“You know. Pretended to date.”
Korie blinks at me, saying nothing. Then they lean back, studying my face like they’re waiting for the punchline. When it doesn’t come, they say one word.
“No.”
My heart sinks. I expected that. It’s exactly what I would say if the roles were reversed. But still. The more I think about this, the more I think it’s genuinely a good—if insane—idea. Korie really is the best person to help me sort my shit out.
I lean forward, my elbows on my thighs. “You didn’t even—”
“Because I don’t need to,” they cut in, reaching for their food again as if the conversation is already over. “The answer is no.”
“Korie.”
“Holden.”
“Just listen—”
“I did listen. I said no. It’s a bad idea.”
I exhale through my nose, trying to keep this light. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“I know enough.”
“Oh yeah? Then tell me.”
“You’d say that because we’re best friends, we’re the perfect people to do this with, because we know each other so well. We can call each other’s flaws out and help each other become better. But it’s stupid. We arenotthe right people for that.”
Fuck. That is exactly what I was thinking.
“Well, why not?”
They take a bite without answering.
“Why aren’t we the right people for it?” When they don’t answer, I push in. “It’s like you said, we know each other best,Kor. You’ve seen me fail a million times already, and I’m sure you have some opinion about why that keeps happening. So tell me.”
They brush a thumb over the corner of their mouth, chewing carefully. I wait, my leg bouncing, but Korie says nothing, finishing their burrito and squishing the wrapper into a tight ball.
“You’re always telling me I’m terrible at dating, but you don’t tell me why.”
“You’re not terrible at it,” they say softly. “I have literally never said that.”
“You imply it.”
“I don’t imply it either.”
“You do, though. You heavily imply it. Hattie too. Everyone does.” I can’t keep the pain from my voice.
Korie finally looks up at me, shoulders sagging. “You’re doing fine.”
“I’m not,” I shoot back. “I’m decent at getting dates, sure. But after that? I wing it, every time.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is.” I scoot to the edge of my seat, hands clasped. “I either overthink everything or I don’t think enough. There’s no in-between. And you”—I gesture at them—“you notice everything.”
They narrow their eyes again.
“So you can tell me what works. What doesn’t. All that stuff.”
