Watching them, despite my confusion, I can’t help but feel content. Strangely soothed. They’re a picture-perfect family. And Hayden’s grin—unrestrained, dimples showing, blue eyes crinkled almost shut as he laughs—is nothing short of beautiful.
I remember the way he touched my face after dinner on Saturday. I felt an unmistakable spark of warmth and wanted to lean into his hand, wanted him to . . .
But none of that should ever happen. It’s best that nothing did happen that night. Even if we both feel funny in our pants for each other, sex just isn’t a good idea. We won’t work in the long run. Period.
So then . . . what do we do? Continue this friendship that nobody seems to think Hayden is capable of? In the end I just eat my mushroom pizza, drink my soda, and let myself soak in the warm, comfortable atmosphere. And if I admire Hayden more than I should, I don’t think too hard about it. Because there’s nothing to think about.
Hayden and I arrive back home at the same time. We walk together through the front entrance and upstairs to my door. “Thanks for coming,” he says as I unlock it. “It was nice to have another grown-up in the mix.”
I turn to him, my keys still dangling from the lock. I want to ask why he invited me today. I want to ask why he ever started talking to me in the first place. But all I say is, “Sure . . . thanks for inviting me. I had fun.”
He opens his arms slightly. “Hug good-bye?” His crooked smile says that if I don’t accept, he’ll pass it off as a joke. Something he never really meant in the first place.
I hesitate for a second, then step into his embrace. He is so warm, so solid and real, and it’s been such a long time since I’ve been touched. I inhale his cologne, that same smoky spice that riveted me the first moment we met. My cheek rests against his neck where smoothness meets stubble, and I can feel his pulse fluttering. I can feel the angled, muscular body under his casual clothes. And one very particular angle pressing into my stomach . . .
I pull back my head just far enough to look into his stunning eyes. “Stunning” is exactly the right word—they paralyze me, pin me, make me helpless. Our mouths are less than an inch apart, and I realize that my heart is hammering. Just as fast as his.
Desire and fear make me brave . . . or maybe just stupid. “What are we doing?” I ask him, not meaning for it to sound like a plea.
“Being friends,” he replies. His breath puffs over my lips, and I almost shiver. “Why do you ask?”
“Because friends don’t usually get erections for each other, do they?” I retort without any real force, bumping my hip into the large ridge in his shorts. Friends also don’t get soaking-wet panties, for that matter.
Hayden glances down and away, looking something close to frustrated. “I just . . . haven’t gotten any action in a while. Ignore me. It doesn’t mean anything.”
He’s probably just saying that to defuse an awkward situation. But it still kind of stings to hear “it doesn’t mean anything” about a boner that I assumed was for me. I hoped was for me.
I nod, stepping away long after I should have. “If you say so.”
“You want to do something next Saturday? Maybe get dinner again?” he asks casually, as if everything were totally normal and not a big confusing horny mess. Fuck, I mean these panties are literally destroyed. From one hug.
“Um . . . sure.” Why the hell not. For no real reason, I nod again. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”
He smiles and raises his hand in a half wave. “Good night, Emery.”
I watch him walk down the hall and disappear up the stairs, and then I finally go inside. As I get ready for bed, my mind keeps spinning on and on about Hayden. I replay and dissect every word I’ve heard today while I shower, brush my teeth, and change into pajamas.
He said he hasn’t gotten any action lately. But why not? Why isn’t he sleeping around like he usually does? Maybe he just said that to brush me off. But it suddenly occurs to me that he never seems to be unavailable. Whenever I text him, he always replies within an hour, and he’s free practically anytime I want to hang out. Is he spending all his spare moments with me? Is that why he isn’t getting laid?
I don’t know what this means. I don’t even know how I feel about it. I bury my face in the pillow, ready to give up and go to sleep.
Just as I start to drift off, my phone rings. Groaning, I roll over and grab it. “Hello?”
“Hi, sweet pea,” Mom cries out, her voice cheerfully loud. I can hear rumbling engines and crunching gravel in the background; she must be at the truck depot. “How are you?”
I prop myself up on my elbow and squint at the alarm clock. “Uh . . . I’m fine. What’s up?”
“I know this is short notice, and I’m sure you’re busy with work, but I got a last-minute delivery to Pasadena. Some kind of electronics parts, I don’t have the manifest in front of me. Anyway, I’ll be in your neck of the woods on Saturday, so I’d love to get lunch if you have time.”