Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
I stretch on the couch before I force myself to sit up. I’m lucky I’m off today. My schedule is wonky this week because of switching days around to help Eric. Usually, I work three days in a row, then have four off.
Amazingly, I don’t spin too much when I’m upright. That must be a good sign.
“Morning,” Anthony says, shuffling into the living room. “I hope the couch wasn’t too uncomfortable. I offered to share my bed, but you refused because you’re—and I quote—a married man.”
I rub my hands over my face. “No…”
“Yes.”
I groan. That’s so embarrassing. First of all, Eric and I clearly don’t have that kind of relationship, and second, it’s not as if I think Anthony was going to hit on me. “Sorry I’m an idiot when I’m drunk.”
“Hey, I’m an idiot all the time, so it’s fine. Coffee?”
“God yes. Please.”
I make my way to the bathroom while he prepares the coffee. After I piss enough for three men, I wash my hands, swish some mouthwash, and throw water on my face. I’m already feeling more human. Luckily, it doesn’t seem like I’ll have that bad of a hangover.
I have no idea why I told Anthony I couldn’t sleep in his bed because I’m married. Does that mean something? That question immediately reminds me of what Anthony asked last night—if I could have feelings for Eric, or if I just haven’t allowed myself to consider that. Truth be told, I’m not sure I want the answer. The possible ramifications are too frightening to consider.
I return to the living room just as the coffee finishes brewing. Anthony pours me a cup, and I doctor it up with the creamer and sugar.
Leaning against the counter, mug in hand, I ask, “It’s stupid, right? Asking Eric to marry me.”
Anthony’s dark brows pull together. “No. It’s not. Is it a little extreme? Yes, but you did it out of love.”
“I’m not in love with Eric,” I rush out.
“I didn’t say you were. I just said you love him.”
My cheeks heat because he’s absolutely right. I do love Eric. I always have and always will.
“Anyway, most things done out of love aren’t stupid. You care about him. He cares about you, is vulnerable with you, and that means something.” Anthony shrugs. “You guys are lucky.”
I wonder about Anthony’s background. He hasn’t shared much with us. They know I was sick, that Eric has been my best friend for most of my life, that we come from the high desert and our parents still live there. All we really know about Anthony is that he was painfully shy as a child and worked hard to get past it.
Does he have family? Does he have people in his life outside of us who love him? “I’m lucky to have you too,” I tell him. “Last night, hell, our whole friendship, it’s meant a lot to me. I hope you know how grateful I am for you, Hayes, and for last night. That was fun.”
“I…thanks. Is this one of those emotional-drunk things, only for you it’s emotional hangover?” he says in a light voice that doesn’t feel quite real, like maybe Anthony is telling himself that my words aren’t true or aren’t a big deal, but they are.
“It’s an honest thing.” I set my mug on the counter and hug him.
Anthony returns it but doesn’t make eye contact when I pull away. “Thanks. I feel the same.”
We find other topics to talk about as we finish our coffee, and then we say goodbye so I can get home to Eric.
On the way back, I stop by a pastry shop Eric loves and get him a giant cinnamon roll. He loves them, and I want to do something nice for him. He’s cleaning the kitchen when I arrive.
“Hey, sit down. I can do that,” I tell him.
“Oh, it’s fine. I got it.” He keeps wiping the counter, not looking at me.
Um…okay. This is different. “Look what I brought you!” I set the box down and open it, which earns me an Eric smile and a sparkle in his blue eyes. There he is!
“Thank you.” He scoots it over but doesn’t eat it right away, giving his attention to the granite counter like it’s his favorite thing in the world.
Are we in a fight and I don’t know it?
He takes a step on his crutches, when I say, “You don’t have to clean our kitchen, babe,” and Eric fumbles with the sponge in a way that isn’t typical.
I’ve been calling him babe for years. It’s my thing, our thing, and it’s never flustered him before. Is it now because of the jerking off the other night? He seemed fine with it, but maybe he had more time to think about it and now he’s weirded out…
Oh God. Maybe he thinks I want him, which I absolutely don’t! “I said you could bring girls here, right?”