Page 34 of Ablaze

Malcolm: How many times do I have to tell you, shorty? It was a Youtube clip Baron sent me.

I smile, not taking offense to the nickname Malcolm and the guys at the station have given me. I’m on the short side, so I own it.

Me: Uh huh. Do you cry during all the Youtube clips you watch?

Malcolm: Oh, you are going to get it the next time I see you. I’m going to kick your ass from here to Nantucket.

I giggle as another message pops in.

Rohan: Careful. No one looks at, touches, or speaks about my sister’s ass.

Me:

Malcom:

Samantha:

Malcolm: I’ll be there, but no bets on if I’ll stay awake.

I’m just putting my phone in my back pocket when a familiar baritone voice has me snapping my head up to find it.

My smile is immediate at the sight of my best friend munching a cookie–I’m willing to bet it’s one from the dog treats case–while talking animatedly with Betty.

God, I am so fucking glad to see him.

It’s been two weeks since he showed up at my apartment drunk and we had that rather awkward conversation about me dating Warren.

And while we have texted here and there, this is the first time I’m seeing him since that night. I even stopped by his apartment on my way home one night, but he wasn’t around. I can’t be sure, but I get the feeling he’s been avoiding me.

And it fucking sucks.

I honestly don’t know how much he remembers from the night–given how wasted he was–but I’ve been thinking about confronting him about it nonetheless, so I’m glad he’s here now.

He hasn’t noticed me yet, but I take the moment to admire him without interruption–loosely slung jeans on thighs I know are large and toned, broad shoulders and a tapered waist, and hair that’s up in his usual half-bun.

My fist clenches around my side as I squash the desire to run my fingers through the hair at his nape. I shouldn’t be having desires like that in the first place, but definitely not now with me dating Warren.

Dean’s words from that night roll around in my head as I close the distance between us. “For the record, I already fucking hate him.”

I get it. I really do. Like Rohan, Dean feels protective of me, so he was hurt that he had to hear about my love life from someone else. And I understood where that sentiment came from. Hell, I felt the same way about Jane until he told me who she was.

Still . . . there was something else behind his outrage that night. Something that didn’t add up. And unless I was outright misreading it, I would go as far as to say he was jealous.

Perhaps it was the alcohol making him more loose-lipped, or maybe it was the shock of finding out the way he did, but I saw the tentacles of anguish and envy grab hold of him, even if it was for mere moments.

But why?

Wasn’t he the one who stopped anything from progressing between us that day on the couch? Wasn’t he the one who said he didn’t want to risk our friendship?

“Anyone else can come and go, but this is forever.”

So why did it feel like I’d taken a sledgehammer to his heart when I told him about Warren? Why did I feel like the worst best friend in the world?

Dean’s eyes turn to capture me, and for a moment, I freeze, before letting go of any inhibitions and running toward him. His arms open wide, almost on their own accord, as he captures me in a hug, swinging me around.

And for that moment, it’s just me and him. There is no café or customers, no Betty giggling behind the counter, or dogs barking in the backyard. For that moment, it’s just us.

I inhale his sandalwood scent like it’s a drug, filling my nostrils, like if I breathe him in long enough, his scent will never dull.

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