Page 65 of The Friends and Rivals Collection

I DON’T EVEN REALLY LIKE BANANAS

Emerson

At Jason’s house, it’s a Frisbee and barbecue evening for the host, so the backyard is brimming with pro-footballers and their significant others, if they have them. There are guys from Jason’s team, the Hawks, and guys from the city’s other team too, the Renegades.

Like Harlan, the just-retired star receiver who’s married to my friend, Katie. His rookie replacement, Carter, is here with his girlfriend, Sydney.

Everyone’s in the yard, goofing off as the sun dips lower in the sky, except for Nolan and me. We’re inside, on pins and needles.

From my spot in the kitchen, I stare out the window, zooming in on Harlan as he easily slings a Frisbee to Jason, then on Katie, who works the grill like a pro, flipping burgers and chicken. She does everything well, so no surprise there.

I watch them and wait for our agent to pick up the phone.

I have to focus on something other than the Extremely High Levels of Impatience flooding my veins as we dial Hayes again.

The connection went dead a minute ago in the middle of our call, right as he was laying out, oh, you know, life-changing details. As it rings and rings, I jerk my gaze away from the glass and meet Nolan’s eyes. Bright, wide, hopeful.

Like a mirror.

“This can’t really be happening,” I say, and I’m not sure I’m even in my body. It’s like I’m floating above us in a fevered, crazy dream. One I don’t want to wake from because it’s just so damn good here in this altered state.

I hope it lasts.

I really do.

“I think it’s finally happening, Em,” he says, kind of hushed and wonderstruck.

Another ring.

Then, Hayes’s voice crackles over the speakerphone. “Hey, hey! I hit a dead spot in my building,” our agent says, tinny at first, then he smooths out. “So, what do you think? The terms are good. The opportunity is huge. And they want you to start right away.”

Nolan’s grin is electric. “It’s sort of a no-brainer, isn’t it?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say a zombie could do this deal, but...” Hayes chuckles.

“I don’t think he meant it like that,” I chime in, laughing too, maybe even slap-happy.

Is this real?

Is our agent talking terms of a streaming deal with us?

I pinch my arm to make sure I’m alive. That this call is occurring on Planet Earth and not in Emerson’s Fantasy Parallel Universe.

“Yeah, we definitely need your non-zombie brain, Hayes,” Nolan says.

“Good. I advise you to say yes. This is everything we’ve been wanting for you two,” he says.

It is everything.

That’s what scares me. If something is too good to be true, maybe it is. But I set aside philosophical musings as Hayes reviews more details.

He gives us the details for our shoot and the meeting in New York with the Webflix producer, then he ends the call. As we hang up the phone, the sounds from the yard drift in. Jason’s voice, Harlan’s voice, Katie’s, Carter’s, Sydney’s.

But the one voice I key in on belongs to the person in front of me.

My best friend.

“Emerson,” Nolan rasps, and my name has never sounded so charged, so full of atoms and ions.

Full of hopes and dreams.

He advances toward me. Clasps my shoulders. “Did we just get an offer from Webflix to do our very own streaming show in New York City?” he asks in disbelief.

He sounds so fucking giddy.

He sounds how I feel.

“I think we did,” I whisper, like saying it too loud will tank the deal. Like it’s a precious thing we have to whisper about to protect.

“This must be what it feels like to be my brother and play in the NFL. To be my dad and close killer deals,” he says.

I grab his face, hold him tight. “Shut up. Don’t compare yourself. This is what it feels like to be us .”

“I like us .”

I do too. I like the feel of his face in my cupped palms. I like his hazel eyes, glittering. I like sharing this passion project with him.

I’m so glad I’m not doing this solo. I was never wired to be alone. I traveled into this world as part of a team. I’m built to be part of a duo.

And we did this together.

“So do I,” I say, as a marching parade takes over my heart. Drums beat, trumpets flare, and I am exuberant. “I feel like I did that night after you took me on the roller coaster.”

Is that too risky to say? Maybe it is. But I feel a little high right now. A little daring, like I can have it all.

“Me too.” He steps closer. It’s a declaration as he invades my space, inches away. Kisses are written all over his eyes, as if this is how we need to seal the deal. Like we did after the roller coaster. Hell, we survived our first kiss; we survived sex. We could surely handle a celebratory kiss.

I’m ready to throw caution to the wind, right here in his brother’s kitchen. My stomach flips, and my chest flops, and both Nancy and I are in agreement.

With his face still in my hands, I lean into him, a gust of breath coasting over my lips. It sounds like an admission. Like my sigh says kiss me.

Lord knows, my body says it as I tilt my face and wait.

Wait. Wait.

It’s that heady moment when two people edge together. When you watch a movie or a show, and the inevitable, slow, intoxicating slide into a kiss begins.

He’s so close I can smell his aftershave. My mouth aches for him.

And I want to get lost in a kiss.

“Who needs some more of the world’s finest potato salad?” Harlan’s voice slices through the air as the back door swings open.

We wrench apart.

“Hey, now. I’ve been eyeing that cherry pie you brought. You better not hold out on me,” Jason chimes in.

That’s all it takes.

We move away from each other like we’ve been scalded. Frustration takes over for a beat, but then that excited energy returns because holy shit. We just got ourselves a deal.

The guys stroll into the house, shoes slapping as they near the kitchen, followed by Katie and Sydney.

“Oh, you’re finally going to let yourself put cherries in that temple of a body,” Harlan teases Jason.

Jason gestures to his big frame. “I’ve been known to corrupt this temple from time to time,” he says.

Harlan hoots then points dramatically to the counter. “Let the corruption begin. Get this man a slice of the best cherry pie ever,” he says, grabbing the pink box with one of his famous homemade pies inside.

The former star player bakes with his young daughter in his spare time, and from what Katie tells me, that’s an ovary-melting sight. No wonder Katie’s preggers.

“Oh, hey there,” Harlan says on the path to the pie, maybe noticing us for the first time.

He stops in his tracks, shooting me a what’s up?

look. “Did we interrupt something devilishly important? From the looks of it, you two were making predictions for the next football season or debating whether dark chocolate is better than milk.”

“Dark chocolate,” Nolan says quickly.

Jason looks from Nolan to me, his eyes a clock pendulum as he assesses us shrewdly, like he assesses plays on the field. “Wrong answer. Milk chocolate,” he teases, then the guys beeline for the pie, bypassing the potato salad.

Katie’s the only one who seems to understand the intensity of this moment. “What’s going on? You look like you’ve just won an Oscar,” she says, tilting her head.

“I feel that way,” I blurt out. Then I let the good news— great news—rush through my body one more time, and I stand a little taller.

“You’re looking at the stars of the next new restaurant show on the world’s biggest streaming service.

Webflix just picked up our show for a season, and they want us to film it in New York for a month. ”

Katie screams in excitement. “Yes! I knew it, friend! I knew it!”

Harlan high-fives me. “Congratulations, you badass people.”

Jason strides across the kitchen to wrap his big brother in a hug. “Dude! So proud of you.”

My heart climbs up my throat as I watch the two of them share the joy.

Just look at this. Look at what we have. And I nearly threw it all away for a kiss.

We crack open beers and wine, and Katie grabs a soda, then we move to the living room, where there is pie and laughter and excitement.

Jason lifts his beer, toasts to us, then to Nolan.

“To the guy who’s always had my back since I was fourteen.

You know what I’m talking about. You know it.

And I fucking love you, and I fucking knew you’d get here,” he says, voice thick with emotion as he clinks glasses with Nolan. “That’s why I bet on you.”

“You did, man. And of course I had your back,” Nolan says quietly.

He dips his head, a little embarrassed, but there’s such sweetness, such brotherly love between them.

I’m pretty sure I know what Jason must be talking about at age fourteen, but now’s not the time to ask Nolan or Jason for details, so I file those comments away.

Jason clears his throat, then rubs his palms together. “Who wants more pie and a viewing sesh of the best of How to Eat a Banana?”

Katie waves a hand high. “I do! I do! Can we play along and guess what the hosts will rate the food?”

“Hell, yes,” Carter says.

“I’m in,” Sydney adds.

Jason grabs the remote, flicks on the big screen, and toggles over to YouTube.

“Home page champions... of the world,” he sings, channeling Queen for a moment.

Jason plays some of our funniest episodes, and our friends make a drinking game of guessing our ratings. Then YouTube auto-plays into an older episode, before Nolan’s time.

One of Callie and me demonstrating the fine art of eating a banana.

For a second, I freeze, expecting it to hurt to watch my sister and me as we peel back the skins on our respective fruit.

“There is no way to be classy as you eat this,” Callie says.

On the screen, I laugh. “Babes, no one ever said eating a dick-shaped fruit was classy.”

And in Jason’s living room, I breathe out.

It doesn’t hurt.

I don’t ache at seeing us.

I feel just fine.

Hell, I feel good.

No one goes quiet. No one says rest in peace . Instead, Harlan points at the screen, laughs, then nudges his wife. “Darling, I’d like to watch you eat a banana,” he stage-whispers.