Page 29 of The Best Friend Power Play

This show has been our guilty little pleasure for years. But if the twins found out about it, they'd tease us mercilessly until we're old and gray. Possibly even after our deaths.

And we can't let word of this get out and reach our friends, either.

Especially Fraser.

He hates reality TV with a passion after being forced to take part in a season and a half of a reality TV show when he was younger. Not to mention, given his family's business, all he'd do is point out the factual inaccuracies in the show, which—as everyone who indulges in reality TV knows—we don't watch it for the reality.

I finish my impromptu foot rub by squeezing both of Hannah's feet in my hands before gently placing them back on the floor. I stand, then extend my arms to help her up.

I must tug a little too hard because she ends up bumping into my chest. She looks up at me and smiles bashfully.

How is it possible that despite being so tired, she's still so beautiful?

I take half a step back and quickly dispel that unwanted thought, feeling guilty for it even crossing my mind. I shouldn't be noticing how attractive she is because, as we spend a good portion of our lives reminding everyone around us, we're just friends.

"So, what's the plan for tomorrow?" I ask, settling myself back down onto the couch, which is where I'll be sleeping tonight.

"Katie leaves at eight. Chester at twelve."

"Does he need a lift to LA?"

"No. His friend's mom is driving them." Hannah's response gets interrupted by another yawn. "What are you going to do tomorrow?"

"I'll just chill here. Might pop out to get some groceries once Chester leaves, then cook up a storm for our marathon viewing party tomorrow night."

"That sounds great." Her tired eyes sparkle for a moment. "Goodnight, Culver."

"Goodnight, Hannah."

I watch her as she shuffles away. Before she disappears down the hallway, she twirls around. "I'm really glad you're here."

I smile. "I'm really glad I'm here, too."

"Honey, I'm home!"

I finish stirring the sauce then rest the wooden ladle against the side of the pot and make my way into the living room.

"Oh no," I deadpan with a grin. "And I don't have your house slippers and evening drink ready."

Hannah giggles as we embrace.

I close my eyes as her body presses into mine. Even after a day at work, that faint coconut smell clings to her. I hold her for a moment longer, knowing how emotional today has been for her.

The kids got off safely—first Katie, then Chester—and now it's just her and me for the next three months.

"The evening drink I can forgo, but the slippers are a must," she says, taking off her shoes.

"I'll be sure to remember that for tomorrow."

Another giggle. "I'm loving this reverse 1950s role play."

"Well, in that case, you might want to sit down for this. I've done three loads of laundry. Vacuumed. Mopped. And tomorrow I'll take a look at that wonky step on the back porch."

Her jaw drops. "Correction, I'm really loving this reverse 1950s role play." She comes over to me and says more seriously, "But you didn't have to do any of that. You're here to relax, remember?"

"This stuff does relax me, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. You're a housework-loving freak. How could I forget that? Just don't overdo it with your hip, okay? Make sure to move slowly and carefully."

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