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“Per usual,” he huffs, sitting up straighter. “Somehow, he’s gotten it into his head that I won’t be able to handle seeing Sasha at the wedding. Apparently, she’s bringing her boyfriend from Europe with her.”
I exhale sharply. “That’s understandable.”
“He’s overreacting. I’m not that pathetic.”
“Of course you aren’t.” I bite my lip. Knowing it’s emotional suicide, I tell him, “But, if you were to ask, I’d go with you…to the wedding.”
“I couldn’t ask that of you. Things are awkward enough between us.”
“I agree, but that doesn’t change the fact that we’re still friends. You’ve helped me so many times when I’ve needed it, and maybe it’s time I return the favor.”
“What are you saying?” he questions, his voice desperately low.
“I’d be more than happy to go as your plus-one.” I pause. “Your wingman.” I giggle. “Your arm candy.” I grin. “Or your friend, if that’s what you need.”
