Page 75 of A Slice of Love

“That’s where you’re wrong. I don’t have my wallet.”

“Well you better get your hussy ass back to the kitchen and get to work on some sad hand jobs to earn some money. It’s your turn to pay.”

“Sad hand jobs? Really, Julian?” I groan. “I am about to strangle you, and that isnothow I want to start my day.”

“I have a bold suggestion for you,” he says, ignoring my empty threats. “How about you talk to Jonas like a grown-ass adult?”

“He’s already leaving—there’s no need to talk to him. It’s not like I can ask him to put his football career on hold for me so we can chitchat about our feelings.”

“When is he leaving?”

“He has to be in Colorado by tomorrow morning.”

“So talk to him now.”

“I amnotshowing up at his house after storming out this morning. That is so not in the cards. I also need to avoid my apartment for at least another few hours so my parents will quit staking it out.”

He cringes. “Things were that bad last night?”

“Awful. I’ll talk to them eventually, but I need time…kind of like I need time with Jonas.”

“But you don’t have time.”

“I know this, Julian.” I sigh, folding my menu and glaring at him. “I know I don’t. I love him and I don’t have time to tell him. I don’t have time to show him, but just let me handle this, okay?”

He eyes me, not saying anything but saying everything all at once.

He doesn’t trust me to talk to Jonas.

And to be fair, I don’t either.

I’ve become really good at avoiding all things Jonas over the years. I buried my love for him before, so maybe I can do it again.

“Iwillhandle it, all right?”

“Right. Fine. Whatever.”

“Whatever,” I mimic.

I pick my menu back up, propping it up on the table, blocking my best friend from my line of sight.

He does the same.

We don’t speak for several minutes, each only pretending to examine the menu because we’ve been here dozens of times and always get the same thing.

“Tell you what, since I’m in a giving mood this morning, I’ll split the hand jobs with you. You hit the waitstaff and I’ll get the guys in the back. Deal, Frankenstein?”

I can’t help it—a giggle bursts out of me because my best friend is a moron, and the icy war is over.

“Deal, Igor.”

* * *

“Good gravy, I’m coming!”

I pull myself off the couch for the first time in what feels like days. It’s only been a few hours, but Netflix has judged me at least three times.

“What?” I growl, throwing the door open.

---