Page 99 of The Girlfriend Zone

He’s worked too hard to risk the uncertainty that comes with a fling with the coach’s daughter. I care too much about Miles and my dad to put either one of them in that position.

Today I’ll return to the friendship we’d been building. I have to. It’s the only way.

The morning light casts a golden glow over the water—a good signal for this shift back. Wanting to capture this moment before it passes me by, I lift my phone and snap a photo.

I send it to Miles with a friendly message since we’ve talked about inspiration before.

Leighton: This view speaks to my photographer’s soul.

Miles: Yeah? What’s the story you’re telling with this picture?

Leighton: It’s the story of a girl who had a good night’s sleep in a soft bed with four perfect roommates. They burritoed themselves under the blankets and didn’t say a single word all night long.

Miles: They are the perfect roomies. I’m glad you got some peace and quiet. I sent the pics you sent me to my mom—she says you’re a better dog-sitter than I am.

Leighton: What every dog mom really wants—pics.

Miles: OK if I set up a group chat with her?

I type back a quick,Of course.

I reread the exchange. It’s friendly, casual. Safe. A new day where we move past yesterday’s not-so-friendlyencounter when he put me up against the wall and finger-fucked me so well I saw distant galaxies.

Maybe we slipped yesterday, and fine, maybe I stoked the flames last night when I sent him a photo of me in my cami, sliding under those soft, fluffy covers.

But today, Montreal is a country apart from me. An international border separates us, and three time zones too.

We’ll be back to the way we were—just like that.

After leashing the pack by the front door, I count them. “One, two, three, four,” I say. Miles insisted counting them regularly keeps you sane and he’s not wrong. It helps.

We head out to Crissy Field, the dogs trotting beside me, their snouts sweeping the ground for scents, their gazes surveying the landscape for enemy dogs.

AKA—any dog that isn’t them.

Boppity, the long-haired pretty girl, spots one a hundred feet ahead—a Doberman Pinscher jogging past with a woman. Boppity growls, low and menacing, all seven pounds of her (and that is mostly hair), before launching into an ear-splitting,how dare you walk past mebark. Boo joins in, backing her up.

“Boppity, you think you’re a German Shepherd, don’t you?” I ask.

She prances ahead, tail wagging sassily—a German Shepherd trapped in a Chihuahua body. I take a pic and send it to the dog chat captioned:Chihuahua Confidence Level—100.

So friendly.

I’m acing this return to friendship land.

Thirty minutes later, we’re back at Miles’s home, which is so delightfully quiet and free of roomie shenanigans that I could weep with happiness. I double-check the head-count as I lock the door behind us. “Everyone’s here.” I unclip their harnesses and set the gear on the dog shelf by the door.

A buzz from my phone distracts me—a photo from Miles’s mom of her hand holding a piña colada, the wide-open sea in the background, with a heartfelt thank you for the dog pics.

I smile. She’s loving her trip.

Miles sends a message just to me.

Miles: Thank you. Seriously, just thank you.

Sometimes text has no tone, but not this one. I can hear his gratitude, and it makes me feel shimmery.

After showering and applying a little makeup, I let the dogs out in the backyard one last time before gathering my camera bag so I can head out to a boudoir shoot. It’s Monday and I don’t usually do boudoir then, but with the team out of town, it was easy to schedule one for this morning.

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