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“Have you ever thought about us?” she asks abruptly, her brow furrowing.
“Us?” I feel my throat going dry, but she can’t be asking what I think she is.
“Yeah. Like was there ever a time you thought of us as something more than friends? Did you ever secretly find me attractive?”
Apparently, we were doing this now, while she’s drunk.
“You’re gorgeous, Aurora. I don’t think that’s a secret.”
“I’m being serious.”
“So am I.”
“Okay. So if you thought I was gorgeous, how come you never made a move on me in college?”
“Where’s this coming from?”
“Nowhere really. I was just thinking and curious.”
“Did you have a thing for me in college?” I lob the question back at her.
“No,” she answers immediately, and my heart sinks with the admission.
I knew it deep down but hearing her say it is something else. I always hoped that she had some kind of crush that she’d just hidden well, but the ease and quickness with which she says no lets me know it’s true. My feelings for her have come and gone over the years, and I’ve been content with us being friends. With having her in my life whatever way that has to be for her to be happy.
But the little reminders that I’ve been stupid enough to feel something with none of it returned prick my heart in places it’s already sore. This is exactly why I need to keep my emotions in check when it comes to her. I’m not going to risk the friendship we have for a crush I once had.
“So why does it matter then?” I put the car in park and turn to look at her as we undo our seatbelts.
“The girls were asking about it. If we were ever a thing before we were friends. They had a hard time believing it when I said no.”
“Why’s that?”
“They said you’re—” She stops as abruptly as she started, getting out of the car and joining me on the path between the driveway and the house.
“Said I’m what?” She looks away, an almost guilty look on her face, and my stomach turns. I can’t imagine the girls saying anything bad about me. But when she takes a breath and blows it out, it dials up my anxiety. I drop my keys from the door and turn to her. “I’m what?”
“I saw the room in the bar.”
The knots in my stomach tighten and the anxiety creeps over me.
“The room?” I play like I don’t know what she means. Like I’m not already starting to sweat over it.
“The… sex room or whatever it is.”
“It’s an office. Not a sex room.” I correct her too quickly, and her eyes snap to mine, her shoulders tight but then her brow quirks up.
“It’s definitely a sex room. The see-through walls. The way the desk is set up. That couch… I’m not naive.”
I try to think of excuses that are better than the truth. Something to counter her with. But I can’t. That’s what the room is supposed to be for. Not that I ever got to use it.
“I’ve only ever done paperwork in there.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Well, it’s true.” I unlock the door and usher her in because I don’t want to have this conversation on the porch.
“Where’s all the paperwork then? The computer? A printer? Anything remotely office-y?”
