Page 98 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

She goes still. The humor in her expression remains, but it’s thinner now. Like it’s a shield she hasn’t decided whether she needs.

I take a breath. “When I told Emerson that I was ready for what Ledger and Zoe have, I didn’t mean I was ready to go find someone.”

Reese still hasn’t moved.

“I meant I was ready to stop pretending I hadn’t already found her.”

For one beat, there is no reaction. Then her mouth parts slightly. Her eyes search mine as though there must be another interpretation hidden somewhere in the sentence. I don’t let myself soften it. Don’t turn it into a joke or give her an easier way to misunderstand. I want her to understand, regardless of what happens.

“I’m in love with you, Reese. I have been for a long time.”

Her breath catches, and she stares at me. Reese is rarely silent. Even when she isn’t speaking, she usually hums, taps, shifts, or reacts to whatever thought is moving through her.

Now she is utterly still.

Finally, she says, “You can’t say something like that and expect my brain to continue functioning normally.”

“I don’t.”

“How long is a long time?”

“Years.”

Her eyes grow wider. “That is not a comforting answer.”

“Why?”

“Because I now need to retroactively analyze five years of conversations, and I don’t have the necessary supplies.”

“What supplies?”

“Color-coded pens. A timeline. Possibly Charlie’s wall of monitors.”

“I don’t think she’ll let you use them for that.”

“Then she lacks commitment to friendship.”

A laugh catches in my chest, but I don’t let the moment turn completely. I have to remind myself that I knew it would take a bit to sink in, and that Reese would turn to humor as she was processing.

Reese looks down at her hands. “You’ve been in love with me for years.”

“Yes.”

“And you never said anything. Why?”

There are dozens of answers. Her face when I asked her to the Winter Ball. The relief I saw on her every time I mentioned going out with another woman. The player persona I built so she would never worry that my friendship had expectations hidden beneath it. My job. The danger. The knowledge that losing Reese would leave a void in my life that would be impossible to ever fill.

“I tried once,” I say, and her head lifts. “In college—I asked you to the Winter Ball.”

Her brows draw together. “You asked me as friends.”

I shake my head. “I was asking you on a date.”

She blinks rapidly. “But you said you were going to ask⁠—”

“I said another name because you looked horrified when I asked you.”

“I was horrified. But not because I didn’t want to go with you.”