Page 53 of The Friend Situation

“Ah, I thought we’d avoid that conversation tonight.” A sheepish smile creeps in.

“No. What’s going on?” His voice is calm.

I gulp down some bourbon, and it’s a distraction from the countless thoughts swirling in my mind. “I’m scared.”

“Why?” he asks.

“I feel like it’s going to disappear. The pressure to produce at a high quality is almost paralyzing. This was—and is—my dream, yetI feel a sense of dread. I’m so scared of failure and letting everyone down, especially myself. And you.” I take a deep breath.

He gives me a kind smile. “As long as you stay true to yourself, you’ll never let me down.”

I suddenly feel vulnerable and exposed. “I don’t know if I trust myself with you.”

“You’re safe.” He winks, then lazily rests his arm on the edge of the pool, the blue lights illuminating his face.

His relaxed expression is a promise of adventure. But instead of giving in to temptation, I paddle to the center of the pool, creating an ocean of space between us. I’m trying to stay on my very best behavior.

Sometimes, I hate how my mind operates after a few drinks—bold and reckless—imagining all the sweet yet dangerous possibilities with him. The thoughts wrap around me, nearly strangling me before I can push them away. The world tilts ever so slightly.

Yep, I’m definitely tipsy.

The martinis and bourbon have me captured in a dreamlike haze.

“Have you ever been curious?” I finally ask the question that has been dancing in my mind all night.

“About?” he inquires.

“Us,” I say, dropping my body back into the water to face him.

“Ahh, you’re atthatpoint of the night,” he mutters.

I raise a brow. “Which is?”

“The one where you fantasize about making out with me.”

Desire and intrigue battle for dominance.

“If I actually wanted to make out with you, I would,” I retort.

“All bark, no bite.” His gaze locks on to mine, intense and unyielding.

“Because you reject me every time!” A laugh escapes me, airy and light. “Don’t change the subject. Answer.”

He swims toward me. The water ripples around us, leaving the two of us suspended in time.

My breath quickens. I’m tilting dangerously close to the edge of temptation, and I almost lean in to brush my lips against his, but I stay strong.

“Well?”

“I don’t want to be another one of your statistics,” he offers me. “You’re not ready.”

The ball is back in my court.

“Are you?” I ask, sucking in a deep breath.

I’m aware we both have our issues.

“How many of your guy friends have you dated?” he asks.

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