Page 33 of Friends Don't Kiss

He takes another long sip of coffee. “Fine then, we’ll share the bed,” he answers with a smile, not missing a beat.

That makes me laugh—kind of. It’s more like a bitter chuckle. I’m such a mess of confused feelings right now. “Colt, you can’t spend the weekend with these nutjobs. Trust me. It’s not going to be fun.”

“Friends aren’t only for the fun parts of life.”

I can’t really argue with that, and the little flutter at the bottom of my belly confirms what I’m dreading: Colton is successfully breaking my barriers. “Don’t you have better things to do this weekend?”

His eyes dance a little at my question. Bringing his cup to his mouth again, he tilts his head back then darts his tongue to lick the foam off his lips. “Can’t think of anything better than to keep you company.”

I force my expression to betray none of what my body’s feeling. “Colt, we’re not dating.” He really needs to stop the act. Has no one ever told him that when you’re a ten, you don’t pretend to be with a four, even to come to their rescue?

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” His gaze falters a bit, and I feel like crap. Maybe he doesn’t consider himself a ten. Maybe he doesn’t think in numbers or grades.

Regardless, I can’t take the risk. “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you lately.”

“Apology accepted. I’ve missed you. As afriend,” he adds quickly.

“But we can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Pretending we’re dating.”

“And miss out on riling up those assholes? You’re no fun these days,” he answers with a chuckle and a genuine smile. “Come on, even Bill loves the idea.”

Uncle Bill loves Colton, and he wants him there. He might even think throwing Colton and me together like that will lead to something.

“You’re early,” I say, effectively conceding defeat. I guess wearegoing to my sister’s engagement party together.

He smiles in a way that makes me lose a little of my composure, with his gaze doing something close to a caress. “Wanted to make sure you didn’t leave without me.” Rubbing his hands, he adds, “Where’s your bag?”

“I’m not packed yet.” The procrastination has been brutal this morning. “I need breakfast first,” I declare, planting my ass on one of the two kitchen chairs as I resume my coffee-drinking activity.

Colton opens the fridge and takes eggs out, making me instantly uncomfortable. “That’s not what I meant, Colt. Jesus, I don’t want you to cook me breakfast.” I was stealing some time. Hoping we could simply be together without our minds on this stupid weekend ahead of us. Meanwhile, Colton sets a pan on the range, then drops English muffins in the toaster. “I just wanted to enjoy the delicious Road to Heaven you brought me.” I take a sip. “Thanks, by the way.” I need to stop the bitch act. It got me nowhere anyway.

“Nice to see you’ve had time to go grocery shopping,” he mumbles as he cracks eggs in the pan.

Then he reaches for his coffee cup and as he brings it to his mouth, I can’t help but stare again, remembering the feel of his lips, the taste of his tongue, and his possessive grasp on my nape as he brought me closer and I got lost in him.

The toaster snaps, making me jump, the smell of toast not nearly as arousing as the memory of him, but something familiar to hold onto. Colton calmingly puts the coffee down, takes two plates out, slides two eggs on each, butters the English muffins and sets them on each plate. Then he puts one in front of me, one across from it, sets cutlery and napkins, and finally sits down and starts eating like it’s the most natural thing ever.

Like we do this every day. Which we used to—though not at breakfast. So this has to be good, right? I take a sip of coffee.

“You learning French?” Colton asks out of the blue.

I takes me a second to understand where his question is coming from. “Yeah. Nudging the universe, like Cassandra would say.”

“What?”

I’ve totally confused him. “I applied to this pastry training in Paris. I don’t stand a chance, but I decided to act as if I’m going. See if that makes a difference.”

“What’s Cassandra have to do with that?”

“Nothing. She just has these theories.” I wave between us. “Never mind.”

“How long is the training? And when?” he asks, squinting his eyes at me.

“You realize I haven’t been accepted, right?”

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