Page 44 of Friend Me

Luckily for me, the cranky teenager who’d served us called out, “Sorry, guys, we’re closing,” and flipped the sign in the window.

Ambling out into the dark, foggy street, we dodged tourists and late-evening commuters. Tiny droplets condensed and sparkled on the ends of my hair and the sleeves of my coat. Clammy air crawled over my face and crept into the open collar of my coat. I shivered.

“Cold?” Tyler asked.

That was one of the things that had gotten me into trouble after the wedding. I had to resist exposure to Tyler’s scent, the heat of his body. “No, I’m good. But I think I’ll take a cab to the train.” The station was only a few blocks away, but it’d been a long day, and my defenses were melting like the ice cream we’d had.

He coughed. “I’ll get a cab home and drop you off.”

“The train station isn’t exactly on the way.”

“I don’t mind. I’m not in a hurry.”

Before I could protest again, he waved at a passing taxi and, when it stopped, opened the door for me. I told the driver the name of the station, and Tyler, sliding in behind me, gave his address as the second stop. Even this late at night, traffic crawled along the streets. It would’ve been faster to walk, but the cab was warm and dry. I stared out the window, watching drops of water tremble and trail down the glass.

Tyler touched my hand where it rested on the vinyl seat. “Thanks for coming with me. It was better with you there.”

I turned away from the window to smile at him. Flipping my hand over, I twined my fingers with his. “Anytime you need emotional support against your jerk brothers, you let me know.”

“Promise?” He cleared his throat.

“What?”

He rolled his lower lip between his teeth. “You see, I have this wedding to go to this summer. All of my jerk brothers—and my sister, who’s also a jerk—will be there. Maybe we could do the wedding-date thing again.”

Summer was months away. But thinking of poor Tyler at his brother’s wedding to his ex, I couldn’t say no. “If you’re not dating anyone you’d rather take, I’ll go with you. That’s what friends do.”

Instead of flashing me his easy smile and taking me up on my offer, he frowned and rubbed at his throat.

“What’s the matter?”

He worked his mouth before he spoke, like he was testing it out. “I feel itchy. Weird. Like I’m having a reaction.”

“But you didn’t eat any macadamia nuts. Any tree nuts at all.” My brain was slow, like a computer when its memory was overloaded.

“Do you remember if any of the flavors near the chocolate had nuts? Maybe they used the same scoop.”

“There was a Nutella-flavored one in the same case.” I remembered because I’d considered trying it but ruled it out due to Tyler’s allergy. “That has nuts, right?”

He swallowed with difficulty. “Sure does.”

“Hey,” I said to the cab driver. “Can you take us to the closest hospital, please?”

“No.” Tyler’s voice had a rasp to it. “I’ve got an epipen at my apartment. I’ll be fine.”

The driver slowed. “What’ll it be?”

My heart was going to beat out of my chest, but I understood not wanting to go to the hospital unnecessarily. Tyler probably had the high-deductible coverage like me. “Take us to his apartment. In the Excelsior, please. And hurry.” I gripped his hand like that’d help.

The five-minute drive to his apartment seemed to take five hours. Tyler sucked in air, wheezing and gasping like an emphysema patient. He used one hand to massage his throat. The other squeezed my hand, as if to reassure me. It didn’t work. I was breathing hard enough for both of us by the time we pulled up in front of his place.

When he stumbled, I ducked under his arm and supported him up the stairs to his place. He unlocked the door and flipped on the light. I’d never been inside his apartment, but I had no time to look around. My heart tripped in my chest like I was the one having the allergy attack.

He staggered through an open door and flicked the light switch. The bathroom was just big enough for a tub and shower combination, the toilet, and a square cabinet for the sink. He leaned over the sink, pulled open the medicine cabinet, and grabbed a plastic tube, which he set on the counter. Closing the lid on the toilet, he fumbled with his belt. “Sorry,” he gasped, right as he dropped his jeans to the floor.

“Don’t worry about it.” Holy Hippocrates, he was worried about dropping trou in the middle of an anaphylactic reaction? I stood at the sink, my hands dangling, numb.

But Tyler knew what to do. He sank onto the toilet lid, and with steady fingers, pulled the device from its tube. He popped off the top, set it against the outside of his thigh right below the leg of his boxer briefs, and pressed down until it clicked.

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