Page 44 of 10 Ways to Accidentally Fall in Love

Joey

I stare at the text that’s ready to send to Brad, my nerves a jumbled mess. I don’t know why I’m so tied in knots over what should be a simple invite to hang out.

Yes, you do know, my brain so helpfully replies.

I tell it to fuck off and hit send.

Me: Want to come to a BBQ at my aunt and uncle’s this afternoon?

Brad’s reply is almost immediate.

Bub: Yeah, man! I love BBQ. What should I wear?

I huff a laugh.

Me: Anything you want. Although you might want to bring your swimsuit. They have a pool.

Brad doesn’t respond right away. Not for a long while, in fact. I’m starting to get concerned when my phone finally chimes.

Bub: Okay.

Justokay? That’s odd.

Me: Want me to pick you up or send the address?

Bub: Come get me. That way, I’ll feel fancy.

I snort.

Hold on…

Me: You’re not going to ride in back and pretend I’m your chauffeur, are you?

Bub: No?

My smile is ridiculously big as I leave my house and head toward Brad’s. His apartment is across town, but the trip passes quickly, even as my palms start to sweat. I tell my body to cut it out. This isn’t a date. Brad is my friend. Period.

My friend, who I’m bringing to meet my family.

Shit.

When I pull up to the curb, Brad is waiting for me. He hops right in my truck, settling in the front passenger seat, thankfully not the back.

“Joey-broey,” he says in greeting, smiling like always. “I’m so ready to choke on your meat, it’s not even funny.”

“What?” I cough out.

“Your family’s barbecue,” he says as if it’s obvious. “I’mstarved. You caught me before I had a chance to eat lunch.”

“That’s, uh, good,” I manage, easing into traffic. “That you didn’t eat yet, I mean.”

Brad nods before mumble-singing something about meat on his tongue. It’s distracting, to say the least.

My Aunt Margot and Uncle Johnny’s place is nice, a two-story home in a suburban neighborhood with big, manicured lawns. I park on the side of the street before grabbing my bag from the back.

Brad unceremoniously thrusts his swim trunks at me. “Here. Put these in with yours. I don’t want to meet your family while I’m holding my speedo.”

“It’s hardly a speedo,” I note, even as I put it in my bag.

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