Page 8 of Pick One
John shook his head and braced the door open with a stopper. “But I’m sure he’s a great guy. You ready?”
I sighed but bent obediently to pick up my end of the couch. “He’s really not. He’s kind of a dick. Which honestly should have been my first clue that you weren’t his friend.”
We walked the couch into the room, where Ben’s missing sofa had left a vacant spot that was the perfect size for mine, and set it down one final time.
John dusted his hands in a satisfied way and stood back to look at the setup. “It looks great. The green looks awesome with the hardwood floor.”
It really did. But I still had so many questions.
“John, you didn’t even know I was your roommate. Why in the world did you help a perfect stranger move a sofa?” Who the heck did that?
“Well…” He darted an almost nervous glance at my face. “Because you seemed like an interesting person? Like a guy who needed a friend? And I was available.” He shrugged.
“That simple?”
“Sure. It doesn’t have to be complicated, T.” He took a seat, then slid back with a delighted groan and ran his hand over the green tufted armrest. “Holy shit, is this hand-tooled leather?”
“It… yes. It is.”
“Mmmm.” He closed his eyes and smiled sleepily. “This reallyisthe best couch ever.”
I snorted. This whole situation was… it was beyond ridiculous. Still, I felt my mouth curl up in a smile I couldn’t have stopped even if I wanted to.
“So you want us to be… friends?” I clarified, testing the word on my tongue.
John’s eyes opened, and he frowned a little, like he was looking for the catch. “Uh… yes? Why not?”
All the reasons why not—six feet and several glorious inches of why not—were splayed out right there on my sofa with his feet propped up on the coffee table. His sturdy legs, his killer smile, his big hands that had made my body warm all over the one and only time he’d touched methrough my shirt.
Could I really go a whole year without twisting friendship into something it wasn’t?
But what was the alternative? Having this sweet man walk out of my life entirely?
And maybe it would be easier than I thought. Heck, maybe the man wasn’t even gay.
Pick one, Teagan Donahue: friendship or nothing.
“Why not,” I agreed, plunking myself down on the opposite end of the sofa and propping my feet on the coffee table, too. “Let’s be super-platonic roommate friends.”
John’s bright smile sent ripples of warmth through my stomach, chasing away my doubts… at least for the moment.
“We know your thoughts on sourdough,” I said pensively. “But how do you feel about karaoke with mediocre but enthusiastic singers?”
“Well. Back in Vermont, I once dated a guy who was an award-winning pig caller…”
Fuck. So, not straight, then.
But also… weirdly fascinating.
“I can learn to love it,” John promised solemnly.
Then I would try my very bestnotto fall in love with him.
I leaned across the space between us and rested a hand on his shoulder, one bro to another. “John Curran,” I vowed, “I am going to be the very best friend you’ve ever had.”
And I kept the hell out of that promise…
Until the day I fucked it all up.
