Page 77 of The Friend Situation

“They miss you,” he says. “I still get asked about you sometimes.”

“Really?” It shouldn’t surprise me.

We were best friends before we were lovers, and I thought he’d be my husband.

The familiar scent of his cologne transports me back to those reckless days when our love flowed endlessly. The version of me who believed love was never-ending is long gone, replaced by a guarded and skeptical heart that can’t settle but wants to.

Samson’s two years older than me—the boy I crushed on throughout my freshman year in high school. I would have given him my virginity back then, but he treated me with kid gloves because he was best friends with my cousin Lucas. Everything changed the summer I came home from college. The dorms were being renovated, so I stayed with my mom for three months. That’s when Samson and I fell in love under the big, open sky.

“This almost feels like a dream,” he admits.

“It is weird,” I tell him. “I always thought about what I’d ask you if we ever met up again. Even now, with the opportunity present, no questions form.”

“It’s that awkward part of the night when things are weird. We’ll move past it,” he says as my gaze trails along the rough scruff that lines his jaw.

I chuckle. “I think I need a drink.”

“Wait, let me guess. A cosmo?” he asks.

“Extra-dirty martini with extra olives,” I tell him. “No longer a cosmo girlie.”

“Of course you aren’t,” he responds and orders two from the bartender. “I’m following your lead.”

“That’s dangerous,” I offer.

“I’m aware.” His brows lift. “You’re a bad influence.”

I scoff. “Please. Me, the bad influence?”

“Absolutely. You always get what you want.”

“That’s not true,” I tell him. “I didn’t get you.”

“Carlee,” he says, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I know, and it’s fine,” I say. I twirl in the chair, my eyes drifting across the room. “Water under the bridge and all that. I wasn’t ready to get married then.”

The perimeter is filled with standing tables. Colorful lights dapple the space, revealing the club’s second floor, where a woman is losing herself in a passionate embrace on the balcony.

Lucky her.I wonder how many of us would like to trade places.

“Have you ever been here before?” Samson asks, his voice low, intent.

“No.” My thoughts trail off as his gaze roams over me.

“Obsidian has quite the reputation,” I explain. “It’s very … risqué.”

His curiosity is evident. “Like what?”

“It’s known for finding random hookups and threesomes,” Icontinue. A smirk touches my lips. “Most people come here in search of a really good time. That’s about it.”

At the top of the stairs sits a private suite with deep black windows shrouding its secrets. But as vibrant flashes of light cascade through the open space, I catch the ghostly outline of a man standing, watching.

Our drinks slide across the polished bar top like a promise. I grasp my glass, tilting it back, welcoming the gin to wash through me. My mind wanders, and I turn my attention back to Samson.

His gaze locks on to me, and his smile falters, concern flickering in his dark eyes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t kn?—”

I cut him off with a laugh, the sound carefree. “It’s not a big deal. Everyone here is a consenting adult. Honestly, I’ve always been curious about it. Obsidian just isn’t a venue for a date on a Friday night. Unless you’re into sharing.”

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