Page 11 of That Friendzone Feeling
“You’rewelcome to stay here as long as you like, you know.”
Shepoints at the stove. “Ithink that’s burning.”
“Shit.”Mysense of smell must have shut down in panic at theEmily-to-nipple proximity situation.
Idrag the pan off the burner and tip the frazzled bacon onto a napkinned plate to drain.
“Thanks,”Icall after her, at the exact same time the front door clunks shut.
Nolights on.Shit.Ipull my front door closed behind me.
It’snine p.m. andEmily’snot back yet.
Mymind does what it always does in situations like this and immediately worries for her safety.
Iflick on the light, drop my keys in the box on the table, and unlace my sneakers.
MaybewhileIwas atConnor’sshe came back and went out again.
Ipull off my shoes and look through her open bedroom door.Nope.Definitelynot here.
Ihope to hell she’s not avoiding me because of the kiss.Butthat would be preferable to the more dangerous scenarios my mind’s creating at a mile a minute.
Nah.Shewouldn’t care less about the kiss thing.She’dhave seen it as the jokeI’dintended it to be.I’llbe the only one overreacting about it.
Maybeshe’s out keeping busy to take her mind offAnthony.
Christ,Ihope that’s it.
ThatMiniof hers isn’t exactly like driving a big sturdySUVthat can hold its own in an accident.Itmight be an adorable shade of tomato red, with a limited-edition white stripe down the hood, matching white roof and wing mirrors, but a tank it is not.
Imake my way to the kitchen and grab a beer from the fridge.
ThankGodConnorandRoseinvited me to have lunch with them, orI’dhave spent the whole day stewing in my own juices.Iended up hanging out to watch theRoseBowl, and while it was a distraction and helped pass the day, most of my brain was rerunning what happened this morning in the very spotI’mstanding in now.
Emilywas about to stay and have coffee with me.She’deven come around enough to give me that playful shove.Itwas definitely the nipple thing that changed everything.
It’sstrange, though, because checking out a wounded body part is something she always does.Whetherit’s a scrape, a cut, or whatever, she always wants to take a look.WhenIcame off myVespaone time, she even cut my jeans open to check my knee.
Butthis morning, once she was eye to eye with mynipple, it was like she thought she was doing something wrong and took off.
Undernormal circumstances she would have peppered me with a burst of sarcastic comments, laughed her ass off at me, and filed the incident away in the back of her mind to be drawn on for a lifetime of fried-nipple jokes.
Somaybe she does feel awkward after last night.Perhapsthat’s why she came out dressed and with a new urgency to find a place of her own and get away from me.
Iflop down on the sofa and check my phone.Again.Therehasn’t been so much as a text from her since she left.Ican’t remember the last timeIwent this long without a message fromEmily.
Mybrain continues to feed me a horrific list of all the awful things that could have happened.Itnever assumes she’s bumped into a friend and is having a happy, relaxing chat over a glass of wine.No, my brain’s go-to is always tragedy.
Myfear for her well-being overtakes my concern that she might be freaked out by me kissing her.Idon’t care if she’s avoiding me,Ineed to put my racing mind at rest.
Me (9:04 PM)
Just got home and you’re not here. Checking you’re ok.
Rightnow,I’dtake knowingI’vemade her feel awkward or pissed her off over worrying she’s been in an accident or something.
Iturn on theTVand flip through the channels, not paying a second of attention to any of them.
