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I'd gotten so good at it that it might as well have been my job.
Except sometimes he didn't make it that easy.
The sun streaked into my bedroom the week before the Christmas holiday. I groaned, knowing that I needed to get up and finish the last bits of my final submission project, pack, and wrap up some presents because he was a snooper. I also needed to make sure that I shipped the present I had gotten for his grandma. Even though I hadn't met her yet, the woman sent me a present last year. A fresh set of oil paints and a color swatch I'd been dying to get myself but couldn’t because it was far too expensive. All because Jensen had told her about his best friend, Alex, who was an artist.
So I'd gotten her address and written her a thank you note. And this year, because I knew she and Jensen loved to travel, I'd gotten her one of those anti-pickpocket purses. And for Jensen, well, I'd gotten him a painting. Ialwayspainted him something. And I’d go for weeks freaking out about what to get him, then inspiration would hit. Birthdays, best friend’s day, Christmas.
I still smiled when thinking about this gift. He’d been on and on about this Cuban spot in Havana he’d gone to with his grandmother, back when going to Cuba was still a legalish option. I’d painted this woman he’d talked about dancing in the middle of the restaurant. She didn’t’ work there or anything, but a song had come on and she’d been so joyful and sexy according to his description. So I’d painted the scene as he’d described.
Suddenly, the alarm went off and I groaned again, realizing we’d over imbibed the night before. It was only as I was smashing the off button that I noticed the note under a full glass of water and an Advil that was also next to the glass, and I chugged them both down. The note read:
Good morning, sleepyhead. Drink the water, take the Advil. Text Carl Patrick's Cafe downstairs, and they'll have your coffee order ready in five minutes. Meet me at the skating rink. I'll have your outfit waiting for you there.
XOXO, Jensen.
My heart gave a little flutter.
What in the world?
Shut it down. You're just friends. You. Are. Just. Friends. You know better.
But an outfit, already calling in my coffee order, and the water and Advil, that was caretaking. That was someone who loved you.
Nope. Shut. It. Down.
It didn't matter how much I told myself that this was not what I thought it was. Hope was a dangerous thing. Hope made you wish. Hope made you think that you could be the exception. Even though he’d clearly told me, 'I am a fuckboy. I think I like you too much to ever do that to you.'
And look, I dated. I did. Here and there. Guys asked me out. I just wasn't always interested. Great guys too. Good-looking, smart, kind. Some artists. All the things that I should want. But when measured up against Jensen, there wasn't really any comparison. Which was problematic because Jensen dated all the time.All. The. Time.He and his current girlfriend, or flavor of the month, rather, Macy, were currently having a row. She hadn't listened when Jensen had told her that he was looking for somebody casual. So when she pressed about locking him down and trying to get him to come home with her for Christmas, he bolted. As Jensen was known for doing. The moment you tried to get him locked into anything, he would dance out of that commitment so fast.
You fall into that category too.
Yes, but we were friends, and it was different, and I wasn't trying to hold him too close to me.
I got up and showered, texted the cafe downstairs, and sure enough, Jensen had my order ready to go. He knew I didn't actually like coffee, so he ordered me a hot chocolate, a plain croissant,andapain au chocolate. Also a smoothie so that I would actually get some fruits and vegetables in me.
I took a sip of my hot chocolate and then a sip of my smoothie and sighed. The barista behind the counter smiled at me. "Your boyfriend is very thoughtful."
"Oh, he's not my boyfriend."
She laughed. "Are you sure? Because he basically told me how to do my job. He was very particular about your smoothie. There is wheatgrassin there. Hope you don't mind."
"Yeah, he knows me. He's just my best friend."
"Jesus, does he have a brother? Because maybe you could date his brother."
"No thanks. One Jensen is enough."
I took my drink carrier and my snacks, then headed for my car. When I found where I parked it, I grinned to myself. Jensen had also washed my car, a white Ford Focus. He called her Digital Abby. She wasn't much to look at, but she worked, and she was mine, and I’d bought her with my own money. To me, she symbolized freedom. Living on my own. She was my first purchase with my first sold painting. I loved that damn car. And he’d washed it. He’d cleaned the inside of it too. Oh my God. What was I going to owe him for that?
When I arrived at the skating rink on the other side of campus and parked, there was a man in a Santa suit waving at me. I looked over my shoulder to make sure he wasn’t waving at someone behind me, and he laughed. "Nope, it's you. Jensen texted me a picture of you. I'm supposed to give you this."
"Do you know what's going on?"
He shook his head. "No, I have no idea. He just paid me fifty bucks, told me to put this on and to hand this to you then tell you to go change and meet me back here."
"Oh my God, what is happening?"
I was changed in seconds. I came back to find Santa waiting for me, leaning against the tree. "What now?" he asked.
