Page 6 of Trustfall

Allie is my ride-or-die.

Ever since I walked into our dorm room freshman year and saw her decorating the walls with punk rock posters and pictures of dishes from Michelin-starred restaurants, I knew she was going to be my best friend. And she lived up to my expectations. We clicked like we'd known each other since childhood. She didn't give me a hard time when I got a boyfriend like some friends might have. She knew how sheltered my high school experience was, and she was thrilled when I started dating. She even went so far as to create a PowerPoint presentation outlining different sexual positions, including their pros and cons, so I could make informed choices.

Not that I ever got to make any of the decisions in my relationship.

“Em, did you hear me?” Allie’s voice shakes me from my thoughts, and I look at her. She’s standing there holding the creamer, not making any moves to put it in her coffee. The fridge is still open and beeping, but she doesn’t seem to care.

I walk over and close the fridge. “I’m sorry I snapped. It’s been a while since I heard his name, and it took me by surprise. I’m fine, though. He doesn’t have any power over me anymore.” I regurgitate the line that my therapist ingrained in my head a few years back when Allie insisted I talk to a professional.

I was in rough shape right after graduation, and while Allie tried her best to get me through it, it was clear that I needed more support than she could provide. I quit going the moment I started to feel a little better, despite both Allie and my therapist thinking that it was a bad idea. I couldn’t stomach rehashing every gritty detail of my relationship anymore.

“Maybe you should go back to therapy. It seemed to help,” she offers as delicately as possible, which is unlike Allie. I can tell right away she thinks I’m going crazy again and is trying to treat me with kid gloves.

“Allie, I’m fine. I promise.”Lies.But she has enough going on in her own life. I refuse to keep bringing her down with me.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” I continue. “You know I hate fighting with you.”

“Me too,” she says, hesitating before abandoning the therapy discussion. “You know you’re one of like three people I can stand to be around for more than five minutes. I can’t lose you.”

“I know, Al. You won’t.” I hold my arms open to her. She smirks and closes the distance between us, wrapping her arms around my middle. While Allie is an overtly sexual person, she is not into physical touch outside of sex. She only grants me “one hug per quarter.” “Don’t think this is a freebie because you got allGirl, Interruptedon me,” she says as she rubs my back. “This is your hug for the quarter.”

“I know, I know.” She pulls away, and I immediately start giggling.

“What?”

“Did I imagine this, or did you say I should ride sexy neighbor’s face before?”

“Girl, if you don’t, I will.”

“Okay, but how does one ride a face?”

“Oh my God, sweet girl.” She goes back to making her coffee. “I’ll send you a PowerPoint.” She winks as she stirs her coffee.

“Nothing I say will get you to not do that, will it?”

“Nope,” she says, popping the ‘p’.

“Great. I really do need to go take a shower,” I say as I get up from my chair.

“Hey,” she calls before I can leave. “I’m canceling my date for tonight. I’ll make Bolognese, and we can watch that stupid Alaska house-hunting show.”

“You don’t have to do that, Allie. I told you. I’m fine.”

“Pshh. Obviously,” she scoffs. “I just want an excuse to cancel. He texted me first thing in the morning that he can’t wait for our date tonight. I mean, how desperate can you get?” She shudders. I know she’s lying, but I also know a night in with her is exactly what I need right now.

“Okay, okay. I’ll pick up wine later.”

“No Pinot,” she calls as I head down the hallway, and I chuckle. That girl is so high-maintenance.

As the watercascades down on my face and steam billows around me, I let my mind wander. Of course, it settles on Luke. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to shake him from my thoughts. I haven’t seen him since that fateful Monday. I guess he was stopping by the property before he moved in. It makes sense. He didn’t have anything with him, and he mentioned his clothes wouldn’t be here until Saturday. As in…today. Shit. He must be moving in today.

I grab my towel from the hook on the door and dry off. I throw on a white T-shirt and jean shorts, then run a brush through my hair. I look out my window, which faces the street, and sure enough, there’s a moving truck. A couple of guys are moving furniture, but it’s hard to make out much else. I need an excuse to go outside. Then I remember I haven’t gotten the mail today. I mentally high-five myself for coming up with such a great idea, quickly swipe on some lip gloss, and head out the door. As I open the mailbox and pretend to search through it, I glance up for a second, and there he is. Leaning against a white, slightly rusted pickup truck with “Collins Construction” written in block letters across the side. He flashes that ridiculous smile of his, and my knees buckle. The feminism that Allie has worked hard to instill in me laughs maniacally at this man’s ability to make me dizzy with a mere smile. He walks over, and I continue rummaging through the mailbox as if I’m looking for something specific.

“Need help finding something?”

My eyes jump to his. “What?”

“You’ve been looking around in that mailbox for about ten minutes.”

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