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“In some ways, yes. We loathed each other, and resentment was because of our underlying attraction to each other at the same time.”
I bury my head in my hands. “Life is too hard.”
“You’re young and beautiful. It will work out, sweetheart.”
Maybe, but it all became too much. Why is our friendship so complicated all of a sudden? And why are my emotions running rampant? This is Andy, not some new guy I’m crushing on.
I say goodbye to Mom and head home to what will be a miserable Saturday night. I order my favorite Uber Eats meal, then soak in my bath, resulting in my skin turning into a prune.
Then, I indulge in my favorite pastime—reading. There’s no greater feeling than climbing into bed with fresh sheets and a new book. The blurb is promising—a woman engaged to some man until she runs into her ex. I’m a sucker for love triangles, and my eyes can’t read this book fast enough.
Somewhere in the middle of what’s going to be a steamy scene, my thighs press together, willing the urge to take care of myself to subside, but suddenly, there’s a knock on my door.
And there is only one person who knocks that way—Andy.
The walk to the door is like a splash of cold water. Upon opening the door, Andy is standing outside, still dressed in his black tuxedo. Why he looks so sexy is beyond me, but I blame the book, and that’s it. All this reading with men in suits and tuxedos has brainwashed me.
Our conversation is short as I ignore him and climb into bed. He follows me into the room, removing his jacket and shoes, then lays beside me.
When he questions my book and billionaires, I can’t help but bite back. The conversation shifts to big breasts, all of which I think is ludicrous. Andy is a man with needs, and despite him wanting to prove me wrong by asking to see my own, I shut him down but wonder what would happen if I did it, just to shock him.
Maybe next time.
Within minutes, he falls asleep, so typical of him. Of late, I struggle and lay awake for hours with stupid flashbacks of my childhood. Every embarrassing thing to ever happen to me comes roaring back to life at three in the morning, only to keep me awake longer.
As Andy sleeps beside me, I continue to read my book until his moans filter inside the room. He’s having one of those dreams, one which turns into a nightmare.
I place my book down, waiting for him to wake up because I know not to wake him up myself. Suddenly, he jolts up, out of breath, eyes wide open. I wish I could take his pain away, never understanding how hard it is to never meet your own father.
Julian is fantastic, and he’s always been Andy’s father, but it doesn’t erase these unknown feelings. And despite Andy’s reluctance to get professional help, I genuinely believe there’s a message behind this, googling it myself in the hope he’ll at least talk to Adriana about the dreams.
But right now, I see his torment. I turn the light off, but this time, I hold onto him. My fingers run through Andy’s hair while his face rests against my chest. When his body begins to relax, I continue to stroke his hair to help him fall asleep.
Somewhere, listening to his soft breathing, I fall asleep as well.
When the morning light filters in the room, it’s unusually gray. It follows with the pitter-patter of rain, very uncommon for Southern California but refreshing all the same.
I move slowly, then Andy shuffles until he opens his eyes and stares right at me. Something in his stare runs deep, filling my mind with unknown thoughts and scenarios which women fantasize about. Just not with your best friend.
Slowly, he moves his fingers toward a loose curl and pushes it away from my face. It’s a simple gesture that makes my heart beat erratically, then something panics within me. I sit up to break my thoughts.
This is Andy.
You can’t feel anything for him.
He is off-limits.
Best friends.
As I try to move off the bed, he grabs my arm to stop me. If I turn around, this is it. I might not be able to say no, and the worst-case scenario—what if we ruin what we have?
“I have to use the bathroom,” I barely choke. “Then I have to catch up with a friend for coffee.”
“A friend? Who?”
“Just a friend from college.”
“What’s her name?”
