Page 63 of Fan Favorite

“I do?”

“Peter, you run marathons and helm one of the biggest shows on network television. What more do you want?”

Peter stared at her, dumbfounded. He’d never felt like a successful person. He was divorced. He’d given up on his dream to be a writer. He barely called his parents or made time for his friends. When she started laughing, his own ridiculousness made him laugh, too. He didn’t even care that they were being loud and obnoxious, and suddenly Peter had a strange feeling like he was seeing her for the first time. Her sort-of-too-big smile radiated this unmitigated joy that was not only beautiful but looked like something Peter himself had never been unselfconscious enough to experience.

But he wanted to.

“This is nice,” she said, gesturing vaguely at the restaurant, their table, him. “It’s the first time I’ve felt like my actual self in a while.”

“It is nice,” he said, staring at her for long enough that he got uncomfortable and decided he needed to do something else. He started organizing the Taco Bell detritus back onto the tray.

“Oh my god, this song.” She pointed to the speaker attached to the ceiling. “Ilovethis song.”

Peter stopped and listened. Phil Collins. “Sussudio.” “Phil and I are birthday buddies.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we share a birthday.”

“Stop it.”

“It’s true. January thirtieth. When I was in college, I used to throw him a birthday party every year.”

“You threw Phil Collins a birthday party? But not yourself? Do they even allow parties at Brown?”

He laughed. “Only if they’re for Phil Collins.”

“Did you get Phil a cake?”

“Of course. With ‘Happy Birthday, Phil!’ on it. And, you know, eighties costumes, Genesis blasting from the speakers, that sort of thing.”

“I’m confused,” she said, leaning over the table to peer at him. “’Cause that sounds awesome. Peter Kennedy, are you trying to tell me that at one point in time, you were…” She paused dramatically.“Fun?”

“Oh, I’m fucking fun,” he said. And then—perhaps because the margaritas had hit him just right—he wanted to prove to her just how fun he was. He jumped up, caught the beat, and started dancing right next to their table, shaking his ass and lip synching all the big notes. She watched bug-eyed until he dragged her up from the booth, and then they were both breaking it down, right in the middle of Taco Bell.

“What the hell is a Sussudio anyway?” she asked, mid-sprinkler.

“I think it’s the girl’s name?” he said, doing his best running man. “But I’ve never met a Sussudio so it’s hard to know.”

“Google it!”

He watched her do the robot. “How are you single? You’re a total catch.”

“Shut up!”

“Don’t you want to ask why I’m single?” he asked, adding imaginary apples to an imaginary shopping cart.

“Nope. Checks out.”

He laughed and took her hand and spun her around. Her black gown was halfway unzipped, and the hem swirled in the air as she whirled. He pulled her to him until they were most definitely dancing together, sometimes touching, sometimes pulling away just for the delight of coming back together again.It felt like the most fun he’d had in years. And when the song ended, and their bodies were pressed together, and she was looking up at him with her lips softly parted—for a moment he thought he might kiss her.

“Does this mean we’re friends now?” she asked finally. She took a step back.

He could feel his face morph from the exuberance he’d felt just a second ago to something softer, a little hurt. Yes. Friendship. Friendship was the only option. Or, well, not even an option—he shouldn’t be friends with her. He shouldn’t beanythingwith her. Fuck, was he drunk?

“Friends,” he said, putting a palm up for a high-five. “What else would we be?” He shook his head, trying to clear it. “I’ll call an Uber.”

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