Page 37 of The Friend Situation

My heart races as panic grips my chest. I let out a sigh, feeling the weight of thesituation press down on me.

Lexi

You should do it to see if you have any unresolved feelings for him. When I saw my ex again, I felt nothing. Cleared a lot of things up for me.

Carlee

Hmm. Maybe you’re right.

Lexi

Put it to rest so you can give Weston a fair chance.

Carlee

Relentless.

I close out of our conversation and check my other notifications.

Weston hasn’t texted me today, and the anticipation of seeing him tonight takes hold.

As I glance around, listening to the ambience of the subway, I realize how much I love New York. It was one of the hang-ups Samson and I had in our relationship, but I can’t imagine living anywhere else in the world. The rhythm of the city pulses through my veins. It’s my home.

When I first moved here, I was perpetually lost, navigating twisting streets and towering skyscrapers, often needing to consult my phone a few times per day. Now, I can travel the concrete maze without a second thought, each block a chapter I’ve memorized in the ever-evolving story of my New York life. It took a while, but finally, I feel like a true New Yorker. I’m a vibrant part of this city rather than just a Texas transplant seeking a fresh start.

I unload from the train and take the stairs two at a time to reach the bustling sidewalk above. My apartment is a few blocks away from this stop, my cozy little haven. I hurry down the snow-covered sidewalk as the crisp winter breeze brushes against my cheeks.

I don’t remember it being this cold in mid-January. I shiver andpull my large coat tighter around my body. The aroma of roasted peanuts wafts through the air, mingling with the faint tunes of a guy strumming his guitar on the corner as winter’s whispers greet me like an old friend.

When I finally enter my apartment, I just want to relax, but there is no time for that. As I strip off my clothes in a frenzy, eager to wash away the day, a knock on my door startles me. I stand on my tiptoes to check the peephole.

“I have something for you,” Brody says, his tone laced with mild annoyance.

I was expecting this delivery, but I wasn’t anticipating him. He’s tall, built like a mountain, with muscles that ripple beneath his leather jacket. Tattoos snake along his arms like captivating stories begging to be told. It’s clear he shares the same broody features as Weston and Easton; their family resemblance is undeniable.

“One second,” I call out, rebuttoning my uniform, the fabric askew but my confidence unwavering.

I swing open the door, greeting him with a cheesy grin that feels out of place.

He sighs, unimpressed, his deep-set eyes scanning the room.

“Working for the postal service now?” I tease. A grin sits on my lips.

He doesn’t respond, but then again, he’s always been quiet.

Balancing a garment bag on his finger, Brody holds a large box wrapped in shimmering silver paper with a festive bow in one arm. In the other, he cradles two dozen vibrant yellow roses.

My favorite. Weston remembered.

I step aside, allowing Brody to enter my sanctuary. He sets the large box down on the coffee table with a light thud, taking up half of its surface. I take the garment bag, our fingers grazing briefly.

“Are you supposed to follow me around tonight?” I try to gauge his intent.

“Not tonight,” he replies, and for a fleeting moment, I catch the hint of a smile curling at the corners of his lips.

“What does that mean? You’ve been following me?” I press.

He doesn’t answer, but his amusement is evident.

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