Page 16 of That Friendzone Feeling
“Idon’t come here expecting to win,” he says. “Icome here expecting us to solve problems.”
Islide onto the red vinyl bench next to him while the pins rerack.
“Iget what you say about not wanting to mix family and business.Butyou went into business withme.”
“That’sdifferent.”
“Notvery.Iwas your best friend, and you tangled a business up with that.Andthat’s worked out okay, hasn’t it?”
Helooks straight ahead and doesn’t reply.Thisis the first awkward silenceI’veever felt aroundWalker.
Hepoints at the freshly racked pins and stands up. “Myturn.”
“Well, if you don’t go first, you’ll never get a turn.”
Hepicks up a ball and holds it in both hands.
“Itold you the other night,” he says with a smile, “there’s a joy to be had in doing things you’re shitty at.”
Hesteps up to the lane and takes a run at it.Ashe stoops to bowl, his jeans hug his ass even more.Andhis thighs.Hemight be worried about tangling family with business, butI’mincreasingly concerned about tangling my inappropriate thoughts with it.
Hisball stays on the lane for about four feet before rolling into the gutter.
“Ifbeing shitty at things brings you joy,”Isay, standing up and grabbing a ball, “you must be the happiest person alive right now.”
Hestands to the side with his hands in his pockets asItake my turn and knock over all but one pin.
Annoying. “Well, shit.”
“Yup,” he says. “Youare quite the failure.”
“Andthat’s exactly what my parents will say ifIhave to tell them our bright idea to build a resort has ruined us.”
“Whenwill you give up trying to impress them?Youmust have realized by now you can’t.Sowhy constantly waste your time and energy and heartache on it?”
“We’renot here to psychoanalyze my parental issues.We’rehere to figure out how to get a new investor who’s ready to immediately run with the resort.”Imove away from the lane to let him through. “Orhow to hatch a foolproof plan to rob a bank.Whicheveryou think might be easier.”
Hesteps up with another ball. “Oh, the bank thing would definitelybe easier.”
Themuscles in his forearms flex below the rolled-up sleeves of his plaid shirt as he takes his turn.Ifthey were wrapped around my waist, they’d pull me to him good and hard.AndifIran my hand over them,Ibet the hairs would tickle my fingers.
Thisis getting out of control.They’reexactly the same forearms they’ve been for the last decade.Thesame forearms that have helped haul my stuff for me every timeI’vemoved.Thesame forearms that packed bottles and cans of beer into boxes before we had machines and staff to do it.Theyare very useful, practical limbs.Sowhy are they now drawing my eyes?Andwhy amInow appreciating them in a completely impractical way?
Itear myself away from the vein that curves around to the underside of the right one and watch his ball roll down the lane and take out the one pinIleft standing.
Hissmile lights up his face with a childlike joy that threatens to dislocate his jaw.
“Well,Mr.P.Ifyou can pull off that miracle, you can surely rustle up someone with a giant bag of cash and a penchant for beer-making and resorts beforeIhave to start putting up flyers for our brewery yard sale.”
5
WALKER
Emilymight joke about it, but the look behind her big brown eyes is more fearful than funny.
Andthis is the woman who’s fought fearless fights in every business battle along the road to get us where we are now—from negotiating the multimillion-dollar construction contract for the resort, to once taking on a city council over a liquor license, to dashing out to buy every pint glass in a ten-mile radius after she playfully threw the front door keys to the manager of our first pub but hit the first glass on the shelf, setting off a spectacular domino effect that smashed every single one a couple of hours before opening night.
She’salways been the business hero, whileI’mthe brew guru.
