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“Okay, but what was wrong with fajitas?!”
“Still messy.” Mirth revives the color in his speech as he starts the ignition. “Especially when you’re eatin’ them.”
“I…I…” my head bobbles around in a disagreeing nature only to be saved by the ding of my device. “Need to check that.”
Ignoring the huff that precedes his question is impossible. “Isthatwork again?”
Morris: Do me a solid, little sis. Keep track of how many hot single friends she has RSVP.
Rather than address my older brother’s sleaziness, I do what I probably should’ve done earlier and face the couple fight – we probably shouldn’t even be having since we’re not an actual couple – head on. “Do you mean is itHarvtexting me again?”
Another grumble of disapproval is delivered upon him backing out of his parking space to head for the main exit.
“Do you mean is itHarvmaking me smile?”
The accusation seems to further agitate him by the way his thick neck tenses.
“Do you mean is itHarvthat’s trying to stay on my mind?”
“Blu said traffic was slow during his sweep,” Slater grumbles under his breath, purposely avoiding my allegations. “This isnotslow.”
“Why don’t you just ask those things?”
He continues to watch the road in silence.
“Why don’t you just ask what you actually wanna know?”
The first opening my best friend can take, he does.
“Why don’t you just ask me what you really wanna ask me instead of ignoring me all over again like you did at breakfast?!”
“Why. Him!?” Both his volume and wording are suffocatingly large. “Why him, Arley!?”
Bafflement has me barely able to fumble out, “W-w-what?”
“Why. Him?” Red letters fly around the front seat, bashing and burning and bruising every inch of me they touch. “Out of all of the men on the goddamn planet, why Seventeen? Why my fucking boss?!”
“First off, he’sourboss,” I chomp prior to angling my back to rest against the door rather than the seat, “and second of all, he wasn’tanyone’s bosswhen we started dating!” A momentary face scrunch of contemplation is wedged between statements. “Okay, he was someone’s boss, but not mine. And not yours because you didn’t work there. And most importantly, he didn’t have a number yet, so he was just…Harv.”
“Forfucksake, please stop callin’ him that.”
“Harvey.” Sighing in exasperation is a thoughtless action. “And to answer your question, I went out with him because he fucking asked, Slater.”
The vicious bite of my best friend’s name catches him so off guard he damn near slams into the vehicle we’re following onto the highway.
“I know. Not the mostnovelof concepts to a serial dater like you-”
“Ouch.”
“-but to someonelike me, someone guys give awkward hugs to and sympathetic smiles thesecondthey find out I see shit that isn’t actually there, it wasrefreshingto be fucking wanted.”
Slater’s tone suddenly softens, “You deserve to feel wanted, Arley.”
“Yeah, well,that’salso a novel concept in my life.”
“It shouldn’t be, Angel Cake.” His declaration is followed by his hand unexpectedly falling to rest on top of mine.
“What is and what should be aren’t two things that always match up outside of assignments,” I warmly tease as I allow our fingers to fold together.
