Page 112 of Plays Well With Others

I am that girl who was hoodwinked for five years. I don’t want to be the woman who’s hoodwinked herself into believing that five dates and hot sex with my best friend could turn into a future.

The reality is this—I don’t trust myself.

At last, I answer Elena. “We’re just having a really good time,” I say.

I tell her about Fable’s eggplant necklaces and how we’re starting to carry them in the store and that fills the rest of the hour.

* * *

Later that week, I meet Elodie for a punishing HIIT class. My thighs are on fire afterward, and it’s all her fault. “You did this to me. My thighs are literally burning,” I whimper as we leave the class.

My friend arches a brow. “Literally? They’re literally burning?”

I point at my aching legs. “I see smoke. At least, I feel it,” I say with a pout, but truthfully, this post-exercise burn feels good. Elodie suggested I take the class when I moved here, telling me exercise is a natural endorphin. She’s somewhat religious about her exercise, but that’s better than how she was about it years ago. Her attitude now is so much healthier.

“I’m proud of you for making it through,” she says, patting me on the shoulder.

I raise my chin. “Me too. Because now it means we get to go shopping for costumes,” I say, and I skip once, enthusiasm bouncing through me. “I do love Halloween. And when Carter and I planned our final two dates, we agreed to go with matching Halloween costumes.”

Elodie bursts into laughter. “Do you even hear yourself?”

I knit my brow. “What do you mean?”

“You sound like you’re infatuated,” she says matter-of-factly.

I bristle. But not for long. Because…she’s kind of right. I just didn’t realize it was so obvious. And while I didn’t want to talk about the situation with Elena for fear of judgment, I don’t mind sharing with a friend.

Elodie’s known about my zany plans from the start. She approved them with me that day we ate nachos and watched football. Still, I want to knowwhyshe’s saying that, so I ask, “How so?”

“Carter and I are wearing matching Halloween costumes,” she says, imitating me in a singsong tone.

And that’s clear. “Is that really how I sound?”

She laughs. “You sure do, mon cheri. Like you can’t think of anything better than shopping for matching Halloween outfits to wear with him.”

“Well, it does sound like fun,” I say, defensively but with a giddy smile.

“It does.” She takes a beat. “But it also sounds super couple-y.”

My smile falters. Reality is such a bitch. The reality of my unreal boyfriend. “Well, it’s just while we are doing this how-to-date thing,” I say.

“Yeah, sounds like it’s all about thelessons.”

But it hardly feels that way lately with him. Impulsively, I grab her arm and blurt out, “I’m going to be sad when it’s over.”

I didn’t really expect to say that, but I think I needed to voice it out loud, and now that I’ve opened the floodgates, more truth pours out. “We only have two more dates, and I feel like it’s that halfway point in a vacation where you’re happy and sad. When you have less time left. When every day, you’re counting down till you board the plane and return to reality. You don’t want it to end, but you can’t stop it. We have the Halloween party—that’ll be a sort of how-to-meet-the-friends date. Then we have one more and we’re considering an art gallery, since I’m weird and I don’t like going out to dinner.”

“Right. Because Edward was Mister Let Me Impress You With New Restaurants,” she says.

“Exactly. And then we have this party thing we’re hosting for Date Night.”

Elodie arches a brow. “That sounds like three more dates.”

Fair point. “Yeah, it does,” I say, a little hopeful, but I can’t be too excited. We just extended our departure flight. We’ll still be leaving Hawaii soon enough.

“But isn’t that what you wanted in the first place?” Elodie asks thoughtfully as we turn onto the block with the costume shop. “You wanted girlfriend lessons. You wanted this experience. You’re getting it.”

We reach the costume shop and as we go inside, I weigh her words. At first, I did want lessons.

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