around here because everyone is bored with their lives.
Due to the fact that Caroline yelled it louder than when she asked for the Wi-Fi password, I’m sure half the apartment building will have heard about how lonely she is by nine AM.
Fucking mailbox gossips.
“I’m lonely, okay? Are you happy?”
Not by a long shot.
Not when she stands there wringing her hands together, her nerves showing clear as day.
Not with her bottom lip tucked between her teeth.
And not when her blue eyes are turning sadder by the second.
An upset Caroline is my least favorite version of her.
Hell, I’d take an angry version of her over this.
This one makes me feel all protective…and something else I can’t quite put my finger on, but I know I don’t like it.
“Why are you lonely?” I point to myself, trying to lighten the mood and ignore whatever is eating at me. “You have me—is that not enough?”
“You’re you, Cooper.” She lifts her eyes skyward, a grin pulling at her lips. Then it’s gone. “I’m lonely in different ways.”
Oh.
It hits me all at once.
I know exactly what Caroline’s after.
Dick.
“Sex,” I provide helpfully, nodding.
Her cheeks redden, and I smash my lips together, trying not to laugh at her reaction.
Caroline’s always been shy, but she’s especially timid when it comes to discussing anything sexual. I remember the first time we watched a movie with a sex scene in it together, though I use “watched” loosely because she kept her eyes closed the entire time.
She still watches them that way.
I’ve teased her about it—mercilessly, I might add—over the years, just to get a rise out of her. At the moment, though, I can see she’s feeling vulnerable, and it’s not the time.
She lifts her shoulders.
I cross my arms over my chest. “What does that mean? That shoulder shrug of yours.”
“It’s typically the universal sign for I don’t know.”
“How do you not know if you’re referring to sex?”
Her eyes narrow once again. “It’s my not-so-subtle way of telling you to mind your own business because I am not talking to you about my sex life.”
She’s my best friend and I know her better than anyone. If she really didn’t want to talk about this, she’d be running for her room, not standing here looking at me with those eyes that say Help me.
And I’m just that kind to help her out.
“Are you just trying to get your rocks off, or are you wanting to find a boyfriend or whatever they’re called these days?” Another blush. “Because if it’s the latter, dating apps are not where you want to go searching. Ninety-five percent of those guys are just looking to hump and dump.”
She scrunches her nose. “That’s an awful saying.”
I shrug. “But a true one.”
“Is that what you call what you do? Humping and dumping?”
I wince. When it comes out of her sweet mouth, it sounds extra awful.
But, yeah, I’m guilty of it. In fact, it’s how I operate. One-night stands, going back for seconds here and there. Aside from the one girlfriend I had in high school, and unless you count the two long-term—if carrying on for less than three months is long term—bed buddies I’ve had, the no-strings thing has always been my thing.
I’m not one of those guys who’s trying to do everything in his power to not be tied down. I just haven’t found someone who’s worth it, and I’m not into false hope.
Until I’m ready to give someone my all, what’s the point of playing house?
“We’re not talking about me.”
“Clearly, Mr. Avoid the Subject.”
“We’re talking about you,” I continue, ignoring her all-too-accurate accusation. “Dating or fucking?”
“I am not answering that.”
“Ah, so rocks off it is.”
“Stop.” The color on her cheeks deepens.
“I can help, you know.”
Her brows shoot up. “With what?”
“Your problem.”
“My…problem?”
“The sex thing.”
She runs her tongue over her bottom lip. “Are you saying you want to…have sex? With…me?”
She freezes, and I don’t dare even blink.
All the air in the room is sucked out at her question.
Time stands completely still.
Then, it cracks.
Or we do.
We double over in laughter.
I already made the mistake of trying to take things to the next level with Caroline when I was a horny teen who was basically into anyone with a great rack—something my best friend definitely has, not that I’ve officially noticed or anything.
Either way, my experiment failed. Epically.
It solidified that friends are all we’re meant to be. Any time I get an inkling of an idea that we’re meant to be together in some crazy stars-aligned way, I think of that