The Friend Zone(12)

I tapped my finger on the armrest and stared at the Marine Corps tattoo on Brandon’s forearm. Mine was on my chest. We’d gotten them at the same time. “She doesn’t have any pictures of him in the house. Not one.” Girls like to put up pictures. It had to mean something that there weren’t any.

“Eh, there’s plenty on her Instagram.”

I deflated again.

He gave me an amused smile. “Look, buddy, you know how it goes. You come off tour and you don’t have a place of your own so you move in with your girl. It could just be that. Convenience. Or it could be they’re really in love. You want my advice?”

I waited, looking at him.

“Stick around. One of two things is going to happen when this guy comes home. They’ll either break up or they’ll get married. And if they break up, you’ll be the first to know. There’s no deadline. You like hanging out with her.” He shrugged. “So hang out with her. Be her friend.”

Her friend. I could do that. That was easy enough. Anyway, what choice did I have?





SIX





Kristen




I stood in the door of my garage, holding a plate, looking at a shirtless muscular back bent over a half-constructed staircase.

This was why I hadn’t wanted him here. I knew it was going to be a problem. I had a boyfriend and I was attracted to this guy and now Josh was going to be out here, half-naked and sweaty every time I needed something from the garage.

This was a pleasant upgrade from Miguel, for sure.

Josh had been working for me for a week. He’d already done five orders and he’d done them well. He was a fairly decent carpenter. I got four more orders last night, just enough to keep him busy and shirtless in my garage until he went back to his real job for a forty-eight-hour shift the day after tomorrow.

He turned and gave me one of his million-dollar smiles. Straight white teeth, crooked upturned lips on one side. His hair had that messy thing going on, like a grown-man version of a cowlick. Then he saw what I was holding, and he deflated like a popped balloon. I made my way down the steps and shoved the plate in front of him. “I made lasagna.”

He looked at it suspiciously. I couldn’t cook. I didn’t pretend I could. He was well aware of this. This was a Stouffer’s lasagna that I’d heated up, so technically I did make it.

I’d made a few things I’d shared with him over the last week. Some very soggy mac and cheese, a sad-looking sandwich, and a hot dog I’d boiled in water. I mean, if I was cooking for myself, I wasn’t going to not offer him some. That would be rude. After all, he’d fed me once and he was in my home.

Or maybe the rude thing was making him eat my cooking. I couldn’t tell which was worse.

“Thanks.” He took the plate. “It smells good,” he said almost hopefully. He always ate what I gave him, but he’d also brought a lunch today and announced it loudly when he got here.

“Want to come inside and eat at the table?” I asked.

He checked his watch and wiped his head with the back of his hand. I’d set up the fan, but it was still easily eighty-five out here, even with the garage door open. “Sure.”

He handed me back the plate and turned to put on a shirt while I watched the contoured muscles of his broad back disappear under the gray fabric. I averted my eyes when he turned back to me so it didn’t look like I had been staring the whole time.

On the way inside, Stuntman jumped at his feet. Josh scooped him up and held him for a minute, letting him lick his face.

The little thing was a roller-coaster ride of emotions. He seemed to take to Josh though. He hated Tyler. In fact, I was worried how it would play out once Tyler moved in. Stuntman wouldn’t even let him sit on the bed. Even thinking about how that was going to go launched me into a manic cleaning spree.

I wondered if Stuntman would let Josh sit on the bed. I bet he would.

That thought made me want to clean too.

Josh washed his hands in the kitchen sink, grabbed a Coke from the fridge, and pulled up a chair at the table. He took a bite and made a face.

“What?”

“It’s still a little frozen.” He gulped hard, wincing.

I got up, collected his plate and stuck it in the microwave.

He wiped his mouth with a napkin and swallowed some soda, looking like he was trying to get the ice crystals from his teeth. “Why don’t we make a deal? While I’m here, I’ll do all the cooking.”

I shrugged, leaning on the counter. “I’d be offended if I wasn’t so fucking practical.”

He laughed and his dimples creased. God, he was a good-looking man. I, on the other hand, looked like a bum.

My guilt response to the attractive male in the house was to make as little effort at looking presentable as humanly possible.

I had no way of controlling what thoughts about Josh ran through my head. That runaway train had already left the station. But I could control what I projected. My clothes were my outward way of saying, “Nope, not interested,” while internally my imagination was naked and disrespecting my relationship with Tyler in every way possible.

My hair was in a sloppy pile on my head and I had dressed like I was about to play a mean game of volleyball. I picked the shirt with the hole in the armpit on purpose.

“Hey, I wanted to ask you for a favor,” Josh said. “Can I use your guest bathroom to take a shower later?”