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“I’ve been friends with her for fifteen fucking years, dude.”
“Yeah, well, you’re a freak of nature. Anyone else in your shoes would have bagged her by now.”
“Don’t fucking say that. I’m not bagging Abby, nor will I.”
“But you want to,” he says, causing me to choke on air. “Oh, come on, Levi. I’ve seen the way you look at her when you don’t think anyone is watching. You’d make a shitty spy, brother.”
“I don’t look at Abby like that,” I retort, but know it’ll fall on deaf ears. Plus, I’m not really sure I can argue his point. These weird images of Abby and me together have popped up in my head a lot lately, and they’re seriously fucking with me.
“You do. Why don’t you just take her out for real?”
Closing my eyes, I let them drop down to the tabletop. “I can’t. She’s seriously the best thing in my life. I need her to be a part of it, man, and if I take it to the next level, I’ll fuck it all up. Then where would I be? Without her in my life at all, that’s where.”
“So just mess around with her. Like a friends with benefits deal,” he suggests, and I instantly want to punch him.
“Does she look like the friends with benefits type? Besides, Abby’s too good for that shit. I don’t want to play games with her or hurt her, and that’s what I’d end up doing. I’d hurt her, and I won’t do that.” I’ll just keep her tucked away in the friends category until this pesky crush thing I’ve developed is over.
Easy peasy.
God, I sound like her.
“Well, if you’re not gonna screw her, mind if I do? Her ass is fucking fantastic.”
And just like that, I see red. I actually lunge across the table at my friend, ready to throw five years of friendship down the drain, and all because he talked about Abby’s ass like it was his next meal and he was starved.
His laughter permeates my muddled thoughts. “That’s what I thought. Dude, just take her out. Quit fighting the feelings that I know you have, or you’ll end up losing her to some douche who treats her like a fucking princess. Then where will you be? You think she’ll need you in her life as much when she’s got a man who worships the ground she walks on?”
The thought causes the stone in my stomach to drop to my toes. It’s almost painful to think about her with someone else, but I refuse to put myself in the place of that man. Because, in the end, I’ll only hurt her like I do everyone. I’m no good for her, but she has no idea how much I need her in my life. She’s the sun, the moon, and the fucking stars. She’s beauty and goodness.
She’s mine.
But she’s not.
“Whatever,” I mumble as my wrap is placed in front of me.
“Just think about it, man. I’m not saying you have to propose to the girl or anything, but I really do think you’re making a mistake by not trying to see if there’s anything between you guys.”
I nod in consensus and dive into my food, the entire time thinking about my beautiful best friend who’d be eating this exact meal right now if she were here. Thinking of her makes my heart beat faster and the food I’m consuming turn sour in my stomach. I wish there were an easy answer to this dilemma I find myself in, but there’s not. I won’t risk my friendship with her, even if that means she finds someone else who treats her like the amazing woman she is.
But that image just makes me angry.
See my predicament? It’s like a double-edged sword. On one end, I have a woman I’d be lucky enough to call my own. But if things went south with the relationship, then I’d be without my friend. On the other end, I maintain my friendship and risk losing her to another man. At least with that option I’d still have her in my life.
Basically, either way, I’m fucked.
* * *
I pull the taco dip out of the fridge and get ready to head over to Abby’s place. I texted her earlier and told her I had chicken wings in the cooker and whipped up taco dip with fresh guacamole. To finish off the meal, I threw some cookie dough in the oven and baked her fresh chocolate chip cookies.
Her text reply was instantaneous and said that I could come over anytime. I almost dropped everything and went over right then and there, but decided to wait until I got laundry finished. I’m on the schedule Monday night, so tomorrow will involve me catching as much sleep as I can during the day to get ready for the night shift.
There’s a baseball game on my TV, but it’s mostly just background noise. I glance at the score every now and again, but I haven’t been able to sit down and watch more than a few batters at a time.
As I switch my last load from the washer to the dryer, I find myself humming along to the song that reminds me of a certain brunette. She sang along with me last night while I was on stage, and smiled widely when I gave her the acknowledgement that always comes at the end of the song.
Abby actually has the voice of an angel. I’ll never forget the first time I actually heard her sing. She blew me away at the age of ten. I’ve tried to get her to sing with me on stage, but she won’t. Hell no, not my shy, sweet little Abby. She’ll belt it out when it’s just the two of us messing around, but the thought of singing in front of people, on stage, terrifies her.
That’s another thing that’s just hers and mine. I’ll play guitar and she’ll sing with me. I actually recorded her one time with my phone. I got about two minutes worth of video before she caught me. Her face at the end, a mixture of horror and excitement, has kept me company on nights that I’m working late and missing her. I could probably call her and she wouldn’t mind, but I refuse to do that in the middle of the night, even if she works from home and sets her own hours. Instead, I pull out that video and watch her sing, eyes closed and swaying to the silent music that isn’t there because I stopped playing to grab my phone.
