Not actually date. But like, fake date.
For whatever reason, it won’t leave me alone.
I scrub a hand over my face and say it again, if only to convince myself. “I’m fine.”
Blaine finally huffs. “If you say so.” Pushing his chair back, he throws his wrapper away, then leaves the room.
I let out a breath, dragging my hands over my face. I wish I could leave already.
Cole shifts in his seat, watching me closely as he finishes his protein shake. “Seriously, though. Are you okay, Holden? You’ve been kinda quiet the last couple of days.”
“Yeah. Just a lot on my mind.”
He waits patiently, but when I don’t explain, he just nods. “My door is open if you need it.”
“Thanks.”
I appreciate Cole, and I’m glad we’re becoming friends, but this isn’t something I can talk about. With anyone. Especially those who know Korie. They might read into it, or worse, even agree with Hattie that it’s a good idea.
I’m having a hard enough time trying to convince myself it’snot.
Forcing myself up, I chuck my food in the trash and get back to work. Two more hours of screaming kids. God help me. I hate summer.
By the time I get home, I’m irritated.
At Hattie.
At work.
At myself.
At the fact that this stupid idea has somehow wormed its way into my brain and refuses to leave.
Every time I ask myself why I’m even considering it, the only logical answer is: why wouldn’t I? Korie has been my best friend since before we knew how to walk. We’ve done everything together. We know each other better than anyone, can finish each other’s sentences, or read each other’s thoughts from across the room. They see things about me I probably don’t, and vice versa. It’s honestly kind of remarkable Ihaven’tgone to them for advice.
But the absurdity of it is what’s throwing me off.
I genuinely cannot imagine myself on a date with Korie. Not because we’re incompatible, but because we’re just…us.Korie and Holden. Best friends.
I drop my keys on the table and pull out my phone, texting Korie.Want to come over? I’m bored.
Not exactly the right word, but it’s better than admitting I don’t want to sit alone with my thoughts all night again.
Thirty minutes later, Korie strolls into my apartment as if they live here. Wet from the rain, their hair clings to their head, and they wear a dark green hoodie with sleeves pushed up halfway on their arms. The wide collar drapes off one shoulder, revealing the strap of whatever they’re wearing underneath.
They toss a brown paper bag on the counter before offering me a silver-foiled monstrosity. “I brought burritos.”
I should’ve known they’d bring food. “Thanks.”
We sit on my old leather couch, feet tucked under us as we eat.
Korie makes a face at the burrito after their third or fourth bite. “This isnotspicy.”
“You say that about everything.”
They hold it out to me. “Try it.”
“I’m not going to eat your burrito.”
