know that in my bones, but until it’s final—until the ink is dry—it feels wrong to keep… doing this. Not the physical part.”
His shoulders lift with a breath, then drop. He doesn’t argue, doesn’t push. Just nods once, like he understands.
“Then we don’t. Not until the ink is dry.”
The relief that floods me is almost dizzying. Not because I don’t want him, but because I need him to be my friend right now. Not my lover. And he gets that. Truly, he does.
Then he smirks, tilting his head. “Still allowed to flirt, though, right?”
I roll my eyes, laughing out my response.
“Of course you’d ask that.”
He leans back, casual, though the gleam in his eyes is anything but.
“You know, if we were elements, you’d be oxygen.”
I arch a brow, unimpressed.
“Because every time you’re near, I forget how to breathe.”
I stare at him flatly. “Wrong subject.”
He throws up his hands, dramatic as ever. “There are only so many math innuendos, Tote!”
I turn slowly, deadpan.
“So the limit does exist? Thank God.”
His grin spreads, smug and boyish all at once. “Technically, it’s approaching infinity—but I’m a patient man. Also—did you justMean Girlsme?”
And just like that, everything is back to normal.
I laugh. I can’t help it.
“Oh my gosh, that’s my favorite movie.”
“Classic,” he declares, like the argument’s settled. “We should totally watch it.”
And we do.
Somehow, without either of us saying it out loud, we shift. I end up tucked against his side, his arm looped around me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
He keeps tossing out one-liners, and I keep pretending I’m not amused, but he knows.
He always knows.
When he leans down, voice low and ridiculous, and says, “Are you going to start telling people I’m almost too gay to function?” I lose it completely. My laugh shakes against his chest, warm and unguarded.
For a moment, everything else fades—the grief, the divorce, the loneliness.
I’m happy. And for the first time in ten days, the hole in my chest—the GBF-shaped one—is filled to the brim.
