Life's Too Short (The Friend Zone #3)(45)

I knew I was probably just projecting my own shit onto this situation, but the space between us always felt unnatural. Like we were both pretending that we wanted it there and it was an effort for both of us to maintain it.

Vanessa made videos about me. I didn’t watch them—I didn’t have time to. And Becky regaled me with the dramatic recap every time one posted anyway. Mostly Vanessa talking about what we did that day and gushing about how attractive I was—not that any of this mattered. Besides being flattering, it didn’t change anything. We were still just friends and that’s how it was going to stay for the foreseeable future.

I forced my eyes away from her and back to my food.

“So what am I supposed to wear on Sunday?” she asked, picking up her soda.

I was taking her out for her birthday. I had something pretty big planned.

She bit the end of her straw while she waited for my reply.

“Just wear something nice. Maybe the gray sweater dress,” I suggested, taking a bite of my noodles. I liked that dress on her.

I liked everything on her.

“Thanks for taking me out. I’d probably just be sitting at home if you didn’t.”

I found that very hard to believe. “What about your other friends? There’s nobody else who would have done anything?”

She shrugged. “Nobody local. I’ve got plenty of friends. It’s only exes I’m short on. I’m so single I don’t even have someone to drunk text,” she mumbled.

I smiled. “You can drunk text me.”

She snorted. “Good. It’s only a matter of time. Nice to have permission. I hope you like typos and crying emojis.”

I laughed.

“You know, you could have a boyfriend if you wanted one,” I said. “I still don’t understand why you don’t date.”

She scoffed. “Nobody wants to get involved with my kind of baggage. Trust me.”

“Your baggage is not as bad as you think it is,” I said, wiping my mouth with a napkin. “Any man would be lucky to have you.”

I’d have you…

She pointed her fork at me. “See, that’s exactly the kind of stuff people say to make you feel good, but isn’t it funny how the people who insist you’re a catch are never the ones who actually want to date you?”

There was something clipped about her tone.

She looked away from me and brushed her hair off her forehead in that way she did when she was frustrated.

I stared at the side of her face. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

She wouldn’t look at me.

I studied her. Her chin did the slightest quiver. I swiveled my chair until our knees touched, and I put a hand on her arm. “Hey, look at me.”

The second her eyes met mine, she burst into tears.

I leaned forward and pulled her into a hug. “What happened?” I smoothed her hair down. “Hey, shhhhhhh. Tell me.”

She just cried. Vanessa never cried—even in situations when she should.

A helplessness tore through me, an instant impulse to fix whatever was wrong.

“Vanessa, what is it?”

Tell me so I can make it better.

She shook her head. “Sometimes I feel like I’m spinning. Like I’m in a tornado and I can’t ever stop moving and the only time I feel still is when I’m with you.”

The comment took me so by surprise I didn’t know what to say.

She let me hold her for another moment. Then she pulled away, sniffed, and brushed at the tears on her cheeks. “Hey, let’s read our fortune cookies. If you say, ‘while in bed’ and then read it, it’s always funny.” She forced a smile at me.

Like a projector changing reels, one scene to the next in a split second.

I shook my head. “Don’t do that.”

Her forced grin got bigger, and she smiled at me with tears still in her eyes. “Do what?”

“That. That thing you do where you pretend to be happy. You change the subject and go do something distracting. It’s okay to be upset sometimes. You don’t have to fake it with me.”

She looked at me and she was suddenly so sad again I almost hated that I called her out on it.

“Adrian, if I don’t laugh, I’ll spend the rest of my life crying,” she whispered.

My eyes moved back and forth between hers. I reached out and gathered up her hands. Our knees were still touching. I could feel energy transferring between us like I was absorbing her sadness, making her calm down. I wanted to absorb it. I’d take all of it if it meant taking it from her. “What’s wrong?”

She looked at me for a long moment like she was debating whether to continue. “Adrian, I’m worried my hand isn’t just carpal tunnel.”

I drew my brows down. “What do you think it is?”

She pulled her face back and looked at me, tears in her eyes. “What do you think I think it is?”

I shook my head at her. “Listen to me, you are not dying. Okay? And it’s normal for you to be afraid of that. Especially after losing Melanie. But that’s not what that is.”

Her eyes searched mine. “And what if it is?”

I gazed back at her steadily. “It’s not. And if you’re that worried, let’s go have it looked at—”