Page 101 of My Rules

“You said last night that you sometimes wish you didn’t live on Kingston Lane.”

I roll my eyes as I walk into my kitchen.

Here we go.

I go to the fridge.

“Blake.” I pour myself a glass of water. “Can you look at me?”

I exhale heavily and drag my eyes to meet hers. “What?”

“And I cut you off, and I didn’t say what I wanted to say.”

My eyes hold hers.

“What I wanted to say was that I would never wish for you not to live here or for us not to be friends.”

I nod. “Is that it?”

“And ...” She cuts herself off.

“What?”

“And I know we don’t talk about anything important.”

I raise my eyebrow.

“But my conversations with you about nothing important ... are my most important conversations.”

Her eyes search mine.

“And I wouldn’t trade those conversations for anything, not even your number.”

I nod once. “Got it.”

“Because when you give someone your number, they come and go. And ... I don’t want you to ever go anywhere.”

We stare at each other.

“Blake ...” She hesitates, as if she’s trying to articulate herself. “We’re in this super-short window of time where we can be close friends. Because as soon as you meet your future wife, we won’t be able to hang out on weeknights, and you won’t be able to sleep on my couch whenever you feel like it.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s always going to think there’s something going on, and it’s weird to sleep on another woman’s couch when you have a girlfriend.”

Hmm . . .

“And the thought of that makes me sad.”

“Me too,” I say softly.

“But not as sad as the thought of not being your friend and never seeing you again.” She takes my hand in hers. “Me and you are meant to be friends forever, Blake.”

“I know.”

“I just want to make sure we’re okay.”

“You’re being overdramatic. We’re more than okay. Relax, I just wanted to have sex with you.”

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