Page 7 of From Now On

Aidan is sprawled out on the couch in sweatpants, scrolling on his phone, when I enter the living room. A Kings game is muted on the flatscreen. Phillips is a California boy, born and raised in Los Angeles. The exposure to endless sunshine could explain his cheerful personality. He rarely takes anything as seriously as Conor and I typically do.

“Hey. How was your night?” he asks, glancing up.

“It was fine,” I reply, pulling off my jacket. The sleeves are damp with melted snow. I should have left my coat in the entryway with my wet boots, but there was no room. That’s where all of our hockey equipment is currently being stored.

I hang it off the knob of the television console instead.

Aidan whistles when he notices my outfit. “Damn. What’s with the fancy clothes?”

“I was out on a date.”

He makes a choking sound. “Adate?”

Phillips doesn’t need to soundsoshocked. Tonight’s outing was partially his fault. Part of an unfortunate attempt to find the happiness my best friends discovered effortlessly.

I’m still confused how my two best friends—Conor the commitmentphobe and Aidan the jokester-slash-sex fiend—ended up in serious relationships while I, who got sick of casual sex a long time ago, am struggling to make it through a single date. I’d be agreatboyfriend.

Unless you ask Jemma.

But I was seventeen. Young. Dumb. Overwhelmed. I apologized to her when we were both home for Thanksgiving freshman year, and she smugly informed me she was dating a football player at Lincoln University. And then, less smugly, said she hoped I was doing better.

Aidan’s still staring at me, his phone and the hockey game totally forgotten. I purposefully didn’t tell him or Conor about my date beforehand, and now I’m thinking I should have kept my mouth shut altogether.

“Yeah, it’s when you take a girl out to dinner and talk to her,” I explain.

Aidan rolls his eyes, then sits up. “I know what a date is, dick. I just didn’t knowyouwere dating.”

“Yeah, well…” I loosen my tie before taking a seat in the armchair. It’s a relief to sit and sprawl without worrying about the expression on my face or any potential injuries. I’m going to have a bruise on my shin. “It didn’t go that great.”

Understatement.

The rest of dinner was fine. Slightly stilted, the conversation more of a leaky faucet than a steady flow, and unpalatable, because it turns out corn ravioli tastes terrible, but nothing catastrophic.Thathappened when I dropped Holly off. She invited me in, which wasn’t unexpected. Whatwasunexpected was her response to me saying I wasn’t feeling well and shouldget home.That sounds like an excuse, she told me.If you’re not interested, just be honest.

And since Iamhonest, I told her I wasn’t interested. Plus a whole bunch of other stuff about how I enjoyed talking to her and how special she is, but those three words—I’m not interested—were the only ones she heard.

Holly proceeded to stomp inside her sorority house, but not before she slammed the door of my SUV so hard I’m surprised it isn’t dented.

So, yeah.Didn’t go that greatis an understatement.

“Sorry,” Aidan says.

I nod, then sigh. “Thanks.”

“So how long have you been, uh, dating this girl?”

If I were in a better mood, I’d grin at his uncertain tone. Aidan is usually the guy you ask for a spare condom at a crazy frat party, not the one who prompts heartfelt conversations about feelings. He’s changed since meeting Rylan, and I’m happy for him. Also feeling a little left behind. I’m spending spring break with Aidan and Conorandtheir girlfriends, and if anyone has ever said fifth-wheeling is fun—they were lying.

I grunt, then toss my tie on the coffee table piled with textbooks. “Tonight was the second date. I don’t think we’ll make it to a third.”

I’m actuallycertainthere won’t be a third date. Butdon’t thinksounds a little less pathetic.

I’m not even sure whether I should consider getting coffee with her after class last week—when I asked her out to dinner—a date. But if it was one, it went a hell of a lot better than tonight did.

“Bummer. Isn’t that supposed to be the best one?” Aidan grins.

Like he ever waited for a third date. Or a first one.

“This isn’t about sex.”

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