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For the next few minutes, we pick out what we want to eat, and once that’s decided, Daria rests her back against the arm rest, legs laid out on my lap. “You know when I was pregnant, one of my cravings was chicken wings dipped in chocolate syrup.”
I pause in scrolling through HBO Max on the TV, throwing her a flat look because I’m not sure if I want to be more horrified or disgusted by her words. “You’re fucking with me.”
She shakes her head, chuckling. “It actually tasted really good. Pregnancy tastebuds are fucking weird, dude.” My expression twists into pure disgust, which only makes her laugh more. “I tried having it after I gave birth, just to see if I’d still like it.”
My eyes widen ever so slightly. “And?”
Her face scrunches adorably. “Would not recommend.”
“You fucking think?” I ask with a shake of my head, finding the movie she had mentioned. “I think just hearing that gave me food poisoning.”
She uses her sock clad toes to nudge me in the thigh. “You big baby.”
I respond by tickling the underside of her knees, making her shriek out a laugh that only makes me grin. As the movie starts, I suddenly remember what I’ve been needing to ask her. “Speaking of babies,” I start, prompting her to look at me. “My buddy Leo’s daughter’s third birthday is on Wednesday. He’s having a party at his place, and I figured you and Elaine should come with me.”
Daria blinks at me, surprise flashing across her features. “Leo as in your teammate Leo?” she asks and I nod. She bites the corner of her bottom lip briefly, hesitating. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t wanna intrude.”
“It’s not intruding if you’re invited,” I point out with a raise of my eyebrow. “I think Elaine and his daughter, Lilah, would get along well. And the guys have been wanting to meet you, anyway,” I add, rolling my eyes. “They think I’ve been hiding you.”
“You should tell them it’s a mutual hiding,” she says before running her fingers through her hair. A nervous tic, I’ve come to realize with her.
“It’ll be fine,” I reassure her, rhythmically tapping her calves. “It’s just a three-year-old’s party, and you’re my friend who also happens to have a three-year-old.”
Daria hums. “True,” she says with a dip of her chin. “When is it?”
“Wednesday, five o’clock.”
She thinks for a moment and then nods. “Okay, yeah, we’ll be there.”
I grin, satisfied. “Oh, and don’t worry, I told Leo that Elaine has a peanut allergy.”
The surprise returns to her face, along with something else in her soft eyes that makes my chest squeeze tightly. “You did?” she asks, a hint of disbelief in her voice.
“Of course,” I answer.
A smile touches her mouth. “Thanks.”
We focus on the movie after that, but my mind keeps running. Now that Daria has agreed to attend the party, my previous conversation with the guys in the locker room resurfaces, about how they have been wanting to meet her. Despite knowing where Daria and I stand, and knowing the casualness of our sexual relationship, the idea of her meeting my best friends feels like. . . Something more. I know it’s not, of course, and it’s dangerous to allow myself to think otherwise, but the warm feeling remains at the idea of her and the guys all meeting—and all of them meeting Elaine, too.
Don’t go there, Caden. Don’t do it.
I press my tongue to the back of my bottom teeth, focusing on the movie, my hands still absently running along her legs. It feels so normal, this touch, so used to her company and feeling her beneath my hands. The two of us here, in my apartment as we watch a movie and wait for our food to arrive, feels so normal in the comforting sense, one of my favorite ways to unwind, if I’m being honest with myself.
Daria is one of the few people I can be completely myself around. It’s different with the guys because they understand, in their own ways, how I feel when it comes to being under the public eye. We all deal with it our own ways. But with Daria, I don’t have to worry about any of that shit. It’s just me and her, just two friends who like to spend time together—and occasionally fuck.
Nothing more, nothing less.
3
DARIA
Students file out of the classroom as soon as the bell rings, signaling lunch. “Remember, we’re starting self portraits tomorrow, so bring a picture of yourself you’d want to draw,” I call out to the high schoolers as they leave the room.
As they leave, a familiar face walks in, approaching me and sitting at the edge of my desk. “Do you have lunch duty?” Tina Olivers, the geometry teacher who also happens to be my best friend’s girlfriend, asks me.
“No,” I say, relieved. I hate lunch duty. “You?”
She shakes her head with a grin. “Wanna get Panera? Bianca said she can meet us.”
