I like knowing I had that effect on her. I like the idea of spending time with her. I likeher.
As a friend, my brain autocorrects.
Yes, of course, as a friend. I’m obviously not interested in anything more for my life, and this is no exception. But that doesn’t mean we can’t flirt. Friends flirt. Flirting is harmless. Flirting is fun.
At least, that’s what I’ll keep telling myself.
If I wanted to be honest, I’d admit there’s a certain danger in how easy it feels with her—how natural it’s become to look for her reaction, to want to hear her laugh, to find excuses to keep her talking just a little bit longer. I'm allowing it because this whole thing is temporary. There are no strings attached because there can’t be. Once this semester is over, I’m out of here, and this will all fade to black.
I swallow hard, ignoring the curling disappointment that’s working its way up my spine, that familiar whisper reminding me that good things never last because they aren’t meant to.
I refuse to acknowledge said dangers because it feels good not to. Like closing your eyes to make the monster disappear.Sure, you know it’s still there behind your eyelids, but it’s less scary when you don’t have to face it head-on.
Besides, it’s been a long time since I’ve felt like anything was fun. Even longer since I’ve felt the warmth of a woman’s company without the shadow of someone else’s ghost in the background. Without the guilt, the lies, the hollow aftertaste of something that was never really mine still dangling before me.
This friendship—if that’s what this is—feels different. It feels…right. And maybe that’s exactly why I should stay the hell away from it.
My phone vibrates back to life with a text from Alana a minute later.
ALANA:I will be at your house in twenty minutes. Do not TOUCH your computer until I get there.
Just knowing she’s coming shakes away the darkness that was beginning to loom over me.
I chuckle at the message, tossing my phone on the couch with a victorious smile.Hook, line, and sinker.
I’m not worried that I don’t have projections to show her. In about eighteen minutes, when she walks through the door, I’ll tell her I used the wrong factor somewhere, and she’ll roll her eyes and yell at me for bringing her across campus for nothing.
And then she’ll stay, which is all I really wanted in the first place.
“What has you all Smiley Cake Jake today?” Nate mocks from the kitchen.
“Nothing,” I say dismissively with a stretch, rising from the couch. “How long you gonna be around for?”
“Not long.” He smirks over at me as he stirs his creamer into his coffee. “Why? You and Hot Friend gonna bang on the couch?”
“You’re disgusting.”
“I’m just saying that if you are, you should lay down a towel or something because I had that girl Jennifer over there a couple days ago.”
I shake my head. “That’s…too much information.”
“Or is it not enough?” He wags his brows, and I laugh despite how gross he is. “She gets great coke, if you’re interested. Addy’s, too.”
“I’m not, but thanks, anyway.” I may be a drinker, but drugs are something I’ll never touch. Nate, on the other hand, is the epitome of the Wall Street stereotype. Big finance guy with a fast-paced energy. Except he’s never been to Wall Street. Or even had a job. He doesn’t even do his class work. His college mantra is literallyC’s get degrees.
“What’s up with you and Hot Friend, anyway?” he asks, rinsing his mug and placing it in the dishwasher.
“Nothing.” I shrug, ignoring his demeaning nickname for Alana, though it is quite fitting. “We’re friends.”
“What kind of friends? The fucking kind?” His brow arches suspiciously, and I wonder what the point of his question is.
“The regular kind. Why?”
He shrugs. “Just asking.” I immediately hate the way he says it. How it implies… I don’t know. Something I don’t like.
Nate is a handsome guy. Charming as hell, too. His dirty blond hair and piercing green eyes captivate both tourists and college girls like a shiny new toy they can’t wait to get their hands on. He’s tactical in his efforts, knowing exactly which diamond white smile to shine at which unexpected prey. I’ll be the first to say the poor girls never stand a chance. It’s never bothered mebefore, and his antics have rarely affected my life, but right now, it feels like a problem.
A problem because my mind is starting to race, wondering which of those smiles would work on Alana. Which glitter in his eye would make her lips curve upward and her cheeks flush pink. My stomach sours at the idea that any of them would. Which is alarming because I shouldn’t care at all.
