Page 57 of Friend Me

“He’s fine.” I’d called him, and he and Alma were in the middle of a game of gin rummy. He sounded the way he used to—strong, steady, smart. Good days like today made me hope the bad days like last Friday were like quantum particles observed in an anomalous state, to be smoothed out into more normal behavior over time. Maybe I’d ask Dad what he thought about my theory on one of his good days.

When we stepped into the elevator, I caught Tyler’s cologne—cedar and citrus—and was back outside the inn, wearing his jacket, encircled by his arms, his lips—

I held my breath. If only I could stop breathing until the doors opened. That was the only way I was going to get through the evening without doing something completely inappropriate with my friend. Damned dry spell was turning my brain inside out.

Six floors was a long way, and the Synergy elevator was leisurely. My chest tightened, and spots danced in front of my eyes. But I would not let Tyler’s intoxicating scent make me do something stupid in that elevator.

Tyler must have thought I was having some kind of mental-health crisis when I shoved out into the lobby before the doors fully opened, gasping in breaths of pine-scented industrial cleaner. The cleaning guy sure did when I almost tripped over his floor buffer.

Tyler gripped my elbow to keep me from face-planting onto the slick floor. “You sure you’re okay?”

“This is weird, right?” I shouted over the buffer’s motor.

“What’s weird?”

I led him, still clutching my elbow, to the front doors where I didn’t have to shout. And shouldn’t—the night security guard, Howard, didn’t need to hear this. “You and me. Going on a d—going to the theater. Together, I mean. The two of us.” I pressed my lips together to stop the flow of words.

“No.” He scrunched up his forehead. At least the dimples were gone now. “We do stuff together all the time. You sure you’re okay?”

Ah. So it was just me. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

He held the door open for me, and we walked out into the golden light of sunset, the air surprisingly warm for the middle of October. I followed him toward the parking garage.

On the way, I spotted my favorite tamale cart. I smiled at Diego as he cranked the canopy closed. The lingering spicy scent beckoned to me, making my mouth water. It had been a while since I’d had tamales. All those stiff lunches with Cooper, and I’d made zero progress. Now, it hardly seemed worth the missed visits to Diego’s cart. I’d come by for lunch tomorrow.

Tyler stopped right in front of the cart. “These are your favorite, right?” he asked me.

“Aren’t they everyone’s? I’m sure there aren’t any left.”

But Diego pulled a steam-softened sack from the toasty depths of the cart. “Here you go. Have a nice night.” He winked at Tyler. “Hasta luego, Marlee.”

“See you, Diego.” Tyler tucked the sack under his arm and continued toward the garage. “I thought we’d have a picnic, if that’s okay.”

He hated hearing it, so I didn’t say it. But Tyler was sweet to remember that I loved Diego’s tamales. My stomach growled at the aroma coming from the sack of tamales. “Sounds great.”

In the car, the scent of the tamales covered up Tyler’s cologne, and I could think again. Clearly, my old vibrator wasn’t working. It was time to step up my game and order the fancy one that promised to blow my mind with screaming orgasms. And buy some earplugs for Dad.

“So tell me about—”

I cut him off. “Are you going home for the holidays?” I wasn’t ready to talk about how Operation Prince Charming had gone down in flames on Tuesday.

He furrowed his forehead. “You mean Thanksgiving?”

“It’s a little over a month away. You need to buy a ticket if you’re going.”

“I wasn’t going to. You met Raleigh. The rest of them are the same. Alicia said I could hang with them if I’m staying here.”

Even though it was just my dad and me, holidays—especially Thanksgiving—were for family. “You should go home. Tell them off the way you told off that jerk, Raleigh.”

He chuckled. “You told off Raleigh. I’d need to take you with me.”

Silence dropped over us like a blanket. And not the comfortable, friendly, soft kind of blanket.

“I mean, hypothetically,” he said. “In the upside-down world where I went home. Which I’m not doing.”

“Of course. And I’d bring my phaser—set to stun, of course—and go to town on any of your siblings who tried to put you down. Pew! Pew!” I pretended to shoot at the other cars.

“Phasers don’t go pew-pew. That’s aStar Warsblaster. OnStar Trek,they’re more like a wah-wah-wah-wah sound. Or, in the newer shows, a zee-ot.”

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