Page 45 of Plays Well With Others

“Good. Because I love farmers’ markets, but I don’t think I’d know how to go on a date at one,” she says, seeming entirely unfazed by the mention of my exes. It’s just part of our friendship history, after all.

But she also sounds excited, and I key in on her enthusiasm since it raises a really good question. After I finish the noodles, I swallow some water, then say, “Does this mean you’re going to start dating for real? Like when we’re done?”

As soon as I ask, I feel like I’m being strangled by a python.

She snort-laughs, shaking her head. “God no.” She shudders too. But then, after a deep breath, she says, “I just…want to know. For someday. Way down the road.” She sets down her chopsticks, her guileless eyes meeting mine. “Not now, not tomorrow, not anytime soon, but someday I really would like to be in love. For real. When it means the same thing to both people.”

My heart lurches. “I want that for you,” I say.

My best friend wants love. When we finish eating and she asks if I’d like to watch a show, I say yes. I’m not ready for the night to end.

She returns to the couch, and I grab my laptop and find a new episode ofPrivilegeon Webflix.

At least it’s not a romance. Near the end of the hour-long episode, when the broody lead, Bryan, is taking out his trash, and the shadows turn dark and foreboding, Rachel whips her gaze to me. “I bet his next-door neighbor turns out to be his new boss, who’s spying on him,” she whispers.

Damn, that’s brilliant. But I’m good at games too, so I add, “And Bryan will say,I didn’t see you there.”

Five seconds later, Bryan startles, then says to the man, “I didn’t see you there.”

I laugh, then we knock fists. “Now we’re the script doctors.”

When the episode ends and the screen offers us another, Rachel nods. She settles deeper into the couch, and soon, very soon, as Bryan confronts his boss, her eyes fall closed and her breathing evens out.

I watch her longer than I should but exactly as long as I want to. I just can’t look away. Her shoulders rise and fall gently, her hair spills around her face, and she seems content.

Like she got what she wanted tonight—girlfriend lessons from a man who can treat her right.

But I still want to slide my body against hers and kiss her every-fucking-where.

Which means…I need to take care of one more thing before I begin the dirty thought cleanse.

Quietly, I get up from the couch, put a blanket over her, then dim the lights as I head to my bedroom.

16

THE SHOWER SHOW

Rachel

Ow.

My underwire is digging into me.

I fumble around in the dark, plucking at my evil bra as I push up onto an elbow. The button on my jeans is bugging me too, and I’m about to undo it and go back to sleep, but I’m twisted around in this blanket, and…ohhh.

I fell asleep on my couch again. I’ve been doing this a lot lately. Conking out on the couch. But then I can never get back to sleep in my bed.

I will stay sleepy, dammit. I will successfully transfer my tired ass to my bed.

With a monster yawn—this is good, this is so good—I sit up, then shove this tangled blanket off me. I can barely keep my eyes open as I stand.

Rubbing my eyes, I trudge across my dark living room in my socks, head to my bedroom, and push open the door. Just need to get these stupid clothes off, then I’ll crash into my pillows.

Don’t even care about my makeup. I’ll wake up with a raccoon face. Whatever.

I pull off my shirt and toss it on the floor as I go to the bed, then I unbutton my jeans, unzipping them too. As another yawn wallops me, I stop at the foot of the mattress, peeling my jeans down, my eyes fluttering closed, when I hear falling water.

I freeze at the sound, my jeans at my ankles, my head flipped over, my hands on the denim I’m removing.

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