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25

EZRA

Fitzie stumbles into the kitchen as I’m making coffee, dropping onto the barstool with a sigh. His red curls stick up in all directions and he’s wearing a pair of oversized glasses I didn’t see yesterday.

“I’m buying you curtains. I can’t sleep in these conditions,” he groans.

“We can hang a sheet up,” I protest. “Since when do you wear glasses?”

“A sheet? You live like a frat boy, yet you’re twenty four. Learn to love purpose-made objects.” He stabs a finger at me through the air. “And I got glasses last year, don’t freak out.”

“Learn to love telling your bestie every detail of your life,” I retort, setting two mugs on the counter.

“Maybe you’ve been usurped in the position of bestie by someone who doesn’t mother-hen me.”

“As if. You need someone clucking over you, admit it.”

“And you need curtains.” Fitzie sips his coffee and I visibly see him swallow a snarky comment about how cheap and shitty it is, which is the height of kindness for a single-origin, grind-your-own-beans guy.

I take pity on him. “There’s better coffee at the club. Syril — the owner — is super into all that perfect roast stuff. They installed a fancy machine in the staff room.”

He puts the mug down. “When can we go?”

“I thought you wanted to get curtains.” I smirk.

I’ll bring Fitzie to the club — I will. It’s just that I don’t have a clue what to tell him about Lysander, and that’s kind of a problem.

We might be friends, but we’re friends who cuddle at night so one of them doesn’t have insomnia-inducing nightmares. Friends who have mind-blowing sex. Fitzie knows me too well. There’s no way I can hide it from him, and I need a proper defense against the inevitable questions.

Yeah, I care about him. No, it’s not serious and probably can’t ever be, because he’s a prince and I’m just a random guy. No, I’m not going to get my heart broken. Promise.

Pretty sure that won’t fly.

Fitzie drinks the rest of his coffee with the world’s worst poker face. “You working today? I’ll take your spare key.”

“I lost the spare.” Nothing like hanging out with another human to make me realize how much of a mess I still am, actually.

Fitzie leans over the counter and opens the drawer next to me. “Nope. It was in here the whole time.”

My drawer is neatly arranged, and the spare key sits in a tray I didn’t even know I had. I lift my eyes. “How long are you here again?”

He sits back down, grinning. “Thirty days of sleeping on your lumpy couch.”

“You can take the bed!” I point out.

“I willnottake your bed, but Iwillbuy a blackout curtain and a humidifier so I can get my beauty sleep. One of those cute onesshaped like an animal’s butt.” He huffs. “I might even buy new cushion covers. Yours are scratchy.”

“Fitzie, seriously —”

“Uh uh.” He waves a finger in my face. “I took out your recycling this morning.”

Fuck.I haven’t emptied that in months — everything was in there. Collection letters, bank statements, past due notices. “It’s not that bad.”

“You live off canned soup and comped food and your accounts are in overdraft. It is that bad.” Fitzie’s perfectly groomed brows pull tight. “Seriously, fuck Jasper for this. Suck up your ego, babe. I’m your friend and I want to help you.”

“Fine.” I have to breathe past the sudden lump in my throat. “Okay. Get curtains.”

“And a cute rug,” he says.