Page 15 of You Were Mine

I furrow my brow. “You realize that I could have—and would have—taken you to it any year if you’d mentioned you wanted to go, right?”

Does that little comment make this situation irrationally ten times worse? Yes. Because Iwould’vetaken him. I can’t stand those fancy balls and parties, but I’d have had fun if he’d gone with me. And besides, what does Brandon have that I don’t?

Mark shoves aside the cloud of tinsel and shopping bags before plopping onto the sofa beside me. “Well, it’s not that I especially want to go to the gala,” Mark says, “But I think it would be an excellent networking opportunity. I mean, they’ll have curators, artists, gallery directors... it’s a good chance for me to meet someone that might be able to give me, at least, atemporary career. Even if I graduate, I’ll have to dosomethingduring the summer.”

“I mean, you wouldn’thaveto,” I say. “I would take care of any of the bills you couldn’t make.”

“That’s not the point,” he replies.

I know it isn’t, but I still don’t quite understand Mark’s obsession with work. I’m his friend. We’ve lived together since we were in the same tiny dorm during our last year of undergrad, when his last roommate decided to go hike the Alps and never returned; probably dead. Surely, Mark shouldn’t feel guilty if I help him along for a while. I definitely have money to spare.

“So, you really liked Brandon,” I say.

“Way to change the subject,” Mark replies.

I shrug. Mark should know by now, I have no shame. “You should know from experience we’ll never agree on the other one, so tell me how the beautiful, valiant Sir Lancelot swept you off your feet like a blushing damsel.”

“Please, don’t say it that way.”

“Well, he must have made quite an impression if you agreed to another date,” I say. “And he’s got you ready to sacrifice Halloween fornetworking.”

“Logan!”

I throw all hope of being a mature adult down the john. “Mark,” I say. “Come on. You can network anytime. The art museum throws parties and events all year. They have that really big Christmas Ball. The art department has job sessions. Bluehaven has the Arts and Crafts Festival. You can spare Halloween. It’s tradition!”

Am I being completely selfish? Perhaps. I realize the gracious thing to do would be to stand down and that I’m being kind of a jerk. So, what. I created this mess by not simply admitting to Mark that I like him … no, I love him. And then I encourage him…yeah,encouragehim to talk to…to…What’s-His-Face.

Why is Mark so oblivious when it comes to romance? Sure, he hasn’t really dated in a while, but he’s seen romantic subplots. He’s addicted to those crappy Syfy original movies, and they always have a badly written and hackneyed romance subplot. He should know all the signs, and then some!

Unfortunately, it seems he does not.

“If you want me to tell him ‘no,’ just say so,” Mark says. “It’s not the end of the world.”

Even though I would love to jump on that task for Mark, it isn’t myplaceto tell him that.

“No, I mean...” I trail off and steel myself. “I just want you to be happy, and if that’s spending an evening with Bobby, …it’s fine. I personally wouldn’t want to go to that Halloween Gala, but if you do, it’s fine. Really.”

“His name is Brandon,” Mark mutters.

“That’s what I said…Brandel.”

It really isn’t fine, but that’s not Mark’s fault.

Mark jokingly punches my shoulder. “Thank you for being so gracious about it,” he says.

“Yeah, I know. I’m a giver,” I reply.

For a second, I consider buying my own ticket and going, but I can’t pretend that tagging along would be anything less than blatantly third wheeling on my best friend’s first date in…well…forever. Or maybe I buy a ticket and loiter. Then I can swoop in when good ol’ What’s-His-Face makes a wrong move.

Why did I go and encourage him? I should have just insisted Mark was overthinking things or let him do the talking when we were trying to figure out where he knew Brandon from. Butnow, not only is Brandoninterestedin Mark, it’s all my fault.

I sigh. This time, I really should have backed down when Mark told me to.

“What’s wrong?” Mark asks.

“Hm?”

“The long sigh.”

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