Page 5 of The Last Person

Fuck it all. I can’t answer any of those questions tonight, and I don’t want to.

“Thanks.” I nod in his direction, then take another sip of my drink.

An upbeat pop song starts playing and Hardy claps his hands. “That’s it. Time to dance.”

This is our dynamic. I ground him in peace. He draws out my playful side. We’re a perfect balance.

I look at his ridiculous, cheesy smile, and I smile too.

“Okay, why not?”

He pumps his fist in the air. “Yes. Let’s go.”

He’s out of his chair in half a second, and I watch him for a beat before getting up and following him.

Maybe all I’ll ever have is this, and maybe that’s enough. There’s a delicate beauty in unrequited love, and for now, I’m going to bask in it.

CHAPTER THREE

HARDY

“Finally,”Brian groans in relief as our car pulls up to the luxury apartment building we both live in. Because when you’re best bros, why wouldn’t you have neighboring apartments?

I’m sure that hasn’t contributed at all to my confusing feelings or the excessive amount of time we spend together. Why leave the apartment building when I can go to Brian’s apartment?

“I’m proud of you. You survived five whole days surrounded by people.”

He scowls. “Don’t mock me.”

The car darkens as the driver pulls into the underground parking area.

“I’m not,” I say gently. “I know how hard that is for you. An afternoon with my family and you look like you want to crawl in a hole. Surviving three full days of Baker girls’ shenanigans and two days of travel is a lot.”

“And now I feel like a child being placated.”

“I can’t do anything right.” I hold up my hands. “I’ll just stop talking.”

He lets out a dramatic sigh. “It only took you two-and-a-half years of friendship to figure it out.”

I clasp a hand to my chest. “You wound me.”

He rolls his eyes as he flings his door open. I stare after him, not at all noticing how his linen pants hug his ass.

Nope. Time to get out.

Making my way around the back of the car, I find Brian already unloading my three bags. Of course, he only had one. Some kind of combined suitcase and hanging bag. Which doesn’t make any sense to me, but it works for him. I packed two full suitcases and a hanging bag because as my mother would say, I’m a clotheshorse. Is it so bad that I want to look good and not repeat an outfit during a wedding weekend?

Brian grabs his bag and slings my heaviest bag over his shoulder.

“I can carry that.”

He looks at me like I’m an idiot. “It’s already on my shoulder. I have two. You have two. Unless you need to prove how manly you are by carrying them all yourself.” He looks around the quiet parking garage. “But there’s no one here to impress, so…”

Except him.

But showing off my strength to a man who’s all thick muscles everywhere is kind of stupid.

“I’m just doing something nice, but if you have to make a thing out of it?—”