My Favorite Half-Night Stand(11)

An elbow to his stomach sends him back into his own space and has the added benefit of allowing me to angle my date notebook away from him. “Do your feet even touch the ground when you walk? I didn’t hear you.”

He leans over the chair beside mine, catching my eye. “Were you really quoting murder stats while asking someone out? I may have some insight into why you haven’t dated since the fetus barista at Cajé.”

“Um, pardon me, sir. I was using that as context since I wasn’t sure he would remember me by name. Maybe the guy sees a lot of movies.” I erase my checkmark with an aggressive rub before sweeping eraser crumbs into Reid’s lap.

Suppressed laughter curves the corners of his mouth and my eyes are snagged there, my thoughts drifting from mouths to lips to tongues, and all the things those parts managed very capably to do. I want to rub Purell on my brain. Trying to be cool about banging your best friend is a lot harder than I would have anticipated.

“I was just giving him some details to jog his memory.”

“I can think of a handful of adjectives to describe you,” he says, and slides his tray down next to mine and sits. “Forgettable is not one of them.”

A tiny, hot bubble bursts in my thoughts, making me want to ask—You mean, even in bed?—but I make a show of scrutinizing my notebook instead, ignoring the embarrassed flush I feel warming the back of my neck. “Thanks. I think.”

He unwraps a set of plastic utensils from a paper napkin. “You’re calling guys in the middle of the lunch rush?”

“The noise is my camouflage! I can’t do it in my office. What if Dustin walked by and heard me asking someone out in a voicemail? I’d have to suffer his smug face for a month.”

Reid stares at me for a couple breaths longer before he seems to decide to give up on this. Or me. He digs a fork into his salad with one hand and thumbs through a scientific journal with the other. Despite my momentary short circuit a few minutes ago, things have been . . . fine between us. Normal. Comfortable. Did we manage to avoid the awkward sleeping-with-your-strictly-platonic-bestie thing? I can’t possibly be that lucky.

I bend, picking at my own salad.

“So who were you calling?” Reid asks, nodding toward my phone.

I stab a piece of cucumber. “If you’d started your eavesdropping a little earlier, you’d have heard that his name is Taylor.”

Reid takes a bite, chewing while he searches his memory. “Taylor. Why doesn’t that ring a bell?”

I shrug, picking out the tomatoes and setting them off to the side. I’m not surprised Reid doesn’t remember him. For starters, Taylor and I went out once, almost a year ago, and I’m not all that chatty about my love life, anyway. Reid and the guys might go on and on about their dates—or lack thereof—but it’s never been my thing.

“How many have you called so far?” he asks.

“Three.” I’ve called seven. “Are you going to hassle me?”

He holds up his hands, defensive. “Just making conversation.”

“You know, at least I’m trying. How many have you called, Reid?”

He shoves a forkful of lettuce into his mouth and grunts something noncommittal into his salad.

I sit back. “That’s what I thought.”

He swallows before reaching for his bottle of water. “I had a lecture on optic neuritis to prepare and we need to submit a few abstracts for the Society for Neuroscience meeting. Plus, someone has to scour the pages of Pinball Enthusiast for Ed’s next birthday present.” He pauses just long enough to wave away my I knew it face. “I’ve been busy, okay? I’ll get to it.”

I raise my brows. “We’re all busy.”

The grounds crew is working outside the café, and when the door opens again it brings with it a gust of air fresh with cut grass. It also brings Chris, who is clearly agitated as he makes his way to our table.

“Do you have any idea how many available, reasonably attractive single women over the age of twenty-five I interact with on a daily basis?” he says in lieu of a greeting.

I blink. “Hi, Chris.”

He sets an insulated coffee mug on the table and pulls out the chair next to Reid. “I’ll fill you in: two. One is the lady who lives above me and walks her cats, and the other is you.”

I stick a piece of lettuce to my front teeth and give him my cheesiest smile. “So, what you’re saying is . . . I’ve got a chance.”

Reid and Chris stare blankly at me for a lingering beat before turning back to each other.

“It’s only been a few days,” Reid tells him. “I think you’re too stressed about this.”

“That’s what Chris does,” I remind him, pulling the lettuce free. “He takes things very seriously and does them better than all of us.”

Ed steps up behind Chris’s chair, pulling out the last seat at our small table, asking him, “Didn’t you and Rebecca Fielding bang in the bathroom at the faculty Christmas party? You could ask her, since you’ve already dated.”

Chris lets out an audible sigh, but it’s Reid who answers. “Sex isn’t dating.”

“Either way,” Chris says, “I’ve got nothing for this commencement thing.”

“None of us do,” I tell him. “But you have plenty of time.”