Rosy cheeks, shopping bags in hand, she looked happy, unfazed by the fact that just two nights ago, when we sat beside each other, knees grazing, erratic heartbeats swirling between us, the unfinished moment cast yet another cloud of awkwardness over our friendship.
Like a swarm of bats in a cave, the rush ofwhat-ifsfilled my mind. What if she didn’t freak out and run toward her room? What if my mouth tasted hers? What if years ago I admitted my feelings were so much more than best friends? What if I wasn’t a dickhead who chased other girls when the one I truly desired was right here with me?
Fuck me, fuck this shit,I grimaced internally.
Eyeing the time on my phone, the numbers displayed 4 p.m.—7 p.m. in New York—which told me it wasn’t too late to call someone who had an early morning interview. I exited the social app, my thumb hovering over Macy’s number when her name flashed on the screen.
“Hey, I just saw your pic on UCChat and was literally about to call you right now.” I smiled, cognizant of the fact our minds must have crossed paths.
“Well, it’s not like we’ve never been accused of being the same person.”
The mischief in her voice was refreshing, enabling me to picture that bow-shaped mouth kicked up in a coquettish smirk, powerful enough to liquefy the sun.
“Are you ready for tomorrow’s interview?” My question served as an ice breaker and something to quench curiosity.
“Yeah, but honestly, I’ve no idea what to expect, which makes me wanna poke my eyes out and puke.”
“What can I do to help?”
“You know what? Hearing your voice is already helping.”
Since we’d done nothing more than text since she landed and checked into her hotel, we caught up, chatting about their fancy suite and stuff she, Sage, and Chloe had done so far in the Big Apple.
Shopping. Sightseeing. Pizza.
“Speaking of Pizza, I just ordered some, though nothing can top New York pizza.”
“Don’t forget the bagels and cheesecake. I mean, New York should probably own the rights to pizza, bagels, cheesecake, and ballsy jaywalkers.” She laughed softly at her own words, and I swear the sound of those giggles made my cock jump.
Silence pulsed by, both presumably swept away in our own thoughts. Personally, I got lost conjuring up ways to open up dialogue, lead us back to the other night when I wanted to spill how I’d broken up with Harper, admit that her confessions rattled me in the best way possible. Then again, I didn’t want to draw her mind away from her big interview.
Letting out a deep breath, I geared up to chat about anything, even the freaking weather, till Macy beat me to it.
“Listen, the other night, you mentioned having something to tell me.” She paused, a moment so fleeting I barely noticed. “Wanna tell me now?”
Flustered, I found myself thrown by her baton pass—a green light to take the reins of our conversation, to guide us past awkwardness onto where we should have landed two nights ago.
“So,” the information dump began with a subtle clearing of my throat, “me and—” I broke off, interrupted by the doorbell, my damn food delivery. “Hold that thought, okay?” Shooting up from the sofa, I shuffled to the door, phone still pinned to my ear. “Pretty sure pizza just arrived.”
And when I swung the door open, my blood froze. “Oh…Harper.”
10
Harper Kingston really knew how to rain—hailon a girl’s parade.
“Hey, can I call you back?” Lucas snapped as if in a hurry.
I hated the whoosh of disappointment free-falling to my gut. Hated beingthatchick who got kicked to the curb, pushed to the side for another. Hated being jealous, envious of a perfect girl with a perfect face, perfect breasts, perfect just about everything, who probably pissed liquid gold and shit lambent diamonds.
Concealing the chagrin in my voice, I tossed him a brush-off, praying it exploded on impact. “Actually, let’s catch up when I get back home. You’ve got a game coming up, and besides being tied up with all the interview business, I’ll be hella busy doing ‘single in New York City’ stuff.”
Hashtag boy bye.
Pressing the end-call button without giving him a second to reply, I felt hot, blood surging to my head, ticked-off at myself for not bossing the fuck up.
Over and done, I marched out of the bedroom and into the living room of the posh, two thousand square-foot suite where my two besties were lounging on both couches.
Sage’s nose was buried in her phone, while Chloe had hers in some museum tour brochure. Earlier, they’d wanted to go out for drinks and dancing, yet somehow play-it-safe-and-boring me convinced them it would be super fun if we ordered room service and hung out in our suite instead.
