Page 49 of Just Friends

When I come back a moment later, Adam smiles at me, and it looks a little evil. “Hey, Parker would love to go out with Hazel on Saturday.”

It’s a good thing I haven’t picked up the weights yet, or I would have most likely dropped them on my toes. Parker is decidedlynotthe type of man I want to set Hazel up with. First, he has all his teeth. They’re bright white, a stark contrast to the deep brown of his skin. As far as I can tell, he has good style. I’ve never seen him wear Sketchers or cargo shorts to work out in, unlike some other men in this gym. He’s here as often as Adam and I are, and he looks cut from stone, with not an ounce of body fat. His shoulders are so broad I’m sure he has to turn sideways to get through doors. He definitely has to duck, because he’s well over six feet. He’s nice too. Always offering to clean a machine for the elderly women who read books while walking on the treadmill. And I swear to God, one time he actually fought off a mugger who was trying to steal a woman’s purse in the parking lot.

“Oh.” It’s the only thing I can think to say. My high school English teacher would be incredibly proud of my grasp on the English language.

Parker’s gaze bounces from Adam and me and back again, clearly picking up on the tension between us (i.e. me incinerating Adam with my eyes Cyclops-style, and Adam grinning from ear to ear).

“I think they’d be great together,” Adam says. “Parker’s a high school art teacher, and he’s also from a small town. He’s watchedLove Actually.”

“My favorite movie,” Parker chimes in.

My eyes don’t leave Adam’s. “How do you know all this?”

Adam’s shoulders bounce in a shrug. “Parker and I are good friends.”

“You don’t have friends. You have work acquaintances and a dog and your barber.”

“John?” Parker asks, eyebrows lifting as he glances at Adam. “He’s good people.”

“Who is John?” I ask, feeling like I’ve stepped into a black and white episode ofThe Twilight Zone.

“My barber,” Adam answers easily.

“How does Parker know your barber?” I have the strong urge to press my thumb and forefinger into my eye sockets until I see spots.

“Adam introduced us.” He looks to Adam, brow furrowed. “Brunch at Hallister’s, right?”

Adam looks at the ceiling, lost in thought. “No, I think it was drinks at Sparrow.”

“Ah, you’re right.” Parker’s gaze swivels back to me. “Great guy, John.”

I honestly don’t know where to start. My brain feels like it’s just taken a turn on the tumble dry setting in the dryer. I have completelynotfollowed this conversation, and I think I’m more confused than when we started.

“So, Saturday?” Parker asks.

“I…” Pause. Blink. “What?”

Adam looks to be holding back a smile, and I kind of want to hit him for it. No one brings out the tiny sliver of violence ingrained in me from playing wartime video games at much too young an age the way that Adam does.

“Parker said he would go out with Hazel this weekend. Swing dancing, remember?”

The wet paper towel I’m clutching is starting to make my hand sweat and my fingers prune. I think it’s probably the only thing tethering me to reality right now when I swearnothingis making sense.

I palm the back of my neck with my free hand, shooting Parker an apologetic glance. “I don’t really know you,” I say.

“Well, when you tried to set her up with someone you do know, you ended up with a bloody nose in a cloth napkin restaurant,” Alex deadpans.

Parker winces visibly.

“Plus,” Adam says. “I know Parker incredibly well.”

To my knowledge, at least until two minutes ago, Adam has interacted with Parker as many times as I have—which is to say, probably five. But between John and brunch and Sparrow, I’ve come to the conclusion that my brother is justreally badat talking about his personal life. Which, I thought, was mostly spending time with me in the gym on weekday mornings and doing puzzles on his dining room table with Kelsey at night.

“Okay,” I say finally, and Parker’s mouth stretches in a smile. I pull my phone from my pocket and hand it to him. “Would you mind putting your number in here? I’ll text you the details.”

“Yeah, man, of course,” Parker says, taking the phone from my hand and tapping on the screen. “Hazel sounds great, by the way.”

Hazelisgreat, and I don’t want Parker anywhere near her. Words likeart teacherandsmall townandLove Actuallybounce around in my head. He probably owns a butterfly garden and is too carefree to pick a favorite ice cream flavor. And they’re both so beautiful that their kids wouldn’t have to work for anything in life.

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