Page 17 of Sweeter Than Fiction

“Do you feel right at home when we watch Gilmore Girls?” I tease.

“No. No one in Nebraska talks nearly that fast. But something about it is oddly comforting.”

I go to grab the remote to turn it on, but I stop before hitting play. Just like last night, I need a little more clarification.

“Hey, Don?” I ask before taking another drink of beer. I prefer wine, but beer pairs better with pizza.

“Yes, Abby?”

I try not to get all tingly at the way my name sounds in that deep baritone of his.

Focus, Abby.

“Why’d you come back tonight? And don’t give me some bullshit about how you just wanted to pay me back for last night. It can’t just be that. I know you probably have a list of hot chicks you could be hooking up with right now instead of watching Gilmore Girls with me.”

He puts his slice of pizza down. “Do you really want to know? It sounds kind of lame.”

“Oh, I am the queen of lame. Try me.”

“Sure, I could find a random woman to take home with me. And we could fuck and have a good time.”

There’s the tingly feeling again.

“But that whole scene is just getting old. Yeah, it can be fun. It’s just…I want something more. And I don’t think I am going to find it with a slew of women that I have nothing in common with. My sister suggested maybe I try to cool it with the sex for a while.”

He continues, “To be honest with you, Abby, I don’t have a lot of friends here in New York—or any really. Hanging out with you last night was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. Feel free to tell me if what I’m about to say totally freaks you out, but I’d like it if maybe you and I could be friends.”

“Friends?” I ask.

“Yeah. You know, that thing where two people hang out, exchange some pleasant conversation, and get to know each other better.”

I roll my eyes. “I know what friends are.”

“I’m just getting tired of hanging out with women who only want me for either my money or my cock.”

“You mean there’s more to you than that?” I joke. “Well, I just don’t know if this friendship is going to work out.”

“See? That’s what I like about you. You’re not afraid to give me some shit. Most women I’ve been around as of late seem like they’re putting on an act. You seem much more real.”

“Maybe you’re just too trusting. Maybe I’m just trying to take advantage of you—earn your trust and then, rob you blind.”

“I doubt that.”

“How do you know?” I ask.

He leans in as though he’s about to tell me some big secret. “You and I live in the same apartment building. I doubt our income is all that different.”

Not wanting to continue down the money road, I ask, “So, we just be friends?”

“Yeah. I mean, only if you want to.”

I think for a moment. Besides Jenson, I don’t have much of a social life. And my best friend’s social calendar is so full that I don’t actually seem him all that often. Hanging out with Don feels surprisingly normal. And that is rare coming from someone with extreme social anxiety. Maybe it’s the fact that I know there’s nothing between us.

Whatever it is, it would be nice to have someone to hang out with without any expectations. As Don said, just a friend.

“Okay,” I finally answer. “Friends would be nice.”

I say the words, but deep down, I wonder exactly how long this is going to last before Don decides he needs to get laid again.

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