Page 66 of The Friendly Fall

Chapter Twenty-Four

Nick

My heart pounds in my chest as I imagine lifting Eliza into the air, setting her on the tailgate of my truck, and getting lost in her thick, sweet lips. My body pumps with excitement as I recall the way she tasted, and the way it felt to have my hands on her.

She’s everything I’ve ever wanted.

I could spend the rest of my life kissing the woman, and the thought of her body against mine has been on repeat. My head has done nothing but run wild ever since last night. And I’m pretty sure, because of that, I inadvertentlywreckedmyself with what Eliza and I could be.

She gave me a glimpse of what it would be like tobethe guy there with her and her family. It was an incredible feeling. Her family welcomed me with open arms, and honestly, something about the entire night—despite being completely fake—feltright.And Iknow, Eliza and I couldbe something really great.

But it doesn’t even matter.

Becausenoneof it was real to her.

She only sees me as “a really great friend.”

I run my fingers through my dark hair. In truth, I thought there was something there, and I thoughtthe kiss sealed the deal.

Shereallykissed me back.

I felt everythingthat someone should feel when they spend time with their significant other. From the laughs to stolen glances to the incredible freaking kiss.

However, as it turns out, I think that Eliza should go to work in Hollywood, because she could be nominated for best actress. If it wasn’t so painful, it would be impressive.

Jeez, I’m being bitter.

I chide myself for thinking so harshly about the entire situation. I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to be her fake boyfriend, and it should be no surprise that my plan didn’t exactly work.

My heart sinks at the notion.

But maybe it’s time to just let it all go.

Besides, what am I gonna do? Kiss her again?

If I did that, I might end up spilling my true feelings for her, and I don’t know what would happen if I did that. And that’s exactly why I’ve been so tight-lipped about my feelings.

I have no clue what would happen.

I don’t want her to run away, or feel pressured to be anything other than what she’s comfortable with.

And I certainly don’t want to end up in a scenario where she never speaks to me again.

“Not bad for Black Friday.” Mom beams as she leans against the butcher block counter of the store. “Though, I think maybe next year we should run more sales. I don’t feel like we live up to the idea of what Black Friday really is. But then again, our profit margins aren’t nearly as wide as some of those bigger stores. I don’t know how they do it.”

I shrug. “I don’t think it really makes a differencehowthey do it—or that we try to compete with them. No one wants to come here for a half-priced can of paint when they can get a half-priced flat-screen TV.”

She makes a face, her eyebrows closing the distance to her hairline. “Oh? Aren’t you the one who suggested we do this sale in the first place? We used to be closed the day after Thanksgiving. I always liked the fact we took the last half of Thanksgiving week off. It was a good break … and Lord knows we need a good break from this place sometimes.”

“I don’t know,” I say thoughtfully. “It seemed like a good idea at the time, and maybe for those who are working on projects overthe holidays, it pays off. But now, it just seems like people would rather spend their money somewhere other than the local hardware store on Black Friday. We’ve got nothin’ on Walmart. And like I said, when weighing the difference between a hammer or a TV, I know which one I’m picking … and it’s not the hammer.”

Mom laughs, and then pokes me in the arm. “I disagree. I know for sure that you’d be all over a sale on your favorite hammer.” She pauses, tightening the bun on the back of her head. Her laugh fades into a sigh as she continues. “But, I have to ask, why are you being such a Debbie Downer today, son? You sound like a Scrooge, and that’s not really you. You’re usually the one walking around with a huge grin—even if we run a little slow on the biggest sale day of the year. Did something happen last night with Eliza?”

Oof.

“Not really,” I lie, not wanting to even go there. I never hide things from her, but this entire freaking mess is one that she wouldn’t approve of. And she’d probably tell me for the hundredth time to justtellEliza how I really feel about her.

But it’s pointless when Eliza makes it clear that we’rejustfriends.

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