The Friend Zone(27)

Kristen shook her head. “I’m not driving that thing.”

“I can handle it,” I said. “I can drive anything.”

“Can you?” Kristen eyed me.

“Ha ha. Give me the keys. I have work tomorrow. I haven’t had anything to drink besides the champagne toast.”

Sloan handed them over and we said our good-nights. Something was off with Sloan. She gave Kristen a hug that was a little too long to be casual, but Kristen’s face was unreadable.

“So where do you want to eat?” I asked as we walked out into the parking lot to the click of Kristen’s red heels.

“Tacos. I know a late-night place.”

This made me smile to myself. She always knew exactly where she wanted to eat. She wasn’t one of those women who gave you the “I don’t care” speech and then rejected every suggestion you made. When I pointed this out to her last week, she said she’s already thinking about what she wants for dinner while she’s eating breakfast. I loved that about her.

I loved a lot of things about her.

When I opened her door for her, it creaked miserably. Sloan drove an old Corolla. It looked like a car you’d find in a junkyard. It was a serious piece of shit.

The door on the driver’s side stuck, and I had to muscle it open. I got it started, but just barely, and I pulled out of the lot to the squeal of belts. Kristen pointed for me to turn left.

I looked at her. She was so beautiful tonight. The subtle hints of gold in her hair, the depth of her eyes, the fit of her dress. I had to drag my gaze back to the road. “Everything okay with you and Sloan? You guys spent a long time in the bathroom earlier.”

“Fine.” She looked out the window.

She wasn’t going to tell me. I dropped it.

“Hey. I forgot to tell you something,” I said reluctantly.

She turned back to me, and I thought I saw the flicker of something sad or tired in her eyes. “Tell me what?”

“I’ll be out of your hair tonight. Today, when you were out, your neighbor across the street brought his son over. Apparently he and his little friend were stealing beers from his dad’s fridge and drinking them in your backyard. They tried to get into your house to steal liquor. The good news is you’ve got a kid whose dad is making him mow your lawn for the next month.”

I looked over at her, and the expression on her face looked like disappointment.

Disappointment.

Could she feel the same way about this that I did? Was it possible she didn’t want me to leave either?

“Oh. Well, I’m glad the mystery is solved and you’re off the hook,” she said.

“Can I be honest?” I paused, debating what to say. “I liked hanging out with you.” It was the closest thing that I could bring myself to say to her without feeling like I was crossing a line.

“I liked hanging out with you too,” she said quietly.

The silence between us was heavy.

Why did I feel like we were breaking up? I guess in a way, we were. The two of us as we knew it was about to be over.

On Monday when I got to her house, I’d have to meet this guy. Shake his hand. See them together. I didn’t think I could do it. I really didn’t. I was going to give her my notice. I’d help out until she found someone, but I couldn’t stick around after this.

The taco place ended up being a food truck. It sat in a vacant parking lot in the seediest part of Los Angeles with poor lighting and grass poking out from the cracks in the asphalt.

It made me wish I had my gun.

Tents on the sidewalk lined the outside of the lot’s fence, and the streetlight over the entrance flickered.

“Are you sure you want to eat here?” I asked, turning off the engine and scanning our surroundings, not liking at all what I was seeing. Buildings with broken windows, graffiti on the walls. I responded to calls to areas like these frequently. None of them good. Stabbings, overdoses—rapes.

“Why? You don’t have to parallel park. What’s the problem?”

I scoffed. “Really? Parallel parking is the only thing that would keep you from eating here? Look at this place.”

“These are the best tacos in the city,” she said, getting unbuckled. “And don’t pretend you know how to parallel park. We both know how well you drive.” She grinned at me.

An old homeless guy who had been sitting on the inside of the fence shambled toward the car. “Nope. Let’s go.” I said, turning the key in the ignition. It made a weak cranking noise that I didn’t have time to process because Kristen opened the door and got out.

“Shit,” I mumbled, quickly following. The door didn’t close all the way when I slammed it, but I didn’t have time to fix it. The homeless guy was almost to the car, and Kristen was…walking toward him?

“Hey, Marv,” she said as I bolted in front of her to put myself between them. I threw an arm across her chest and a hand out to stop the toothless man’s advance.

“Hey,” Marv said, ignoring me and talking around me to Kristen like I wasn’t there.

She rummaged in her purse and handed him two dollar bills over my arm.

“Enjoy your food. Your door’s open, son,” the guy said before shuffling back to the fence.

Kristen turned to me. “He’s the guy who watches the lot. Come on.” She motioned to the taco truck.