Page 2 of 28 Dates

He already has his jeans on, the top button undone, and he’s shoving his arms through his short sleeves.

“Can I talk you into thinking about it?” he asks, tugging down the hem of his shirt.

A sudden sense of loss rolls through me, as if my body knows it’s the last time I’ll see his.

We’ve always been honest with each other. Frequently we’ve fallen into bed together—sometimes once a week, sometimes once a month. Sometimes so often we’ve spent entire weekends together, only coming up for air when our stomachs rumbled in a way we couldn’t ignore. He’s never approached the subject of wanting more, and his sudden attempt to do so makes my head spin.

My skin burns hot and my hair swishes across my cheek, into my face, as my head shakes. “I don’t need to. But Jonas—”

“I met someone.” His gaze pierces mine. All the air in my stomach plummets to my toes. “I like her. And I haven’t been with her yet. I can’t…it’s not right when…” His hand slashes out toward my messed-up sheets and my still-naked-yet-covered body. “I also want you, but I want more than just this.”

I scramble for words. Rearrange letters in my brain until I find something to say that won’t hurt him any more than the pain already tightening around the edges of his lips and his eyes.

I press the sheets harder to my aching chest. I can barely look at him, and my chin is trembling. This hurts. Him leaving. Him wanting someone. Him wanting what I can’t give him.

I don’t know what to say. “I hope it works out.”

He flinches like I’ve struck him. Obviously they’re not the words he was hoping for.

He nods abruptly. Just once, and all his emotion, all his pain is tossed into the air like a physical thing that I could probably reach out and touch.

He stares out my window and his shoulders drop. Turning back to me he nods one more time, and a mask slides down over his face. I see it drop one brief moment at a time, until his pain is gone and there’s a cocky grin on his face and a sparkle in his eyes.

“We’ll still be friends though, right?” I imagine my returning smile mirrors his own along with my expression. “Would hate for Dirty’s to lose their best customer.”

It’s an attempt at something. Salvaging our friendship? Do we even have one without the benefits I at least have grown so accustomed to? “I’ll see you there, sometime. Definitely.”

“Take care, then, Caitlin.” He slaps his hand to the doorframe. Turning and putting his back to me, he pauses for a moment. A part of me urges me to call out to him, to run to him and tell him I have changed my mind. I can take this chance. I want more, too. But none of the pleas sound right so I stay silent. And just when I think, or hope, he’ll turn around and tell me never mind, he’s okay with what we have, what I have to give, he takes a step away.

And he leaves without a goodbye, without a glance back at me, and I stay in my bed for what feels like hours, sheet clinging to my chest, feet on the floor, staring at the doorway.

How did a beautiful night, a sweet morning, end up going so horribly, hurtfully sideways?

Chapter 1

SIX MONTHS LATER

Caitlin

Working for my best friend is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. Granted, it’s not like job offers were falling into my lap after college graduation regardless of how many résumés I sent out and interviews I went on. I might have gotten the job with Trey due to a hefty dose of nepotism, but with a double major in marketing and finance I’m more than qualified to be his assistant. Sure, sometimes it means I’m running to the dry cleaner to pick up his fashionably pressed shirts. Other times it means taking chicken soup to his penthouse suite ten floors above my own apartment because he’s so entrenched in work he doesn’t remember the last time he ate. My job is an equal mixture of managing Trey’s professional life down to the very second and acting like his pseudo-mom. Like when he’s so lost in his work as an app developer, he’s forgotten to shower or shave in days.

I can’t beat the perks, though. Being able to do most of my work in my favorite striped, fleece pajama pants, sipping coffee while binge-watching my favorite shows on Netflix, is definitely near the top of my list. Handling conference calls with lawyers on the East Coast dressed in my robe and fresh out of a shower at too-damn-early-o’clock also makes the top five.

I love Trey’s friendship and working for him. Which is why when he knocks on my door before the sun has risen over another dreary winter day in Portland, I’m able to tamp down the urge to strangle him. Disheveled and dressed in a wrinkled white T-shirt, navy blue athletic shorts, and mismatched ankle socks—one orange and the other black—he shoves his tablet in my face before I have the door fully opened.

“Look at this.”

“What do you want, Trey?” I cover my mouth with my hand, yawning. Good grief, it is freaking early. I’m blurry-eyed, exhausted, and I barely had time to throw on a robe before stumbling to the door.

“Need your help.”

His dark eyes are wild, which only means one thing.

“You finished it?” I’m already reaching for the tablet. His excitement is contagious. I’ve known Trey for years, ever since he and our other friend, Corbin, saved me from a scary encounter with a drunken asshole in a stairwell in our college dorm.

After that, they became my protectors. Then they became my brothers. That was years ago, but the experience bonded us in a way that’s unbreakable.

The only time Trey looks like he spent time in the clothes washer on the extended wash cycle is when he’s near the end of a project.

---