I take off my glasses and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Emerson. I’m not going to see anybody now. I haven’t seen anybody in a while. All I give a shit about is the show and getting rid of this stupid fucking awkwardness between us, okay?”
Her lips are a ruler. “Me too.”
I’ve said the wrong thing yet again. I think I know the right thing—it’s been working through my brain for a few minutes now—but I have to say it. Since Emerson does have a big mouth, and she used it to make a point—one I ignored.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I shouldn’t have said anything to that . . . guy.” I grumble the last word. “It wasn’t my place, and you’re right. You have a huge mouth, and you’re perfectly capable of turning a dickhead down.”
Her expression softens, and her lips part. “Why do you assume he’s a dickhead?”
“Because you have terrible taste in men,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
I want to tell her, You can’t be with another guy who doesn’t get you. Or respect you. Or treat you well. Instead, I say, “So, I’ll let you break their hearts next time.”
“Gee, thanks.”
My gaze stays locked on hers. “Let’s just . . . get back to how we were, okay?”
She gives a faint smile, maybe one of relief. “I’m sorry too. Sorry that things have been weird.” She swipes a hand across her cheek, then lets out a long breath. “It’s just . . . I don’t do casual sex, Nolan. I don’t know how to act afterward.”
It’s a confession, and I’m damn grateful. Finally—fucking finally—we’re talking about the elephant in the room.
“I get it,” I say softly, reaching for her hand, squeezing it. In a friendly way. “Let’s just be ourselves? We’ve done it for years. We can do it again.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry; this was stupid. I’m not interested in seeing anyone either.” Then she laughs. It’s a wonderful sound, a relieved sound, and her shoulders relax. “I think we needed to be really awkward and weird.”
“Maybe we did,” I say with a smile.
She grins too, her eyes lively. “I mean . . . the sex was great. But this friendship is better. Irreplaceable.” She gestures from her to me. “Just being able to talk to you freely. Right? I don’t want to lose it. That’s what matters.”
I park my hands behind my head, lasering in on one thing. “So, you thought the sex was great?”
She rolls her eyes and throws a napkin at me. “You’re such a guy.”
“I am.”
Just like that, all the awkwardness leaves the premises.
Too bad I still want her. But you don’t always get what you want.
That night, I grab a bus and head to the ballpark, clicking on my news app along the way to catch up on what I like to call Stories That Don’t Want to Make Me Stab My Eyes Out.
I’ve carefully culled the articles served up to me to include developments in food science, the weirdest new eateries, uplifting animal stories, updates in green energy, and listicles I can’t resist, like Seven Breakfast Cereals You Have to Eat Before You Die and Twenty Best Autocorrects Ever.
Hmm. Do I want to read about The Green Ant, a new pop-up restaurant in New York that serves organic insects, or an ode to why Cinnamon Toast Crunch is life-changing? As my thumb hovers over the BuzzFeed list, a text pops up from TJ.
I pick door number three: a text from a friend.
* * *
TJ: True fact—you were wondering if Emerson was thinking of your dick on your show today when she said only certain kinds.
* * *
Nolan: True fact—you are a warlock.
* * *
TJ: Yes! My mind-reading superpower is top-notch.
* * *
Nolan: Is that really what you want for a superpower? Mind-reading? A mind is usually a filthy place.
* * *
TJ: I’m all for mining filth. Makes my job easier. Inspiration, baby! Also, it kills you that I can tell what’s going on in your pretty little head. So, the amusement factor works for me too.
* * *
Nolan: Awesome. I’m just a circus monkey to you.
* * *
TJ: Accurate. Also, I have this extra box of Count Chocula in my cupboard from the last time you were here. Want me to save it for you?
* * *
Nolan: Guess who can read minds now? That question means . . . wait for it . . . you miss me!
* * *
TJ: Not. At. All.
* * *
Nolan: Cool. I don’t miss any of you assholes in New York either.
* * *
That is a huge lie. I do miss my buds in New York, and I had a blast when I was there solo a few months ago.
Wouldn’t mind being back there now.
Sometimes New York feels like it’s mine, a place where I could do what the song says—make it there.