Page 16 of Not a Friend (Crescent Light #1)
Four Years Ago, April
I’d like to thank my dad for leaving. It made me a natural nurturer.
I woke up, groggy and dying of thirst, to Billie perched like a loaf of bread on my stomach.
She purred softly, the only sound in the otherwise silent room.
My head throbbed as I lifted it and surveyed the room.
I was still lying on Nate’s couch, only now a thick comforter that wasn’t there the last I’d checked was thrown over me.
I immediately recognized it as the one from Nate’s bed.
I blinked, eyes focusing on the coffee table in front of me, and the tall glass of water and two aspirin there.
Dazed and very much confused, I found Nate curled up and asleep on the smaller couch adjacent to mine. Billie hopped off my belly with a chirp as I sat to get a better look at him.
It would have been hilarious had I not had the hangover of a lifetime.
He tried his best to fit on the couch—more of a loveseat—but his long limbs couldn’t quite manage.
He was lying on his back with his arms crossed over his chest and one outstretched leg draped over the arm, a naked foot suspended midair.
His chest rose and fell with deep, rhythmic breaths.
He looked so calm, yet there was a seriousness there I’d never seen before.
There was usually a hint of a smile that never left his expression, whether it be on his lips or in his eyes.
But the drawn look on his face and the small crease between his eyebrows looked foreign on his otherwise relaxed body.
I suddenly felt like an intruder. Embarrassment flooded through me, along with a fresh dizziness. I’d passed out no less than five minutes after getting there.
Why the fuck did I call him while I was drunk off my ass? Why did I agree to that stupid bar crawl? Wait, what time is it?
I patted the blanket, searching for my phone. After fumbling my way up and down the entire thing twice, careful not to wake the sleeping man three feet away, I tried to remember where I’d last seen it.
My jacket pocket. I’d put it there when Nate pulled up to get me.
My eyes shot to where I’d left my jacket crumpled on the floor, but it was now folded in half on the kitchen island.
Quiet as a mouse, I got to my feet and tiptoed to it.
No phone. Shoulders slumped, I turned in a circle, head spinning with me, and looked for it on the floor, on top of the coffee table, in the cushions of the couch.
Finally, I spotted it tucked in the corner of the countertop near the fridge, plugged into a charger.
I shot Nate a mental thank you as I reached for it and checked the time. 5:04 AM.
I was asleep for six fucking hours.
My head pounded with every movement, but I was too embarrassed to stay another minute.
In a grand show of shame, I grabbed the aspirin off the coffee table, downed them with the entire glass of water, neatly folded Nate’s comforter, called an Uber, gave Billie a scratch on the head, and left without further injury to my ego.
It was noon before Nate called me. I debated not answering, still too mortified and not wanting to relive my humiliation, but I picked up anyway.
“You’re alive,” he said when I answered.
“Unfortunately. Listen, I’m really sorry about last night. I feel like a jerk.”
“What? Why?”
I picked up on the sarcastic, teasing tone in his voice, but appreciated his lack of judgment regardless.
“Why? I don’t know, because I was drunk off my ass and made you come pick me up in the middle of the night? Then, I gracefully passed out—fully clothed, I might add—on your couch?”
“You didn’t want to be fully clothed, trust me.”
I slapped a hand to my forehead, cheeks burning red in an instant.
Please, god, let me dig myself into a deep hole and stay there forever.
“Yeah, that, too. I’m such an ass. I’m sorry.”
He giggled at my horror. “Don’t sweat it, okay? I’m glad you called me instead of stumbling home alone. I’m also glad you didn’t puke on my couch.”
I let my head fall into my hand. “You and me both. How can I make it up to you?”
“You don’t have to do anything, Oli. Just keep me in mind next time you make a late-night booty call. Preferably when you’re sober enough that I can actually do something about it.”
Fuck me. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. ”
“I’m not just reserved for the late-night shift, you know. I’ll take morning booty calls, too. Or even afternoons, if you’re lucky.”
“Yeah, okay, I’ll keep that in mind.” I rolled my eyes into next week. “I’m hanging up now.”
“Hey, wait!”
“Yeah?”
“I’m having a show next weekend. You should come.”
I bit back a grin. “Okay. Maybe I will.”
When I hung up, a giddy confusion washed over me.
Giddy because Nate was infectious. He had an ease and calmness that didn’t come naturally to me, but rubbed off when we spent time together.
Sure, I still felt a prickling nervousness with him at times, but the second I got in my head, he’d do something to reassure me or show me there was no pressure.
He’d never given me a reason to worry or question his intentions. He’d never promised me anything, and he’d never asked for anything in return. He had only ever been completely himself, and he accepted me just as I was.
The confusion, on the other hand, was because I’d never been in a relationship like this.
Not a relationship.
Nate didn’t seem remotely interested in anything more.
Honestly, I didn’t know if I wanted anything more, either.
Sure, Nate was amazing—sweet and easy to talk to, drop-dead gorgeous, talented as hell—but he had his priorities.
He made it no secret that music was the most important thing in his life.
As much as I could easily see myself with him, I also knew daydreaming about it wasn’t a good idea. Not with my master’s only a year away and my future looming over me.
But for the first time in my life, I felt alright with the uncertainty. This thing with Nate was casual. Low stakes, high reward. While I wasn’t looking forward to its inevitable end, I resigned myself to enjoying it anyway.
I can do casual.