Page 10 of That Friendzone Feeling

Shedoes the same thing every time—sits with her kneesup to her chest, pulls theT-shirt over them—and we set the world to rights before we start the day.

It’sa ritual.It’swhat we do.

Excepttoday, obviously.Becausehere she is, in jeans and a sweater.

“Hi,”Isay. “You’reready for the world unusually early.”

I’venever wished more thatI’dthrown on some sweatpants.Orat least aT-shirt.Evensocks would help me feel less naked.

“It’sten thirty,” she says, as if that’s ever stopped us from sitting around chatting.

Itry to focus on the bacon to take my mind off how exposedIfeel despite wearing clothing.Workoutshorts are admittedly not much, but they’re clothing all the same.

“Grabsome coffee.”Inod at the coffeepot next to me. “Breakfastwill be ready in a sec.”

Shelooks down and picks at her fingers. “ThinkI’lljust head out.Ineed to find somewhere to stay.”

What?Myinsides sink.

Iturn to face her. “Whatare you talking about?Youcan stay here.Justlike always.”

Shepushes her hair behind her ear, revealing the small scar at her temple where she was hit by aFrisbeeIthrew to her during a game with friends inBrooklynParkabout seven years ago.She’sas bad at catching as she is at throwing.

“I’mnot doing the thing whereIcrash with you tillImeet another guy.Ineed to start the new year asImean to go on.Single.Independent.Andin a place of my own.”

She’sunusually lifeless.Hershoulders are slumped, andIwouldn’t bet anything on the chances of her smiling.It’slike shewoke up a differentEmily.

Iflip the bacon again.

“Well, that’s all very admirable.Butone, you should probably at least have coffee before embarking on your life-changing day.Two, it’sJanuaryfirst.Everything’sclosed, and it’s our one day off.Withthe big push to get the resort ready, it might be the only one we get all year.Andthree, perhaps you should search online, then set up some appointments before you head out blindly.”

Sheshrugs and looks at the coffeepot. “You’reright.”Shesteps around the island and heads toward me or, rather, the coffee. “Whyare you always so goddamn right?”

“WhatcanItell you?It’sa gift…and a burden.”

Shefinally cracks a smile and shoves me in the bicep.That’sbetter, way more normal.

Theshove knocks me off balance, though.Anddirectly into the path of a splatter of hot grease as it bursts from the pan with a loud pop and, like a laser-guided missile, lands directly on target on my left nipple.

Islap my hand over the sensitive point of impact and yell, “Fuck,” asIdrop the tongs and bend double.

“Shit,”Emilysays, her hand flying to my bare arm. “Didit get you?”

“Hell, yes.”Istraighten and try to inspect the damage.

Turnsout, examining your own nipple is trickier than you might imagine, and no amount of contorting my neck is getting me a good angle.

“Here, let me see.”Sheleans in and focuses on my fully erect nipple.

Itmust have hardened in shock at the pain.Atleast it better be that and notEmily’stouch or the way her jeans cling to her thighs.Orthe way the lines of her bra are just visible through her sweater.Orthe fact that her warm fingers are now on my chest, a hair’s breadth from thenipple in question, while she cocks her head to examine the underside of it.Becausenot one of those things would be even remotely acceptable.

“Erm, sorry,” she says and snatches her fingers away as ifIwere the temperature of the frying pan.

There’sa hint of pink in her cheeks that wasn’t there before.

“Nosign of any damage,” she says, looking at the floor. “Ithink you’ll live.”

Sheturns away. “Actually,I’llget coffee out.Youdon’t have any flavorings or creamer or sugar.”Sheretreats to the other side of the island. “AndIdo need to find somewhere to live.”