Page 28 of Friends Don't Kiss

“I disagree,” he states but steps away from me, hands on his hips.

“You’re just being lazy.” I push him, hoping this will settle it.

“Excuse me?” He grabs his empty beer bottle and throws it in the recycling trash can, where it lands with a crash.

I got him angry. That’s good. Should send us right where we belong: in the friend zone. “You only want to date me because that would require no effort on your part,” I explain. “I’m right here, we’re already friends, there would be nocourtingneeded,” I say like that’s a disgusting thing. “No getting to know each—”

“Are you saying I just want to fuck?”

The word in his mouth doesn’t sound as offensive as he’s trying to make it. It’s actually… arousing. Despite the armor I’ve built to get people to believe I’m tough and shit, I’m shocked that Colton would want any level of intimate involvement with me.

The heat seeping from his gaze almost convinces me to give in. To say“Hey, yeah, let’s jump each other’s bones. Get it out of our system so we can get back to normal.”

But that’s the problem. For Colton, it might be a matter of scratching an itch the maybe-not-so-fake kiss created. Of exploring options, making sure no stone is left unturned in this difficult dating landscape we’re in. And it makes sense. I get it. For someone like Colton, who’s solid in his self-acceptance, it’s even pretty smart.

For me? It’s the opposite. I know myself enough to realize that I have major abandonment issues. In other words, my daddy problems are more acute than for others. I follow this relationship specialist on social media and this is all she talks about, and every time I hear her, it’s like she’s talking specifically to me although she has tens of thousands of followers. It’s hard for me to trust, and it’s hard for me to love myself, and it’s hard for me to let people in.

But I’m proud of myself for knowing this about me—many people don’t.

And this is why I can’t be the kind of person who’d leap at the suggestion of giving dating Colton a try. If I were wired differently, I’d already have my hands around his neck, his mouth would be on mine, and in three seconds or less I’d have my legs wrapped around his hips as he carried me to his bedroom.

The thought increases my arousal, so my brain tries to course-correct by wondering if he has the dark blue or gray sheets on this week. (I notice his unmade bed on the way to his bathroom, and I know he rotates his sheets weekly.) Unfortunately, the thought of Colton’s bed (especially the particular way in which it’s rumpled—Colton never makes his bed) does nothing to calm me down.

Neither does the way he glowers at me, fists on his hips, jaw tense, chest heaving.

The way his jeans and T-shirt strand on his muscles, calling my attention to all the deliciousness barely hidden there, right within my reach.

The way his last words hang between us,“Are you saying I just want to fuck?”

Suddenly I’m terrified, and I don’t know what to say to make it right. I don’t know how to act around Colton to keep him as my friend. Snapshots of the past flash before my eyes like emotional scars—catching my dad lying, catching David cheating. It’s a terrifying déjà vu of the times I messed up with the men who meant the most to me.

Although I recognize Colton is not betraying me, I can’t escape the fear that every man who matters to me ends up leaving me, no matter what I do. Maybe if I can dial back time, this time I can fix it.

Desperate times require desperate measures.

My answer snaps through the air. “Isn’t that what you want?”

He huffs, pain registering in his eyes.

“See? It’s already messing with our friendship,” I say, my gaze unable to hold his. “Can we pretend none of this ever happened?” I say as I walk to the door. “I’m just gonna go home.”

I leave without waiting for his answer, hoping he understands I’m not rejecting him. I’m only trying to preserve our friendship.And selfishly, my heart.

ten

Colton

"Pretendnoneofthishappened.”Yeah, right. And how am I supposed to do that? How am I supposed to forget the look of panic on her face, the blotches on her neck? How am I supposed to forget I did this to her?

I scared her away. I shouldn’t have come onto her like that.

She’s better than that.

But how was I supposed to do it? We’ve always been open with each other. I wanted to date her, so I told her. How did she jump to the conclusion that I just wanted us to be fuck buddies?

Does she think so little of me?

I guess she doesn’t feel for me what I feel for her. That’s the only answer I can think of. I could have sworn though, during that kiss… and the way she looked at me in the days that followed… I really thought there was something way more than friendship building between us. I thought wrong. Iassumed, based on what I was feeling.

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