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I know I wish I was the chocolate he couldn’t resist.
Ugh.
What is wrong with me?
Why have I been thinking about us being an “us” more lately?
Is it because the last boyfriend I had sent me a similar text last weekend?
Confessing some of the things he wishes he had said but didn’t.
Done but hadn’t.
Has it prompted me to subconsciously start reflecting on the “what will never be” scenarios with my best friend?
How very fucking rude and intrusive if that’s the case.
Andsooooothe last thing I need right now in my life.
Not with Hilda, Terence’s fiancée – my youngest older brother – askingme– of all people with a pulse – to plan their engagement shower.
Didn’t even realize we were that close until she said I was basically the sister she never had, which I also find odd considering we don’teverhangout sans my brother.
I don’t typically people without their assistance except for when it comes to Slater.
And let’s just say life was a lot lonelier before we started having hockey nights at my place.
Drunken air guitar or karaoke battles at his.
Taste tests from new restaurants that deliver and action movie marathons at whichever place is up to host the big event.
That’s always done on rotation.
All of a sudden, Slater dives into his dark denim pocket and retrieves my surprise. “Foundthislittle gem at a fun little local shop called Shoreside Treasure Chest not too far from where we grabbed dinner.” His presenting of the wood and resin pinky ring is attached to an ear-to-ear grin. “Owner said it had literallyjus’made its way to the shelf that mornin’.” With a simple nod, he summons my left hand to find its way into his. “Said it must’ve been meant to be.” He slides the sand and seashell filled accessory into place, stare lingering in mind. “I couldn’t agree more.” Slater delivers an additional stroke to the area before releasing his hold. “What do you think?” The throat clearing and small step back become clear indicators of boundaries that aren’t to be crossed. “Good fit?”
Him or the ring?
Glancing down at the fun trinket, I warmly smile too. “Definitely better than the pink flamingo Russian beanie thingy you brought me last time.”
“It’s called aushanka.” His ass braces itself against the edge of my desk. “And you willabsolutelybe wearin’ it this winter.”
“Why?” Our gazes meet again. “Am I goingtoRussia myself this time?”
Mirth meanders through his expression. “You wanna go?”
“Can we skip the part where you break into aBoyevik’shome to return his daughter to her mother in the states before assisting in their relocation to Canada?”
“I mean if you want,” he chortles on a small shrug. “But if you ask me – not Blu – that was the most fun part of that trip.” This time chuckles leave us both. “I honestly don’t know what else we’d do while we were there.” I’m flashed a theatrical cringe. “Guess we could catch a hockey game, but I really think we should do thatherefirst.” Slater throws his hands up in a playful surrender. “But it’s totally up to you. You know I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go, Angel Cake.”
Does that include my bedroom?
His?
Maybe just the backseat of his truck I’ve overheard too much about from women around the office?
Rather than lean into that line of questioning, I pull my cooling cappuccino back to my lips. “And where is Blu? You know at least half that cake is his.”
“A slice.”
