Page 58 of That Friendzone Feeling
Iunzip my knee-high boots, slide them off over my thick tights, and flick on the light.
Acrossthe other side of the open space,Walker’shead shoots up over the back of the sofa, headphones clamped to it, eyebrows somewhere north of his hairline.
NowIknow what it’s like to have a mini seizure.Myheart and pulse race off the starting blocks into a one-hundred-meter sprint against each other.
“Shit,Walker.Youscared the life out of me.”
Hepulls off his headphones. “Andyou me.”
“Whatthe hell are you doing sitting there with no lights on?”
“Watchingsome videos on a new theory about the mashing process.Didn’teven notice it had gotten dark.”
Itake off my coat and hang it on one of the hooks inside the front door. “Fora second there,Ithought we had a burglar who’d broken in to take a nap.”
“Ha.”Hestands up, revealing he’s in my favorite black jeans and aT-shirt that’s too snug fitting for its own good.There’sthe outline of his pecs thatIstroked that night at the site.Ahint of nipple through the fabric—the very samenipples that, when tweaked, caused him to emit the sexiest groanI’veever heard.Myeyes drift to his crotch.
Stop.
Ihave to stop it.
It’snonsensical and pointless and would be nothing but trouble.
“NowIknow how late it is,Irealize how hungryIam,” he says, rubbing his belly, making hisT-shirt ride up and revealing that soft, warm patch of skin just above the waistband of his jeans.
Whatthe hell is wrong with my brain?Whywon’t it get the message?
Stopit.Forfuck’s sake, stop it.
Hewanders out from behind the sofa, heads toward the kitchen, and opens the fridge door. “Idon’t know what we have, butI’mgoing to throw something together.”
Heturns back to look at me, pushing his fingers through his hair, the light from the fridge catching the natural fair highlights. “Wantsome?”
Iwant some of everything.Someof his food, some of his mouth, some of his chest, some of his thighs.
“Thanks, butI’mgood.Ihad the fish and chips from the restaurant at my desk.Andthe sticky toffee pudding.Wantedto give the contract one last look over before it was sent toChase’speople.”
Hereaches into the fridge and holds up a bottle of vanilla stout.Mybeer.Theone he developed so we had a beerI’ddrink. “Howabout one of these while you watch with wonder asIcreate a culinary phenomenon from a sweet potato, three eggs, and some cottage cheese?”Helooks back into the fridge. “Oh, and some mushrooms.Aremushrooms still okay when they’re furry?”
“Soundslike it would be a wonderful show.Butit’s late,Ineed to turn in.Andmaybe look through pictures of more movie-premiere dresses.”
Hisshoulders drop as he turns away and puts the beer back. “Right.Yeah.Youhave a lot going on.”
Hecloses the fridge door and rests back against it, his hands behind his butt. “I’vehardly seen you since we got back from the island.Orrather, since we…”Heshrugs. “…since what happened there.”
“Yeah, just got a lot of balls in the air.”
“Oryou’re avoiding me.”
“Ha.”Idismiss the idea with my hand as if it’s laughable. “OfcourseI’mnot avoiding you.There’sno reason to do that.”Thatsounded true, right?
Helooks down. “Well,I’vebeen avoiding you.”
“Oh.”Mystomach turns in on itself.Thelast thingIwant is to have this awkward, difficult conversation whereIhave to lie for the sake of the greater good, and sayIdon’t want him.
Helooks at me from under his furrowed, pained brow. “Didyou thinkIreally needed to spend such long hours up atBathgate?”
OfcourseIdidn’t.Ofcourse he’s been avoiding me. “Well, you’re working on the new beer,”Isay as casually asIcan manage. “AndMiguel’shelping you.SoIassumed you needed to be there.”
