Page 18 of Just Friends

“It’s a sad, upscale version of a bachelor pad,” she says as we walk the short distance to the living room and settle on her soft leather couch.

“I’m a sad, upscale bachelor.”

“Not for long, you aren’t,” she says, dipping a piece of pita in the oily hummus and biting into it, making a sound of pleasure deep in her throat. I wrench my eyes away, digging into my own food.

“Speaking of,” I say. “I found your date.”

She swallows the bite in her mouth before speaking. “Already?”

I stir my own hummus with some pita, mixing the oils and toppings into the dip.

“Yeah, it’s the new realtor who was hired on last month, Deacon. He seems nice.” The truth is, I’ve hardly spoken to the guy. With showings and closings, especially at this time of year, I’m hardly in the office. The few times we have spoken, he was confident and self-assured but seemed nice enough.

And he was on board with the blind date after seeing a photo of Hazel, which gave me enough heartburn that I had to stop at the pharmacy before heading over here.

“Deacon,” Hazel says softly, as if trying the name on for size. It makes the food in my mouth turn sour, burning like acid down my throat. I knew, hypothetically, that watching Hazel date other people was going to be difficult, but until this moment, I hadn’t considered what it will actually be like to see her laugh and flirt with other guys, wearing those crop tops and flowy pants that drive me absolutelyinsane.

“Who are you setting me up with?” I grit out, and Hazel’s eyes snap to mine, questioning the change in my demeanor. I clear my throat, hoping she will ignore it.

Thankfully, she doesn’t question it. Instead, she picks at the food in her lap.

“I haven’t figured it out yet.” Her bottom lip catches between her teeth. “What do you think about teachers?”

“They should be paid more.”

When she rolls her eyes, I have to hold back a smile.

“There’s a girl who is pretty regular at the coffee shop—Chloe. I was thinking about asking her.”

My shoulders lift in a shrug. “Sounds good to me,” I say and take a bite of my gyro. In actuality, I’m feeling a little guilty thinking about how I’ll be going out with women every week who are spending their time on someone who is only looking for a relationship with one person. I should have asked Destiny what to do about that.

“You don’t want to see a picture of her?” Hazel asks, and I realize that I probably should look at least somewhat interested.

“Sure,” I say. She pulls up a photo on her phone. It’s a selfie on Chloe’s Instagram page. She’s got pretty light-red hair and a nice smile. Exactly the sort of person I would have gone for if the woman who has become my entire world wasn’t sitting next to me with her thigh pressed up against mine and orange paint dried on the tip of her braid.

“Pretty, right?” Hazel asks, her voice soft.

“Pretty,” I agree, looking away. I find the remote on the coffee table and click on the TV. “What movie are we watching tonight?”

“Always Be My Maybe,” she says instantly, and I let out a pretend groan. She snorts. “Don’t even play like that. I know you like rom-coms more than I do.”

I grumble as I find the movie on a streaming service, but she’s right. Not long after we started watching these chick flicks on movie nights—after I subjected her toFull Metal Jacket—my disdain for the genre turned into grudging respect, and somewhere along the line, it shifted into actual love. I can’t get enough of these ridiculous movies.

I’m a pathetic sap, clinging to fictional love stories, just waiting for my best friend to be ready to start ours.

ItextLucyonTuesday, asking her if we can meet up and if she would maybe not mention it to Hazel. When she responds, asking if this is about me being in love with Hazel, I choke on my coffee. So when I finally meet her at a cat café midafternoon, it’s after heading home to change into a clean shirt.

A spotted calico winds between my legs, and a black cat with beady green eyes sits on the table between us, blocking Lucy’s small form from sight. It’s staring into my soul with an intensity that makes me shudder, and I can justtellthis cat has seen some stuff. Exorcisms, exhumations, botched plastic surgery—this cat has seen it.

“So you’re in love with Hazel.” She waits to say it until I’m lifting my glass of iced tea to my lips, and the black cat hisses when it sprays from my mouth, coating her fur.

I’m definitely going to be cursed by this cat.

“How did you know that?” I hedge, not even bothering to deny it. I’m starting to get the sneaking suspicion that Adam was right, and I’ve been doing a terrible job at hiding my feelings from everyone but Hazel.

She claps her hands together, a squeal building in the back of her throat. “I’m a witch.”

I blink at her, and she sits back, petting the orange striped cat that jumped into her lap.

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