The Friend Zone(60)

Maybe I should marry Tyler.

I mean, why should everyone be miserable, right? If I married Tyler, he would be happy, Mom would be happy. Josh would move on to fertile pastures and have a million babies. And I’d be with someone that I cared about who could maybe distract me from the broken heart I was going to carry for the rest of my life.

Tyler and I got along. It wouldn’t be bad. It wouldn’t be me and Josh, but there wasn’t going to be a me and Josh, so didn’t I have to consider my alternatives? And Tyler knew I was in love with Josh. He knew what he was asking when he proposed.

My best friend would never talk to me again, and my dog would probably run away. With Josh.

I wondered if Tyler would eat hot wings and drink beer with me.

Probably not.

“You know what you need, Josh? One of those women who smiles when she talks.”

He laughed. “What?”

“You know, one of those really sweet women who’s always smiling. They make great mothers. They’re supportive and they rub your back when you’ve had a bad day. They smell like cookies and they get laugh lines and wear scarves to the grocery store.”

“I think you’re drunk.” His eyes sparkled.

I was drunk.

He grinned at me. “I like you like this.”

“I have to tell you something.” I made my face serious. “You can’t make fun of me.”

He sat up and made his face straight too. “What?”

“Earlier? Tyler took me back to his hotel room.”

The humor in Josh’s eyes evaporated instantly.

“No. Not that. We didn’t do that.” I waved him off. “He had this whole romantic setup. When we got there, he had champagne and rose petals and candles all over. Everywhere.”

The levity returned to his eyes. “Ouch.”

“Yup. I got outta there. It really freaked me out. Because you know why?”

“Why?” he asked.

“He should know. He should know I wouldn’t like that, right? That means something, doesn’t it?”

His expression grew a little serious. “Yeah, it does.”

“Am I a bitch? I am, huh? That was really sweet, and I should have appreciated that. I am a bitch. I knew it.”

He chuckled. “No. You’re honest.” He shook his head and talked into his beer. “And he did it all wrong.”

I smirked. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He put his glass down. “Let me guess—the ring was huge. Big rock?”

“Oh my God, Josh, you don’t even know. It was enormous. He designed it and had it made. It had this red rope of rubies around the band and…” I took a deep breath remembering it. He’d spent a fortune on it and I’d hated it. It was so gaudy. “Why? What kind of ring should he have gotten me?”

“None. You’d want to pick your own ring. You’d probably say something like, ‘I’m the one who has to look at it for the next fifty years.’ I would have taken you to buy it instead of just springing it on you.”

“How do you know I wouldn’t like a ring sprung on me?” I said, narrowing my eyes.

He scoffed. “The only thing you like sprung on you are snacks. You have an opinion about everything. You’re also really practical. You’d probably pick something reasonable. No diamonds. I’m thinking an etched band. Nothing that would need to be repaired or cleaned or that you’d have to take off to do the dishes.” He regarded me for a moment. “Something personal engraved inside. Something only the two of you would get.”

He knows me. He knows me almost better than I know myself.

I had to press my lips together to keep my face straight. I changed the subject. “You know what I like about you, Josh?”

“My way with small, vicious dogs?”

I snorted. “I like that you don’t do that guy thing where you try and solve all my problems. Guys do that. Sometimes we just want to complain. That’s it. We don’t want advice. We just want you to listen. You’re a good listener.”

He fiddled with a coaster and his smile sank a little. “I would try and solve all your problems.” His eyes came back up to mine. “If you wanted me to.”

God, yes, I want you to. But you can’t and you never will.

The waitress delivered our wings.

“I’m double dipping,” I said, grabbing a celery stick. “If you can’t handle that, get your own ranch.”

“I think we’re slightly past that, don’t you?” He dunked a drumstick, took a bite, and then dunked it again. “So when does he need his answer by?”

I nibbled on the end of my celery, not looking directly at him. “He’s here for two weeks. So I guess before he leaves.”

He spoke to the basket of wings. “What are you leaning toward?”

Someone started singing “Push It.” “Josh! Let’s dance. Will you?”

If he knew I changed the subject on purpose, he didn’t let on. He wiped his hands with a napkin. “Sure.”

We walked out into the thin crowd of people in front of the stage and started to dance.

He hadn’t been kidding about having moves. He was as good on the floor as he was in bed. We danced for three songs, laughing the whole time.