Every shared joke, every accidental touch sends another jolt through my system, and I'm losing track of where he ends and I begin. My thoughts orbit him like planets around a sun, drawn by a gravity I can't explain or escape. He's become a beautiful, terrifying obsession, a craving that gnaws at me even when he's not there, leaving me hollow and wanting.
Every day, I look forward to seeing him.
Andy is funny, smart, tough-spirited, and honest to a fault. He doesn't hide his feelings or complain about his circumstances, he just keeps moving forward. He has this way of saying exactly what he means without caring if it ruffles feathers. I can talk to him for hours. He understands me in ways no one else does, and I get where he's coming from. I've never met anyone like him before.
Gary had been right, being friends with Andy is dangerous. But it's too late to stop now. We aren't just running buddiesanymore; we're friends. Real friends. And I'm not going backward. I like him too much. I want to keep him. Whatever is brewing inside me, I'll bury it deep.
It'll be fine. Just fine.
"Hey, Andy," I say, catching my breath mid-run.
"Yeah?"
"What book are you reading right now?"
He glances at me, not even winded, while I struggle to keep up. "The Grapes of Wrath."
I laugh. "No, you're not."
He furrows his brows, a familiar annoyance etching lines between them—a look reserved just for me. His lips betray him, still curved with that hint of a smile. It's the same expression he offers on set when I crack some dumb joke, but seeing it here, stripped of context, sends my thoughts scattering.
"I read a lot of Steinbeck. What's wrong with that?" he asks, irritation threading through his words.
I stop abruptly, bending to retie a shoe that doesn't need it. Just a moment, a breath to compose myself. For reasons I can't quite grasp, this small exchange threatens to ignite me. Andy waits, his patience a stark contrast to my internal fire, kicking his feet idly to keep the blood flowing.
"What are you reading, then?" he asks.
"Mostly Latin lit. It's the only way to practice, so I don't forget it."
He blinks. "That's... dedicated."
"It's a dead language, but it was used at the height of the Roman Empire. It shaped how we communicate today. Isn't that cool?"
Andy laughs. "No, you dork. It's nerdy."
He's teasing, but the warmth in his smile, the way he seems to appreciate my complete dorkiness, sends my heart racing against my ribs. I let the laughter settle in my chest like warmhoney, shaking off the last tremors of amusement as I push myself upright. The grass springs back beneath my feet, cool against my flushed skin. Without a word, I lead us back onto the winding path, the rhythm of our footsteps falling into place once more, each stride carrying us deeper into the sun-drenched park.
"It's no nerdier than rereading books they forced on us in school. You do that for fun, you masochist."
I brace for his glare, but instead, he laughs. It's a light, genuine sound that makes his blue eyes sparkle. It tugs at something deep inside me, and I have to bite my bottom lip to stop from smiling too much. I focus on the trail ahead, trying to bury the feelings bubbling up in my chest.
Back at the car, the click of our seatbelt buckles echoes in the sudden quiet. Andy shifts in his seat, turning toward me with that lopsided grin that's become so familiar. "Hey, Vince?"
"Yeah?" I keep my eyes on the dashboard, pretending to adjust the air conditioning vents.
"We're friends now, right? Officially?" The words come out lighter than he probably intended, but I hear the weight beneath them.
I let the silence stretch for a beat too long, enjoying the way his shoulders tense just slightly. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Andy. We're running buds. I'm still conducting interviews for the friend position."
His smile falters, the corners of his mouth dipping as he turns to watch the parking lot through the passenger window. The afternoon sun catches the gold in his hair.
My stomach drops.
"Andy," I say, my voice suddenly hoarse. "That was... that was a terrible joke. Of course, we're friends."
He turns back slowly, his blue eyes searching mine. "You already have a lot people in your life. Your circle seems... established."
I force a laugh that sounds hollow in the confined space. "My circle? You mean Gary and Frank? They're practically my parole officers." I reach over and nudge his shoulder. "Besides, you're the only one who gets my obscure literary references without rolling your eyes."
