Friendship, I tell myself.
Justfriendship.
We’ve always been touchy with one another, and he’s always let me get close. But the way my skin buzzes when our thighs press together under the table, the way I catch myself watching his throat move when he swallows… that doesn’t feel like just friends. Not anymore.
Or maybe it never has, and I’ve been too chickenshit to name it.
Why does this scare me? Dmitri’s my best friend. The one person who gets me without trying. If thisisattraction, why does admitting it feel like stepping off a cliff? Why does it feel like something I can never take back?
Dmitri has always been open and comfortable with his sexuality, but just the thought of this what-if in my head has me spiraling. The idea of messing it up, of losing what we have because I can’t sort my own head, keeps me frozen.
Dinner comes and gives me somewhere to focus my jittery attention. After he finishes his first slice, I hold another piece toward him. “Try this one. Extra basil. You’ll hate it because you’re a heathen who doesn’t appreciate garnish.”
“I appreciate garnish when it’s not trying to impersonate a salad,” he corrects, then takes a bite anyway, chews, and nods. “Okay. Not bad.”
“High praise.” I grin, leaning in so our faces are closer. “Say it. Say I’m right.”
“You’reinsufferable.”
“Not what I asked for.” My voice drops. “Come on. Give me the win.”
He meets my eyes, amusement flickering through his. “You act like I’ll always just give you whatever you want.”
“Prove me wrong then,” I taunt.
A slow grin spreads across his lips, and he gives his head a small shake. “Fine. You’re right. Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” I whisper, but instead of pulling back, I linger in his space. For a second the rooftop noisefades, and it’s just us, the sunset bleeding out around us, and his breath close enough I can feel it.
A burst of loud laughter comes from the door. My eyes swing over his shoulder to a group of frat guys spilling into the space like cattle released from a chute. They’re already a few beers deep as they charge toward an open table.
I jerk back instinctively, chair scraping as I put space between us with my heart slamming against my ribs. Dmitri’s expression flickers. Surprise first, then something quieter that feels like disappointment. He looks down at his plate and picks at the crust.
Guilt hits me in a wave of nausea.
I did that, and Ihateit.
My brain registered the new faces as a threat, and some old reflex kicked in. I pulled away like we’d been doing something wrong, like being close to him is something I have to hide. The worst part is I don’t even know why it feels wrong. I’m not ashamed of him—I couldneverbe ashamed of Dmitri—but the idea of someone seeing us like that scares me in a way I can’t explain.
It’s like there’s a part of me still stuck back home, hearing the things others never said out loud but made sure were understood anyway. To be different was to raise questions, and right now, I don’t have any answers.
Dmitri’s eyes lift to mine, and for a moment I’m paralyzed by the hurt in them.
I don’t know what the fuck to say, and before I can figure it out, one of the frat guys notices us and walks over. It breaks the stalemate, and Dmitri’s face smooths back into a careful neutral as I turn to see Jake waving. He’s tall, broad, and blond, with Kappa Sigma letters plastered on everything he can fit them on. We played football together my first semester before I dropped the team.
“Eric! And Dmitri—right? What’s up, man? Good to see you guys.”
I force a smile. “Hey, Jake. Yeah, we’re just checking out these world-famous garlic knots.”
“Same. This place is solid. I think we’ve come once a week since it opened. First time up here?” He glances at Dmitri, including him in the conversation easily. We nod and make small talk until the server approaches his table, and the rest of his group starts nagging him to come back.
He laughs and flips them off, then shrugs at us. “You both should hit our spring fling next weekend. End of break, big party at the house. Lots of music, drinks, hot chicks… the works. We’ve got a killer setup this year.”
Dmitri nods, his smile guarded. “Sounds fun. We’ll try to make it.”
“Cool, yeah. Text me if you need the details. You still got my number, Eric?”
“Yep. Appreciate the invite.”
