Page 8 of That Friendzone Feeling

Ilean into him so he can hear me. “Butit’s sad to be alone onNewYear’sEve.Lookhow happy everyone is.”

“Eight…”

“They’rehappy because they’re at a pub we created.They’rehappy because of you.”Heboops me on the end of my nose with his finger.

“Seven…”

“It’snot the same as having someone you love kiss you at midnight though, is it?”Ibellow into his ear.

Arock forms in my throat as my eyes embarrassingly fill up.There’sno logical reason to be more sad now thanIwas an hour ago.Butthere’s something about midnight onNewYear’s.

“Six…”

Walkershakes his head, rolls his eyes, and stoops to plant a peck on my cheek. “Thereyou go.”

“Five…”

Somehowthat makes it worse, and a single tear spills from my right eye. “Ididn’t mean that kind of kiss.”

“Three…”

Walkerstraightens and looks back at me. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“Two…”

Heputs down his champagne glass and takes my face in both hands. “Ifyou want a kiss, here you go.”

Andhis lips are on mine.

“One…”

What?

Theroom erupts in cheers and bangs of party poppers.

Mybrain freezes.Everymuscle stiffens.Myheart races.

Thisis weird.

Buthis lips are fucking amazing.Allsoft and cushiony and placed perfectly against mine.Hehas good aim.

Shit, apparently my eyes are shut.Iopen one a crack and peep out between my lashes.Hisare closed too.

Mystool almost bounces in time with everyone jumping up and down to the rendition of “AuldLangSyne” sweeping the room.

Ifind myself drawing in a deep breath and sinking toward him, pressing back against his pillowy mouth.Whyis my body doing that?ButChrist, even his lips are irritatingly perfect.Andhe smells of bread and tastes of champagne.Itcouldn’t be more delicious.

Hepulls back, andIfall forward slightly, needing to grab onto the back of my seat to keep myself upright.

Oureyes meet—there’s a puzzled look behind his, likeI’msomeone he’s passed in the street, knows he recognizes, but can’t quite remember where from.

Thenhe blinks and his usual warm look is back. “Thatbetter?”

Ihave no idea what the answer is.ButbeforeIcan come up with one, he casually picks up his glass and raises it with his easygoing smile. “HappyNewYear, partner.Here’sto your man-free year.”

Aparty popper bursts behindWalker, and a couple of red and blue streamers land on his head.Hisperfect head.

Explosionsping around my brain, like it’s a pinball machine being played by a rabid teenager on acid.