Page 21 of The Boss

Lying on my bed, I stared at the ceiling, phone in hand, debating whether to hit call. It wasn’t like Tyler would ignore me—he never did—but I felt stupid for needing this conversation in the first place.

I’d been in Providence for almost two months now, but outside of work, I hadn’t made any real friends yet. My coworkers were friendly enough, but there was a difference between office camaraderie and the kind of friendship where you could confess, “Hey, I think I might be falling for my boss, and it’s a fucking disaster.”

Tyler was the only person I could talk to about this. He’d been in a similar situation last year, crushing on his coach, and now they were living together, happily in love. If anyone would get it, it was him. We texted all the time and he was already aware of my situation, but sometimes, I needed an actual voice, not just words on a screen.

With a sigh, I tapped the Facetime icon, and a moment later, Tyler’s face popped up on the screen, grinning wide. “C-man! What’s up, my dude?”

I stretched, cracking my neck. “Not much, just hanging… in all the right places.”

Tyler let out a cute chuckle. “Two months in the corporate world, and you’re still using every opportunity to make dick jokes. I’m proud.”

I chuckled too. “You walked right into that one, T-bag.”

“Yeah, yeah. One day you’ll have to grow up.”

“Doubt it. Where’s the fun in that?”

Tyler leaned back against his headboard, arms crossed. “So, how’s living in the real world? Finally learned how to use a spreadsheet?”

I scoffed. “Please. I could build you a spreadsheet that tracks every time you’ve been pinned this season.”

His jaw dropped in mock offense. “Excuse you, I’m undefeated this semester.”

“Seriously? Guess the competition must be trash this year.”

“Asshole,” he muttered, but he was grinning. “How about you? Still hitting the gym, or did you trade in your muscles for an office chair and a dad bod?”

I turned the camera slightly, flexing my arm. “You wish. I still lift more than you.”

Tyler snorted. “Right. Keep telling yourself that, desk jockey.”

The easy banter eased something in me, like stretching out a stiff muscle. But then Tyler’s grin softened into something more knowing, and he tilted his head. “So, are we just gonna talk about my winning streak, or are you finally gonna spill whatever’s eating you?”

I hesitated, rolling onto my side. “There’s been some progress with Zac. We talked it out, and things are back to normal. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.”

Tyler squinted. “Uh-huh. That sounds suspiciously like bullshit. Start from the beginning.”

So I did. I told him about the awkward tension after the Dick Pic Fiasco, how I wasn’t sure if Isaac and I could go back to the way things were. About my relief when we did. And about the problem that still lingered beneath it all.

Tyler listened without interrupting, nodding here and there. When I finally stopped talking, he released a slow breath. “Damn, dude. That’s rough.”

“No shit.”

“But let’s be real—you like him.”

I scratched my chin, making a face at him. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. I know the symptoms. Trust me.”

He wasn’t wrong. He went through it. I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. “I don’t want to.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you do.” He changed the angle of his camera, like he was shifting in bed. “Do you think he likes you back?”

I frowned at the screen, thinking of the way Isaac looked at me sometimes—too long, too intense. But he was like that with everyone, those ice-blue eyes piercing through the person on the other end like an arrow. “I don’t think so,” I admitted. “He’s in a relationship, and he’s straight.”

Tyler huffed. “You sure about that last part?”

“I was. Now?” I exhaled. “I have no fucking idea.”

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