Page 4 of The Last Person
“Sometimes life has other plans.”
Her eyes drift across the room at the same time her hand closes over mine. “You should tell him.”
My stomach tightens, and even though I try to stop it, my gaze goes right to him. Ryan Hardison. Hardy. My best friend. The man who would move a mountain for anyone, but for me, would climb that mountain and sit by my side in the swirling snow.
And he has no idea that I’m hopelessly in love with him.
It’s one of life’s little twists that I feel so intensely for him because when I first saw him across the locker room, I wanted nothing to do with him. He seemed like the loud, life of the party guy—and he is—but I thought he was crass, only cared about partying, and lived a lavish, over-the-top lifestyle. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Hardy is joy personified.
My eyes drag down his body. His black braids are half tied back with a pink hairband Hallie’s boyfriend’s daughter gave him. A light gray short sleeve button down is pulled tight across his broad shoulders, leaving his muscular arms on full display. My gaze lingers on his hand as he lifts it. The soft deep brown skin has touched mine too many times to count. Always innocently. But the desire it sparks within me each time is indecent.
Then he turns around, drinks in hand, and I get a glimpse of the smile that turns me inside out.
“He’s straight,” I say, looking back at Hallie.
“And no one ever figured out maybe they weren’t at age twenty-four?”
“No, but it’s not”—I run my hand through my hair—“it’s different. He’s not the one questioning it. Confessing your love to your straight best friend usually doesn’t end up with them saying, ‘Hey, I think I’m probably not straight either, and also, I’m in love with you too. What a coincidence.’ I’m not going to risk our friendship or potentially screw up our team dynamic.”
She sighs and shakes her head. “You’re underestimating your importance to him if that’s what you think.” She squeezes myhand, then gets up, kissing Hardy on the cheek as she walks toward her boyfriend, Wilson.
Hardy gives me an up nod, then slides my drink across the table before dropping into the chair closest to me. It’s always the one that’s closest to me. Hardy has a thing for physical contact. He told me early on that he’s a hugger because that’s how he grew up—with lots of physical affection. He’s like that with our entire friend group and is the first one on the team to congratulate someone with a bro-hug, chest bump, or ass slap. Sometimes all three.
With me, he’s always next to me. His arm brushing mine, our knees bumping together, sitting so close it’s like we’re glued together when we’re relaxing on the couch.
I love it. And I hate it. It’s the most delicious taste of what I want with the bitter aftertaste of knowing it’s all I’ll get.
Hardy tilts his head as he looks at me. I’m starting to think I’m slipping when it comes to hiding my feelings. He’s been acting weirder around me lately, and I can’t pinpoint why. Whenever I ask him, he downplays it or I get a bullshit response.
Like last night. Something was on his mind, but he refused to tell me what. That’s not Hardy. He always has something to say and he never shies away from talking about whatever is running through his head whether it’s deep and soul-stirring or the dumbest joke I’ve heard in my life.
“You good, man?”
I grab my drink and take a little sip, letting the burn ground me in the moment. “Yeah. You know me. I like to get lost in my own head. Especially while people-watching.”
“What are you thinking about?”
I nod toward where Kennedy and Devon are dancing. “That. Love. Our friends’ happiness.”
Kennedy looks stunning in her wedding dress, and I’ve never seen her smile brighter. Devon is so utterly gone for her. I want that kind of love.
Then my eyes drift to Frannie and Mark. They’re both smiling as he dips his head down to whisper something to her. She throws her head back, laughing, and his eyes dance as he watches her. I want that kind of love too.
My gaze moves to Justin and his wife Jade. They had a whirlwind romance that started with a marriage of convenience and grew into an epic love story. He’s holding her close as they dance, his fingers twisted in her hair as she looks up at him with deep love in her eyes. I want that kind of connection.
And then there’s Hallie. The girl who swore she’d never fall in love, dancing in the arms of her boyfriend, who smashed all the locks guarding her heart. She’s radiating happiness. Wilson leans in and kisses her neck and their love bubbles over. I want that kind of desire.
I want it all. All of that together wrapped up with someone who sees and understands me. My soul cries for it. I’m desperate and probably pathetic. Especially because when I play out that fantasy in my mind, it’s always the man sitting next to me I’m experiencing it with.
“You can have that too,” Hardy whispers, his voice low and genuine, but not nearly as sincere as the look in his eyes. Eyes that bore into me with such intensity that it’s hard to meet them.
He always seems to read my mind when it comes to this topic, or maybe it’s just that I haven’t been subtle about my desire for love. And the comforting side of him that only wants to see someone he cares for happy always comes out to reassure me.
If only he knew that it’s hard to believe that. Because I only want it with him.
I’m bi, and I’ve known that from a young age, so I should have the world open to me—I do. But it doesn’t matter what my options are when he’s all I want.
Is it even possible to have Hardy as my best friend and meet someone else? Could I ever move on from him? Do I want to?
