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“Hello,” I call.

She walks from her bathroom wearing a white bathrobe, her long silky black hair hanging in loose waves around her face. She startles, clutching her hands to her chest. “Oh my god, Brad, I didn’t hear you.”

I let out a low chuckle. “Sorry, I just wanted to say hi before I left. I hear you have a date?” I tease.

“Uh, yeah,” she says, chewing on her bottom lip.

“You don’t sound very excited about it?”

“No, I am. I just don’t know what to wear, and he’s going to be here soon, and he texted me earlier saying he booked that new seafood restaurant near Times Square, and I said sounds great, and now I wanna throw up.”

I press my lips together. Gabriella rambling will never not be funny. She does it when she’s nervous, and I find it endearing.

“Why did you say that? You hate seafood,” I state.

“Because I clearly lack the ability to say no to people,” she says, rummaging through the pile of clothes, pulling out a black dress, holding it up, then tossing it behind her.

“You really need to work on that people pleasing thing you do,” I say flatly.

“Yeah, I know. I’ll get right on that after this date, so pray that I can swallow and keep the fish down.” I almost choke at the idea of her swallowing.

She holds up a simple black dress with long sleeves and a high neckline, and length that falls just below her knee. “Does this dress say, I’m not really into this, so can we just be friends?” she asks, holding it against herself.

I eye the dress. “What shoes are you wearing?”

She bends down and picks up two different shoes. “Well, if I liked him, I’d wear my YSL heels.” She holds up a strappy sandal with a high stiletto. “But I’m thinking my Karen Millen pumps.” She holds up a black, flat ballet slipper shoe.

“Yeah, YSL screams ‘take me home and fuck me’, Karen Millen says ‘thanks for dinner, let’s be friends, I’ll see you Sunday at church’,” I say playfully.

She snaps her fingers and points at me, “Perfect, just the message I want. Karen Millen, it is.” I laugh, shaking my head as she goes into her bathroom, taking the dress with her.

I take a seat on the end of her bed, watching the shadows of her silhouette on the bedroom wall that shines through the bathroom door as she changes.

“So, what’s his name? What does he do?” I call.”

“Patrick. He works at a law firm or finance, I can’t remember. Likes to play golf,” she yells back.

“Hmmm, he sounds fun,” I say sarcastically.

“Doesn’t he?” she says, matching my tone as she reenters the room. The black dress she’s now wearing is loose but still tight enough that you can make out her insane curves. She’s my friend, but I can appreciate how beautiful she is, and she takes care of her body. Much like me, she loves her fitness, and it shows.

Her long hair is now styled back in her staple high ponytail, and it’s only now I see the light dusting of make-up she has on. She has these insane eyes. Brown with flecks of amber that catch the light. I remember the first time I laid eyes on her in that club. I was so enamored by her and how she carried herself. She was stunning. The more I talked to her and got to know her, I knew I had to keep my distance and build that friendship wall quickly. She was too good, too pure, too innocent for someone like me. She was the type of woman you made your forever. But I can’t do forever. I’d tarnish her. And I can’t do that to her because she’s one of life’s good ones. Gabriella was a breath of cool air in the middle of the desert. Rare and hard to come by, but when you do, you soak up every second of it because you know it’s fleeting. I know she could never be mine, I’d never allow it, because she was destined for things that I could never give her, so I embrace the parts I do get to have, because I’d rather have pieces of her than nothing at all.

“So, does this look okay?” She spins and puts her hands on her hips.

I look her up and down and nod. “Beautiful. If he’s a prick or you get in trouble, you call me, okay?”

“I will,” she says, walking towards me, pressing a feather-light kiss to my cheek. “Thank you for the help.”

I rise to my feet, towering over her, and wrap my arms around her. I’m not really a hugger, but with her, it feels like the most natural thing in the world to do.

“Gabs, your date is here,” Ali yells from the other room.

Gabriella visibly stiffens before she steps out of my hold, smooths her hands down her dress, and heads out of her bedroom. I follow, wanting to meet this man.

He smiles when he looks at Gabriella and then his face drops, and his eyes darken when he looks at me. I appreciate it didn’t look very good watching her leave her bedroom with me trialing behind, but it is what it is. I’m her friend, and I’m not going anywhere.

“Hey,” Gabriella says shyly, and Patrick hands her a bunch of red roses.