Nobody texted after that.
Instead, I was left staring at my phone and wondering what I did to deserve such good albeit nosy friends. Finally, with shaking hands, I responded.
Me: She wants me to be her friend.
Jay: Do you even know what that word means with a girl?
Leave it to him to bring up my own shady past of dating whatever groupie was with us for the week only to leave once we hit the next city. It was the lifestyle at the time — until Angelica.
Me: Of course I do.
Demetri: Friendship i.e.: the art of spending time with someone without licking any part of them, just so nobody else gets there first. See also: Sharing isn’t caring.
I laughed while emojis erupted all over my screen from middle fingers to unicorns, a penguin, hearts, and smiley faces.
“Something funny?”
How long had Angelica been standing in front of me, hands on hips, white tank falling off her right shoulder and tiny black shorts pasted to her tan thighs.
I quickly set my phone on the table. “Just Demetri giving me shit.”
She looked away. “He’s a good one.”
“Wow.” My eyebrows shot up, “Have you two made peace already?”
“He’s running now,” she blurted, and then a smile crossed her features. “He fed a bird today too.”
“Demetri Daniels?” I asked with a healthy dose of skepticism. “I’ll believe it when I see it, last year I thought the guy was going to shit himself when a flock of doves flew over his head. Freaking doves and the guy crashed to the ground and started yelling.”
Angelica grinned.
Her smile sobered me completely because it had me wishing for that ease we used to have between each other.
“So…” I stood and made my way into the kitchen, “You must be hungry.”
Angelica reached for the remote and flipped on the TV, “Yeah, but I can just make a sandwich or something.”
“You hate sandwiches.” I was already pulling out a frozen lasagna, it wasn’t the best, but it was better than a cold sandwhich. “And last time you tried to make one you left the paper on the cheese.”
She glared over at me. “It was my first time!”
“Yeah, you were eighteen, no excuses.”
With a huff she walked over to me and leaned against the counter, and pointed the remote at the lasagna. “What’s that?”
“Food.”
She rolled her eyes. “I know it’s food, what kind of food.”
“Read the box.”
She scowled, “Why can’t you just make things easy?”
“Because you always liked it when I made things hard,” I said truthfully.
She sucked in a breath and then started picking at her thumb. “Because everyone always did stuff for me, I liked the challenge…”
“Still do?”
She hesitated, then grabbed the box, “It says to vent two corners and put it on a cookie sheet.”
“Done.”
“Did you pre-heat the oven first?”
“I’m a pro.” I winked. “Hope you don’t mind all the carbs.” I remembered days where she ate nothing but water and protein shakes to stay thin.
With a shrug, she tossed the box in the trash and rounded the corner island. “Do I look like I care about carbs anymore?”
“No.” The word slipped past as I took in her curves. “And I mean that as a compliment.” I reached out to touch the rounded edge of her hip then thought better of it. “You look good. Healthy.”
“Healthy like a horse?” she baited, her eyebrows shooting up to her hairline.
“Yeah, but a really shiny one.” I said with amusement. “With pretty hair.”
“And teeth?”
“Of course,” I agreed then cleared my throat as an awkward silence descended between us. Somehow I was only a foot from her body. I could feel her heat, taste her in the air. “I’ll let you know when it’s done.” I knew I was dismissing her but there was only so much I could take without actually taking.
Her smile fell. She might as well have punched me in the gut. I didn’t realize how much I missed her smile until it was suddenly gone — until it was my fault it had left in the first place.
“Okay…” She tucked her hair behind her ear and left the kitchen.
I leaned against the bar and hung my head.
It was going to be fine. Now that I could breathe air without her in it, I could focus, focus on feeding us, and going to bed.
Separate beds.
The doorbell rang.
A door swung open.
Shouting voices were heard all throughout the beach house.
And then Zane Andrews in all his shirtless glory was standing in my kitchen with two bags of marshmallows and enough chips to feed a small country. “We decided to crash the party.”