Page 3 of Fake As Puck
Fully clothed. Back inherclothes. No more t-shirt. No more thigh peek. No more hope.
“You sure you’re okay?” she asks again.
“You keep asking,” I say, trying not to sound like I’m white-knuckling my sanity.
“I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want this to be awkward. We could still be friends.”
Friends?
Right.
Because friends absolutely suck each other’s souls out through emotionally charged sex (that happened four times) and then pretend it was a quirky accident.
“I’m a little too busy for friends,” I blurt.
Goddammit.
She raises a brow.
“That came out wrong,” I scramble. “I mean… hockey, you know. It’s very time consuming. It doesn’t leave much time for anything.”
She justgrins. The kind of grin that sayswow, he doesn’t want to be my friend?
“This was fun,” she says, all breezy and casual as she drifts to my front door. Then she glances back, voice soft. “Bye.”
“Bye,” I say.
And wave.
Like a total fucking idiot.
The second the door shuts behind her, I exhale so dramatically I almost pass out. My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Reed:West RSVP’d for two, boys. It’s official!
Hurley:Should we add him to the couples text group?
West:You fuckers have a separate text thread for couples?
Hurley:Yeah we do
Reed:Wait until after the wedding
West:What is that group even for?
G:Date nights. Ladies are part of it too
I set my phone down like it’s personally betrayed me and drop straight to the floor.
Push-ups.
It’s fine. I’m fine. Not bothered at all.
One push-up.
Two.
This isn’t heartbreak. This is core strength.
