Page 93 of The Friend Zone

I didn’t want any of this anymore. I didn’t want this fucking life. I didn’t want to live here. I didn’t want my shitty job. I wished I could un-know her. Go back and never meet her, never come here.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through until I found Amanda’s number, the yoga instructor. I stood there, staring at it. I could call this woman. Do the same thing. See someone else too. Isn’t that what I should be doing? Maybe it wouldn’t have fucked with me like this if I’d kept my end of the bargain, if I’d actually been seeing other people like I’d said I would. Like she’d pressed me to do.

I typed in a text and was about to hit Send when my phone pinged.

Kristen: Hey, Sloan says you guys got home last night. Want to come over?

The irony was too much. She never texted me. Never asked me to come over. She never initiated anything—it was always me. She’d been totally cold to me for weeks. Her text sat there under my unanswered “I miss you” and a string of other ignored questions and efforts on my part, and the one time she finally did want me, I couldn’t even stomach the thought.

Josh: Sick.

It wasn’t even a lie. I couldn’t even look at her. I didn’t know if I could ever look at her. I couldn’t even imagine walking her down the aisle at Brandon’s wedding next week.

Kristen: You okay?

I shook my head at my phone and tossed it on the mattress.

No. I’m not fucking okay.

I’m done.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Kristen

I held a bag of In-N-Out and knocked on the door. I checked my watch: 1:15 p.m. It took Josh a while to open it. When he finally did, I saw he hadn’t been kidding—he really was sick. He looked like shit.

His face was expressionless, like he felt too crappy to react to my unannounced visit. Red eyes and a rumpled shirt, like he’d been sleeping in his clothes. Messy hair, like I’d gotten him out of bed.

I smiled. “Hey. Surprise.”

Ugh. I’d missed his face so much.

So much.

When Sloan told me Brandon was home, my heart had leapt in my chest. They were supposed to come home late tonight and Josh had work tomorrow morning, so I wasn’t supposed to see him for three more days. Usually I’d just ride it out and wait for him to come back over. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t wait three more days to see him when I knew he was at home. So I broke my own rule and invited him over. And once I found out he was sick, I broke another one of my rules and went to him.

He didn’t move to let me in. He just stared at me.

“Uh, can I come in?” I asked, looking around him into his apartment.

He stood there for another few seconds, then pushed open the door and walked silently back inside.

I followed him in, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. He couldn’t still be hungover, two days later. Maybe the strike team and the trip had finally caught up to him. He must have been pretty worn down.

The apartment was dark and stale smelling.

“You didn’t reply to my texts so I decided to make sure you were alive,” I said, looking around, feeling an instant urge to throw open windows and start cleaning. “This place looks like you’re losing a game of Jumanji. What the hell happened in here?”

He leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms over his chest, watching me as I put the bag of food down. I walked over to him and put a hand on his cheek to feel if he had a temperature. He closed his eyes at the contact and breathed through his nose, grimacing like it hurt to have his head touched.

“You don’t feel hot. Do you have a headache?”

He opened his eyes and stared at me.

I had to be honest—I’d hoped for a happier reunion. I thought…

I don’t know what I thought. I shouldn’t be thinking anything. I shouldn’t be hoping for anything either.