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Iusually don’t do this, but I never see Nix anymore, and I really need to talk to him.
I hop out of my Jeep and stroll into his office building like I own the place. I’m out of place here with my ripped jeans and ratty old sleeveless t-shirt, but I roll with it.
Confidence is everything. If you pretend like your shit doesn’t stink, people will take you seriously. Internally, I’m freaking out about what everyone thinks of me, but externally? Cool as a cucumber.
When I get off the elevator on Nix’s floor, I wave politely to the receptionist and head on back to his office. I can hear her calling after me, asking if I have an appointment, but I keep walking. It’s not like she doesn’t know who I am—I’ve been here plenty of times—but she’s probably not supposed to let anyone in without permission, even friends.
Quietly, I turn the handle, hoping he’s too engrossed in his work to hear me. I push the door open real quick, charging in and yelling, “Put your hands where I can see them!”
Nix jumps, scrambling to hide whatever he was looking at on his computer. “Goddamnit!” he curses. “Why the fuck did you do that?”
“Gotta keep you on your toes somehow, asshole. Anyway, I thought watching porn was frowned upon at work, even when your name’s on the building,” I sing-song as I make my way around his desk.
Pulled up on his screen is some boring legal document, which I know he wasn’t looking at. Nothing about it looks secretive. That’s when I notice the Facebook tab at the top of his web browser.
“Facebook, huh? You don’t have Facebook. Who you stalking?”
“Just a client.”
I call bullshit.
I grab the mouse before he can react, and click on the suspicious tab. “Mmhmm. I didn’t know Tara was one of your clients,” I taunt.
I knew it. He likes her more than he lets on. He acts like she’s nothing but an irritant, but I know him better than anyone—he’s crushing on her. It’s exactly why he was even more pissed than expected, finding her in bed with me.
“Fuck off.” Nix pushes me out of the way before quickly exiting out of her profile.
“So what’s that about? Staring at her pictures all day, fantasizing about how much you want her to like you, rather than think you’re the biggest asshole on the planet?”
Nix may pretend to be cold and distant like his father was, but I know him—I know he craves human connection just like the rest of us. I see the way he fucking looks at her like she’s the only woman in the world. Like he wants to protect her at all costs. Hell, we’ve all started to look at her like that. Me, Rush, and Nix—we all have it bad for her.
He just won’t admit it to himself. I can see it in the way he’s defensive about the whole thing—he’s terrified. We’ve been friends since we were young, so I know he doesn’t do relationships. Much like she doesn’t.
“No,” Nix growls. “I was just making sure she’s not putting shit on there that would embarrass me.”
I smirk, lifting myself up and sitting my ass right on his desk. “Then why were you trying to hide it from me?”
He rolls his eyes, sinking back into his fancy-ass white office chair. “What the fuck are you even doing here?” He deflects my question.
“You pretty much avoid me like the plague, and I need to talk to you. Can’t run away from me here, Nixxy.”
“Ever think there’s a reason for that?”
It hurts to know this is what our relationship is like right now. We’ve never been this distant. I know we both want to fix it, but we can’t seem to pull our heads out of our asses.
He crosses his arms over his chest, sighing. “What do you need?”
“So I was at the shop earlier, tattooing this bombass tree where the trunk starts on the forearm, and the roots run down and wrap around—”
“Get to the point,” Nix interrupts. Of course. Wouldn’t want to waste too much of his precious time, even though I’ve been dying to actually see and talk to my best friend.
“Anyways, I was doing this tattoo on a Snake—”
“Which one?”
“I just told you, the tree. You didn’t want to listen.” I know what he means, but it’s just too easy to fuck with him.
“I meant which Snake, dumbass.” I know he doesn’t mean it, but it still hurts being called that, even as a joke. Nix’s parents enrolled me in a fancy private school when they took me in, but I always felt left out, like the gum on the bottom of their shoes. I was slow at everything—reading, math, even fucking P.E. Only class I was good at was Art. It sucked that it was at the beginning of the day since I had nothing to look forward to after that, but it really was my happy place. Nix tried to help me fit in with his friends; it just never worked out for me. I was an outcast. The poor, dumb, anxious outcast.
